Chapter Twenty
The morning was perfect for riding—crisp autumn air, clear skies, the kind of day that made one grateful to be alive and at liberty to enjoy it.
Darcy had suggested the excursion over breakfast, half expecting Elizabeth to decline, given her busy schedule managing household affairs.
Instead, her face had lit up with pleasure.
"I would love that," she had said. "I have been longing to explore more of Pemberley's grounds properly."
Now they rode side by side across the eastern meadows, their horses moving at an easy canter.
Elizabeth sat on her mare with natural grace, her riding habit a deep green that complemented the honey-brown colour of her eyes.
Darcy felt something peaceful settle in his chest as he watched her—the way she leaned forward slightly in the saddle, clearly enjoying the speed and freedom, her cheeks pink from the wind.
She turned to look at him, interest lingering in her expression. "A romantic gesture for a man of that era."
"The Darcys have always valued their marriages, or so I am told.
" He urged his horse closer to hers. "My father used to bring me here as a boy.
He would tell stories about our ancestors—some factual, some probably embellished for dramatic effect.
There was supposedly a Darcy who fought in the Battle of Agincourt, and another who served Queen Elizabeth's court. "
"Queen Elizabeth?" Her lips quirked. "A Darcy serving my namesake? I approve already."
"He was beheaded for treason, actually."
She laughed outright at that, the sound carrying across the meadow. "Well. Perhaps I shall reserve my approval then."
They continued riding. Darcy pointed out various landmarks and shared what history he could remember, given the gaps in his recollection.
The stream where his father had taught him to fish.
The hill where generations of Darcy children had sledded in winter.
The ruins of an old cottage that had supposedly housed a hermit in medieval times.
Elizabeth listened with interest, asking questions that showed she was not merely being polite but truly wished to understand Pemberley and its history. Her history now, too, Darcy realised. This was her home, her legacy to learn and eventually pass on.
"I should like to race you to that oak tree," she said suddenly, her eyes dancing with mischief.
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "You wish to race?"
"Unless you are afraid I might win?" The challenge was clear in her tone, playful but with an edge of competitiveness.
"Very well." He gathered his reins. "On your mark."
"Go!"
She took off before he could properly prepare, her laughter floating back as her mare surged forward. He gave her a few seconds' head start before urging his stallion into a gallop.
The animal responded immediately, powerful muscles bunching and extending as they ate up the ground between them.
He leaned low over the horse's neck, feeling the familiar thrill of speed and competition.
Elizabeth rode well, he had to admit, but his stallion was simply faster.
He drew alongside her, then gradually pulled ahead, reaching the designated oak several lengths before her.
"That was cheating," he called as she slowed her mare to a walk beside him. "You did not wait for me to signal the start."
"I believe the phrase is 'all's fair in love and war,'" Elizabeth replied, not looking remotely apologetic. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with exhilaration. "I suppose I should have known your horse would be faster. He is magnificent."
"Would you like to try riding him? He has excellent manners despite his speed."
"Perhaps another time. I find I am quite attached to this lady." She patted her mare's neck affectionately. "I am impressed by your horsemanship. You ride as though you were born in the saddle."
"My father ensured I learned young. He believed a gentleman should be accomplished in all outdoor pursuits."
He dismounted and reached up to help her down. She accepted his assistance, her hands light on his shoulders as he lifted her from the saddle.
They walked the horses for a while so the animals could cool down, their conversation flowing easily from topic to topic.
She told him about her childhood rambles around Hertfordshire, including the various misadventures she and Jane had gotten into exploring the countryside.
Darcy shared memories of his own youth at Pemberley, the games he had played and the mischief he had caused.
"You were quite the troublemaker," Elizabeth observed with amusement. "Somehow that does not align with my image of you as the perfectly proper gentleman."
"I was eight years old. Propriety had not yet taken hold. However, I became insufferably serious once I went away to school."
"What changed you?"
"Responsibility, I suppose. The knowledge that I would one day inherit all of this and be responsible for hundreds of people's livelihoods. It seemed to demand a certain gravitas."
She studied him thoughtfully. "Perhaps. However, I think there is room for both responsibility and levity. One need not exclude the other."
They found a fallen log and sat, the horses grazing peacefully nearby. The conversation turned to books, music, travel—all the topics they had discussed before but which somehow felt new in this setting, under the open sky with Pemberley's grounds stretching around them.
Elizabeth made an observation about the implausibility of Gothic novels—something about heroines who insisted on exploring dark corridors alone despite obvious danger—and Darcy laughed heartily at her wit.
She had a way of seeing the absurd in things, of finding humour without descending into mockery.
It was refreshing, unexpected and utterly charming.
"My younger sisters are quite devoted to such novels," she continued, her tone affectionate despite the teasing.
"Lydia and Kitty consume them at an alarming rate, particularly if there's a romantic element.
They adore the dramatic declarations, the grand gestures, the elaborate moments where everything is perfectly orchestrated for maximum sentiment. "
"And you do not share their enthusiasm?"
"Oh, I enjoy a well-crafted story as much as anyone.
But I find the romance in those novels rather exhausting.
The heroine is always swept away to some magnificent setting, showered with jewels and poetry, declared the most beautiful creature ever to grace the earth.
" She shook her head with amusement. "It all seems rather performative.
As if genuine feeling requires an audience and elaborate staging to be valid. "
Darcy considered this, finding himself in complete agreement. "You prefer something more understated, then?"
"I prefer something more real. Not that such gestures cannot be heartfelt, but they often feel designed more to impress observers than to actually connect with the person they are supposedly meant for."
"An interesting perspective." he paused, then asked with studied casualness, "If you could design an ideal romantic moment—purely hypothetically, of course—what would it entail? Would you eschew elaborate gestures entirely?"
"A hypothetical perfect moment? Well, let me think.
.." She was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful.
"A good dinner, I think. Nothing too elaborate or formal.
Just excellent food and perhaps good wine.
Something that allows for proper conversation rather than the stilted exchanges required at formal gatherings. "
"That seems reasonable."
"And afterwards..." She continued, and he noticed a slight flush colouring her cheeks. "A private dance, perhaps. Just two people in a room lit by candlelight, dancing to beautiful music and sharing something lovely."
He was relieved to discover that the scene she described aligned with his own preferences.
He had always disliked certain aspects of courtship, particularly the way private feelings were expected to be displayed for public consumption.
What Elizabeth described was exactly what he would want—a connection without spectacle.
"That is all?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral despite the plan already forming in his mind. "Nothing more elaborate? No jewels or poetry or dramatic declarations?"
"That is everything."
He filed this information away, already considering how such an evening might be arranged.
Mrs Reynolds was remarkably resourceful, and there were several accomplished musicians in the village who would be honoured to perform at Pemberley.
It could be managed—should be managed. Tonight, if possible.
"And you?" she asked, pulling him from his mental calculations. "What would your hypothetical ideal romantic moment be?"
He considered the question, then smiled slightly. "I believe you have already described it quite perfectly. Although I might add that the company matters far more than the setting. The right person can make even the most ordinary moment feel extraordinary."
Elizabeth's expression softened, and for a moment they simply looked at one another, an understanding passing between them that needed no words.
They rode back to Pemberley in companionable conversation, and Darcy felt a lightness in his chest that had become increasingly familiar in Elizabeth's company.
She challenged him, amused him, and made him see things differently.
With her, he did not feel the weight of his incomplete memories quite so heavily.
She knew him as he was now, not as he had been, and somehow that made everything easier.
All the while, a plan took shape in his mind. Tonight, he would give Elizabeth her perfect moment. Not as a grand gesture designed to impress, but as an expression of regard. It would be a gift tailored specifically to what she valued.