Chapter 16
As Elizabeth struggled to control her breathing, she told herself not to be ridiculous.
There was nothing to be afraid of in riding.
People did it all the time. Even Jane, the gentlest soul she knew, would not hesitate to ride a horse.
It was absurd of her to be afraid at all, let alone so much so that her heart would not seem to stop racing.
The day of her first riding lesson was not off to a very propitious start.
Her riding ensemble having been completed and delivered the day before, the lesson could no longer be delayed.
Elizabeth stood in the centre of her bedchamber, very nearly glaring at the articles laid out over the edge of the bed.
Her riding boots stood at attention on the floor, while the new riding gloves and smart hat sat beside the new ensemble.
The poor garments certainly did not deserve such wrath, Elizabeth thought to herself.
They were flawless in construction, above reproach in materials, and elegant and flattering in cut.
Had they not been the garments she would put on to mount a horse, she would have liked them very well indeed.
“It will be well, mistress,” Stephans soothed as she prepared to help her into the riding habit. “Mr Darcy will be a patient teacher, I am sure.”
She was not worried about her husband being patient with her, but rather that she would shame herself in front of him.
That he would have reason not to be proud of her.
Why it mattered so much that her husband had pride in her was another matter entirely.
When had his approval become so important to her?
Elizabeth sighed, building up her courage. There was no point in pretending not to see. She had become devoted to her husband in the weeks since their marriage, and there was simply nothing to be done about it.
“Very well. We might as well get it over with,” Elizabeth said aloud.
“You will do very well, I have no doubt, Mrs Darcy,” Stephans went on.
“Have you ever been riding, Stephans?” Elizabeth asked curiously.
The young woman’s cheeks flamed to life with a very becoming blush.
“You will think I’m very uncouth. But when I was young, I used to ride the plough horse while it was pulling during planting.
Bareback,” she admitted sheepishly. “Of course, Mama did not like it. The horses were absolutely colossal.”
“Draft horses?” Elizabeth asked, her brows raising in surprise. “Your father allowed you to ride the draft horses? How old were you?”
“Oh, perhaps four or five,” she said. “They were the biggest animals I had ever seen. And yet they were gentle giants. Once I even snuck out of the house and went to sleep in the stables with them. Mama nearly had a fit.” Stephans got a far-off look in her eye, remembering happy times.
“They would not have let anything bad happen to me.”
“Well, I do not have fond memories of horses. My father had a mean old thoroughbred who threw me the first time I tried to ride him. I never tried to climb on a horse again.”
“My father says that you have to get back on a horse, even when they throw you. It makes them even meaner if they think they’ve beaten you.”
Easy for him to say…
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Ah, I see.”
All too soon, she was ready to meet Mr Darcy below stairs and head to the stables.
She came down the grand staircase, riding crop in hand.
Mr Darcy stood there, speaking to Mrs Reynolds.
Elizabeth paused for a moment, looking at him.
In his smart riding ensemble, her husband was handsomer than ever.
He was dressed in a light brown pair of trousers, a waistcoat of brown and green plaid, a frock coat of dark brown, and leather riding boots.
The finishing touches were added by the pair of gloves he held in his hands and a smart top hat.
A blush rising in her cheeks, Elizabeth noticed that he followed her with his gaze as she descended the stairs.
Mr Darcy turned slowly, his conversation with Mrs Reynolds forgotten.
He met her at the bottom step and offered her his hand.
Elizabeth took it gratefully. Her stomach was a swirl of butterflies, from nerves and from some previously unknown emotion.
It was becoming an increasingly common sensation, even when she was not faced with confronting one of her deepest fears.
Is this what it was to be in love, to feel a strange mixture of nausea and bliss?
“Hello,” Elizabeth said, with her best attempt at brightness, though she did not think it entirely came off. She would prefer Mr Darcy not to know how very apprehensive she felt, lest he reasonably think her a coward.
His eyes roved appreciatively over her person. “You look wonderful.”
“Yes, the seamstress did an excellent job of seeing that I was turned out suitably.” Elizabeth smoothed down the jacket and ran her hands over the soft, warm skirt.
“I was not speaking of the seamstress, but you are quite right; she must be commended for her small part in making you look quite the sophisticated country lady.” His eyes danced with admiration.
Perhaps realising that he had been staring, Mr Darcy averted his gaze, clearing his throat rather self-consciously. “Shall we?”
Deliberately, Elizabeth took several deep breaths as they crossed the foyer and went out into the chilly morning air.
She was glad of the thick woollen fabric that would protect her from the biting cold.
As November came to a close, the mornings would only grow more frigid.
Nor was she afraid of the chill, Elizabeth thought determinedly.
It would be exhilarating to feel its nip against her cheeks.
When they reached the stables, the groom proudly announced that he had saddled the most docile horse in Mr Darcy’s possession. “She is a twelve-year-old mare, and most patient and gentle,” the older man said. “She will take care of you, Mrs Darcy.”
“I thank you, Hobbs,” Elizabeth said. She took a chance and ran her hand gently down the palomino’s golden neck. Her flowing white mane stood out in beautiful contrast, making her think of milk and honey. “What is her name?”
“Dutchess,” the groom answered. “You won’t find a better-tempered horse in all of England, I assure you, ma’am.”
Mr Darcy came up beside her and patted Duchess’s mane. His hand trailed down and rested beside hers, gently brushing her fingers. A jolt of electric shock rushed through her at the slight touch. Out of a mixture of habit and a sudden, strange shyness, she took her hand away.
“Well, how do I mount? She is very tall, is she not?” Elizabeth asked. Despite her best efforts, her voice shook, and she silently chided herself for being so nervous.
“Bring the stool,” Mr Darcy instructed.
One of the stable boys did as he instructed, while Hobbes told her how to mount.
She stepped up on the stool, and Mr Darcy steadied her as she climbed atop the beast’s back.
Feeling dangerously unstable in the unfamiliar position, Elizabeth struggled to sit upright.
Her hands shook, and her breath came in gasps.
“You mustn’t show fear, Mrs Darcy. It makes them nervous,” the groom instructed her.
Elizabeth swallowed. How was she to control her fear when her heart seemed as though it might beat out of her chest? “Are you well?” Mr Darcy asked.
She licked her lips. Why was she so thirsty of a sudden? “I —” she began.
In the next moment, the world went completely black. She felt herself falling to the side, helpless to resist.
“Elizabeth!” she heard Mr Darcy calling her name. She mentally prepared herself to meet the ground, resigned to the pain that would follow.
To her surprise, she felt strong arms catch her just in time.
“Elizabeth?” Mr Darcy said gently. His voice, strained from fear and from the effort of holding her, was so very close.
She could not have responded, try as she might.
Her body had completely betrayed her. For long moments, Elizabeth was lost to reality.
Slowly, she returned, frowning as she tried to open her eyes.
She heard her husband’s voice, seeming very far off.
“Put the horses away, Hobbs. We shall try another day.”
“Shall we help carry your wife to the house, sir? We could construct a stretcher to carry her,” one of the older stable boys suggested.
“That will not be necessary,” Mr Darcy said.
Elizabeth knew she ought to speak, to tell him he need not worry and that she could return to the house under her own power, but speech seemed impossible. Though consciousness had returned, it was as though she had not yet regained power over her limbs.
Perhaps, on second thought, it was as well she did not yet attempt to stand.
Mr Darcy did not seem unduly inconvenienced by the effort of carrying her. He had arranged her so that her head was resting against his chest, his strong arms encircling her back and knees. His stride was easy and even, as though her weight did not trouble him at all.
“It’s all right, Elizabeth,” he murmured, almost too softly to hear. “I have you. You are all right now.”
Mrs Reynolds was deeply distressed when they returned to the house so soon and inquired whether she ought to call a physician.
“No, thank you. I am sure Mrs Darcy will come around soon. I will take her to her room now. Please send up some smelling salts and a pot of tea. And perhaps some refreshments as well. I should not be surprised if fainting makes one hungry.”
Without waiting for an answer, Mr Darcy carried her up the stairs and down the hallway to her suite of rooms. He set her gently on the bed and started unlacing her boots.
She really must tell him that she was awake and well. Making a desperate effort, Elizabeth found her voice, though the words seemed strangely distant. “Oh, dear,” she said. “That was very foolish of me, to be sure.”