Chapter 3
“Jane, you will never believe the horse I met,” Elizabeth said, settling into the chair beside her sister’s bed with her needlework.
Jane’s color had improved considerably that morning, and though Mr. Jones still insisted she remain abed, her eyes were brighter, her breathing easier. She looked up with interest. “A horse?”
“Mr. Darcy’s mare. Her name is Gracie, and she is magnificent. Chestnut coat, perfect conformation, and the most spirited temperament you can imagine.” Elizabeth’s needle paused mid-stitch as she smiled at the memory.
“Gracie?”
“Lady of Pemberley. But his sister renamed her when she was just five years old, after her favorite doll.”
“How charming.” Then, with a knowing look, Jane said, “And Mr. Darcy told you this himself?”
“He did.” Elizabeth returned to her stitching, keeping her eyes on her work. “We spoke near the paddock yesterday morning. And again today.”
“Two mornings in a row.” Jane’s tone remained neutral, though Elizabeth could hear the question in it. “That does not sound like the aloof gentleman we met at the assembly.”
Elizabeth’s needle stilled. “Perhaps I am softening somewhat in my opinion of him.”
“Perhaps?”
“Jane, you must not read too much into it.” Elizabeth set down her needlework.
“On every occasion I have been in his company since his arrival—at the assembly, Lucas Lodge, at dinner, in the drawing room, during tea—he has been arrogant. Distant. The two conversations near the stable could well have been an anomaly. A momentary lapse in his usual reserve.”
“Or it might be that he is more comfortable speaking of horses than making polite conversation in a room full of people.”
Elizabeth considered this. Mr. Darcy had indeed been different at the stables. Almost amiable. “I suppose that is possible.”
“And you enjoyed speaking with him?”
“I enjoyed speaking about Gracie,” Elizabeth corrected. “The horse is extraordinary, Jane. When Mr. Darcy rides her across the fields, they move as though they are one creature. I have never seen anything so beautiful.”
Jane smiled. “I shall never forget how you loved riding behind me on old Jackson. Even at that plodding pace, you thought we were racing the wind.”
“We were racing the wind,” Elizabeth said with mock seriousness. “And we would have won, too, if Mr. Barton had not stopped us.”
Jane brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. “I do not believe you miss Mr. Barton’s presence at Longbourn in the five years since he departed.”
“Never!” Elizabeth grimaced. “As soon as I learned he had taken a new position closer to his family, I assumed I would have the freedom of the stables. Of course, I understood Papa’s reluctance to allow us to ride.
But I did not expect him to restrict me from having any contact with the animals.
Who knew that Papa would remain contrary? ”
“It is a wonder we did not fall off and injure ourselves, is it not?” Jane chuckled. “Bareback, astride, with no reins.”
“And no skill.” Elizabeth was transported to that summer morning, to the memory of Jane’s steady presence before her and the rhythm of hoofbeats beneath them.
“I do love everything about horses. Their sounds—their breathing, their whicker when they greet you. The smell of hay and leather. Is that strange?”
“Not at all.” Jane’s expression turned wistful. “I understand. Mr. Bingley keeps several horses, you know.”
“Ah, so that is why you like him so much. It has naught to do with his kind nature or handsome face. It is entirely about his stables.”
“Lizzy!” Jane’s cheeks flushed pink, though she was smiling. “You are terrible.”
“Never!” Elizabeth countered. “And you are evading the question. How many horses does Mr. Bingley have?”
“I do not know the exact number,” Jane said primly. “Though he mentioned he enjoys riding and keeps a hunter for the season.”
“A hunter. How practical.” Elizabeth picked up her needlework again, grinning. “I suppose if one must fall ill at a gentleman’s estate, it might as well be one with an excellent stable.”
“Elizabeth Bennet, you make me sound positively mercenary.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Not mercenary. You are simply a woman of good sense who appreciates the finer things in life.” Elizabeth added soberly, “Though in truth, Jane, Mr. Bingley seems genuinely concerned for your welfare. He asks after you every time I see him.”
“Does he?” Jane’s voice was soft, hopeful.
“He does. And his concern appears entirely sincere, unlike his sisters’ inquiries, which are more like attempts to determine when we shall finally leave.”
Jane sighed. “Miss Bingley has not been unkind to me.”
“Because you are ill and no threat to her designs on Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth bit her tongue before she could say more. Jane did not need to hear about Miss Bingley’s pointed remarks or open disdain.
“You believe she has designs on him?”
“I believe she would marry him within an hour if he asked. Which he will not, if his expression when she attempts to gain his attention is any indication.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Never mind Miss Bingley. Tell me more about Mr. Bingley.”
During the next hour, the sisters spoke of gentlemen, horses and rides they had never taken. Elizabeth dreamed aloud about what it might be like to gallop across an open field with the sky above and freedom ahead. In her imagination, the horse she rode looked exactly like Gracie.
Darcy sat at the writing desk in his borrowed chamber, a half-written letter before him. The solution struck him with such clarity that he wondered why he had not thought of it immediately.
There was a horse in his possession that was born the year Darcy was two.
The gelding was dignified and steady—exactly what Miss Elizabeth needed for her first proper lessons.
The animal had served both Darcy and Georgiana faithfully over the years.
Darcy had ridden him exclusively after outgrowing his first pony, and later, Georgiana was comfortable with him until she desired more than his measured pace.
Now, Atlas awaited transport from the London townhouse to Pemberley, where he would spend his remaining years in well-earned retirement.
Why not let him serve one more purpose before that final journey?
Darcy set down his pen. Once he set this plan in motion, he would cross a line he had told himself he would not.
Darcy stared at the half-written letter.
He did this because Atlas needed exercise.
Because it was practical. Because…because he wanted Miss Elizabeth’s face to light with joy again.
Because the memory of her laughter, quickly stifled behind her hand, had followed him through every tedious dinner conversation and every one of Miss Bingley’s attempts to secure his attention.
He had been considering this since yesterday’s ride. No, if he were honest, since the moment mirth danced in her eyes. Two mornings at the paddock were not enough. He needed to be honest. This had nothing to do with Atlas’s needs. But his own.
With determination, Darcy left the room to find his host.
His friend was in the breakfast room, reading the newspaper with more enthusiasm than attention. His face brightened when Darcy entered. “Darcy! Just the man I wanted to see. Miss Elizabeth reports that Miss Bennet is improved this morning. Maybe she will be able to leave her room by tomorrow.”
“That is encouraging news,” Darcy said and meant it. “Bingley, I have a favor to ask. My sister will need to visit within the week, along with our cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. I hope it will not be too great an imposition…”
“Imposition? Not at all!” Bingley was already on his feet. “I shall be delighted to see Miss Darcy again. And Richard, of course. I must tell Caroline immediately—she will want to prepare rooms.”
Darcy suppressed a grimace. Miss Bingley would indeed want to prepare, though her preparations would likely involve elaborate dinners and attempts to impress. “They will not require any special accommodations. Simple comfort will suffice.”
“Nonsense! Your sister deserves the best Netherfield can offer.” Bingley clapped him on the shoulder. “They are welcome for as long as they desire.”
“I suppose they shall remain for at least a fortnight.”
“Then we shall make them most welcome.”
As his friend hurried off to spread the news, Darcy returned to his chamber and took up his pen once more.
Richard,
I need your assistance with a matter that requires both discretion and expediency.
I would be grateful if you could escort Georgiana to Netherfield Park.
Bring Atlas with you. Georgiana should pack for an extended stay.
Her maid and horse should accompany her, naturally.
Instead of returning to Town, we will travel to Pemberley for the winter.
I shall explain all when you arrive. Suffice it to say, the journey will benefit both Atlas and a young lady who has long been denied an opportunity to learn to ride.
Darcy
He sealed the letter and wrote a second, this one to his sister.
Dearest Georgiana,
Richard will have told you about my request. I hope you will not mind the imposition of a stay at Netherfield.
The company here is interesting, but I believe you will find one member of the party most agreeable.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet reminds me of our mother—she has the same spirit, the same quick wit, though circumstances have denied her the advantages you enjoy.
Atlas needs her. And she needs him. You will understand when you meet her.
Your devoted brother,
Fitzwilliam
He dispatched both letters by express, then leant back in his chair. The arrangements were set in motion. He had only to determine how to present the matter to Miss Elizabeth.
As charity? No, she would refuse immediately, her pride wounded. As simple practicality? Atlas needed the exercise before his journey north and someone to ride him. Yes, that might work.
By late evening, a reply arrived from Richard:
Darcy,
Your mysterious request has thoroughly intrigued both Georgie and me. She is already packing enough gowns for a season, convinced you have found her a new friend. I have promised her nothing, as you have told me nothing, but I expect a detailed explanation upon our arrival.
We shall depart at dawn, traveling at a comfortable pace for Atlas, and should reach Netherfield before the day’s end. Atlas sends his regards—or he would, if horses could write. The old fellow seems pleased at the prospect of a journey.
Your devoted cousin (and occasional errand boy),
Richard
Darcy smiled at Richard’s irrepressible good humor, even in correspondence.
The following morning, Darcy found Miss Elizabeth already at the paddock, her hands on the rail, watching Gracie in the early light. She turned at his approach, and he saw the familiar spark of pleasure in her eyes before she schooled her features into something more reserved.
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”
“Miss Elizabeth.” He moved to stand beside her. “Has Miss Bennet improved?”
“I am pleased to report that she had no fever throughout the night.”
“That is good news indeed.” Darcy said, “I also have news that I hope will please you.”
Her head tilted slightly, curious.
“My sister and cousin should arrive by late afternoon. If I do not presume too much, might I introduce them to you?”
“Of course.” The muscles around her mouth smoothed.
So far, so good.
“I have sent for a horse from my London stable. His name is Atlas. He was my mount when I was younger, and later, my sister’s. He will need exercise before I transport him to Pemberley for retirement.” Darcy paused. “I thought if you were willing, you might ride him while he is here.”
Her breathing faltered. “Me? You would… You would let me ride him?”
“Of course. He is an excellent horse for a novice.”
Elizabeth’s expression shifted through several emotions too rapidly for Darcy to name them all. Hope, certainly. Excitement. Yet also what looked almost like fear.
“Miss Elizabeth? Is something amiss?”
She shook her head quickly. “No. No, I am simply…”
Longing played across her features. Her throat worked as though she were swallowing words. Darcy held his breath, suddenly uncertain whether she would accept or refuse.
“I hardly know what to say. This is extraordinarily generous of you, sir. Do you mean it? Truly?”
“I do. It is practical,” he said, though even to his own ears the words sounded false. “Do you agree?”
“Of course. I agree.” The words came out in a rush. “Thank you. Truly.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes bright, and Darcy felt his heart constrict.
“You are most welcome,” he said. “I shall introduce you properly when they arrive.”
Darcy was reluctant to leave the paddock, to break whatever spell had developed between them.
Elizabeth fled to Jane’s room as soon as Mr. Darcy left for his ride, her mind spinning.
A horse. He was bringing her a horse to ride.
She paced the length of the room while Jane watched from the bed, a knowing smile on her face. “Lizzy, you will wear a path in the carpet.”
“Jane, I have no riding habit.” Elizabeth stopped mid-stride, touching her gown.
“What am I to do? I cannot ride in this.” She brushed at her skirt.
“It would be entirely inappropriate. And his sister will be here. What if she is as proud as he was at the assembly? What if she looks down on me for my abilities? Good heavens! What if I fall off?”
“Breathe, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth took a measured breath. “I want this with all my heart, Jane. I would tolerate any amount of condescension, any number of cutting remarks, if it meant I could sit on a horse again. Even just to walk around the paddock.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Do you think that makes me ridiculous?”
Jane opened her mouth to respond, but Elizabeth continued, the words tumbling out.
“I have not let myself want this in years, Jane. Not truly. It hurt too much to hope for what could never be. And now…” Her voice broke.
“Now Mr. Darcy offers it, and what if I love it even more than I did at five years old, and then it ends? Unless I marry a man who keeps horses, this might be my only opportunity to ride, Jane. My only one. And then it will be gone, and I will spend the rest of my life knowing exactly what I am missing.” She sank into the chair; her hands twisted in her lap.
“At least when I had nothing, I could lose nothing.”
“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said. “I think Mr. Darcy would not have made this offer unless he meant to follow through. And there is a possibility that Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst has a garment you might borrow.”
“I hope you are correct.” Elizabeth stood and resumed her pacing. “I shall simply have to manage.”
Jane captured Elizabeth’s hand as she passed the bed. “You will manage beautifully.”
Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand, drawing strength from Jane’s steady confidence. “I hope you are right.”