Chapter 5
The sisters watched until the riders entered the house and the animals were led to the stables.
“She did not seem at all proud,” Jane said. “She seemed rather lively.”
“These first impressions of her are not like the impression her brother gave.” Yet even as Elizabeth said it, she thought of the man in the garden that afternoon, speaking of Atlas and Artemis with such animation.
Perhaps Miss Darcy resembled her brother, simply themselves when away from crowds and expectations.
Jane coughed—a wet, rattling sound that snapped Elizabeth’s attention from the window to her sister.
“Back to bed with you,” Elizabeth said firmly, guiding Jane across the room. “Though you are improved, you are not yet well.”
“I wanted to see,” Jane protested, though she welcomed her sister’s assistance in propping her body against the pillows.
“And you did. Now rest.”
Once Jane was comfortable, Elizabeth returned to the window. Miss Darcy had been riding a gray Thoroughbred—beautiful, sleek, young, which meant that the horse could not be Atlas. Elizabeth pressed closer to the glass, scanning the drive.
In the distance came the slower procession: a carriage, and beside it, a groom mounted on one horse while leading another.
A bay.
Even from this distance, Elizabeth could make out the rich reddish-brown coat and black points Mr. Darcy had described. The horse moved with a steady, ground-covering walk. Despite his age, he carried himself with dignity, neck arched and steps deliberate.
Elizabeth’s heart skipped.
The groom and horses drew closer, and she could see more detail. He was tall—taller than she had imagined—with a handsomeness born not of youth or speed but of character and presence.
Her hand pressed against the glass, her heart doing that peculiar flutter she associated with riding.
“Oh, you are magnificent.”
Atlas reached the courtyard below and stood still, his ears pricked forward with interest, taking in his new surroundings with what looked like curiosity rather than nervousness. Even standing still, he was beautiful.
Elizabeth pressed her forehead against the cool glass and imagined the movement of that horse beneath her. If she could manage not to make a complete fool of herself, she would ride.
A young lad led Atlas toward the stables, and Elizabeth realized that some dreams, no matter how long deferred, could still come true.
Darcy stood near the fireplace in the drawing room, poised to see when Elizabeth walked under the lintel.
After changing from her mud-spattered habit, Georgiana sat on the sofa beside Miss Bingley, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap—every inch the demure young lady their aunt, Lady Matlock, had trained her to be.
A marked contrast to the happy girl who had raced Richard up the drive.
Richard lounged in a chair near the window, perfectly at ease despite Miss Bingley’s constant chatter about his regiment, his postings, and his prospects. His cousin deflected each inquiry with practiced charm, never quite answering while appearing to be entirely forthcoming.
To Georgiana, Miss Bingley said, “Miss Darcy, you must be fatigued from your journey. Such a great distance from Town, and in this weather! I do hope the roads were not too dreadful.”
“Not at all. The weather held, and my cousin is an excellent traveling companion.”
“So brave of you to ride the distance rather than within the carriage.” Miss Bingley’s tone suggested the behavior was not gallant at all. “Though I suppose country riding differs greatly from the more refined exercise one takes in Town.”
Darcy’s jaw set, but before he could respond, Richard spoke cheerfully. “My cousin rides like a cavalryman, Miss Bingley. Put her on her horse, and she will outpace half of my regiment.”
“How…impressive,” Miss Bingley managed, clearly uncertain about his comment.
Bingley, who had been hovering near the door in apparent anticipation of Miss Bennet’s arrival, finally surrendered to disappointment. “I believe I shall check on Miss Bennet myself. Ensure she has everything she requires.”
“Charles, do not be ridiculous,” Miss Bingley said sharply. “It would be entirely inappropriate for you to visit a young lady in her bedchamber.”
“Caroline is right, you know,” Mrs. Hurst added.
“I did not say her bedchamber, Caroline. I meant to inquire of the housekeeper—”
“Mrs. Nicholls will inform us if anything is needed.” Miss Bingley rose, clearly intending to prevent her brother from embarrassing himself further. “Come, Louisa. We will speak to Mrs. Nicholls and check on the arrangements for dinner.”
Mrs. Hurst rose without complaint.
Mr. Hurst, who had been dozing in his chair, startled awake. “Dinner? Should we go in?”
“Not yet,” his wife said. “Come, you have a spot on your cravat. You shall need to refresh yourself before we dine.”
Miss Bingley paused at the door. “Mr. Darcy, perhaps you and your family would care to rest before dinner? I am certain you would appreciate some privacy after your journey, Miss Darcy.”
“We are quite comfortable here, thank you,” Darcy said evenly.
Miss Bingley had no choice but to follow her sister from the room, her brother and Hurst trailing reluctantly behind.
The moment the door closed, Richard smirked. “Subtle as a cavalry charge, that one. I believe she hoped we would follow her.”
“Richard,” Darcy said warningly, though he agreed with his cousin.
“What? I am simply observing…”
The door opened again, and Miss Elizabeth entered.
Darcy’s heart swelled. She had changed for dinner, though in a simple gown compared to Miss Bingley’s elaborate silk. Her eyes swept the room, pausing on Georgiana with unmistakable interest before finding his own.
“Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy moved forward. “Is your sister not joining us?”
“Unfortunately, no. Jane’s cough worsened this afternoon, and she thought it best she remain in her room with a maid to attend her. She sends her regrets to your sister and cousin for missing their arrival.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Darcy said.
Miss Elizabeth’s gaze moved past him to Georgiana.
“Georgiana, Richard—this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Elizabeth, my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, and my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”
Georgiana rose, her curtsy perfect, her smile shy but genuine. “Miss Elizabeth. My brother has written of you. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose slightly before she returned the curtsy. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Darcy. I saw your arrival from the window. You are an excellent rider.”
Color bloomed in Georgiana’s cheeks, and her smile illuminated her face. “Thank you. Though I confess the race was not entirely fair. I know Starlight far better than Richard knows his hired mount.”
“If my horse were not getting reshod today, I would have won by a mile,” Richard said, bowing. “Miss Elizabeth, a delight. Any friend of Darcy’s is a friend of mine, though I should warn you he has been insufferably mysterious about why he summoned us to Hertfordshire with such urgency.”
“Cousin,” Darcy warned.
“What? I am simply curious why my dear cousin required both his sister and an aged gelding delivered posthaste to—”
“Richard!”
Miss Elizabeth blushed. “I confess, Colonel, Miss Darcy, the mystery is partly my doing. Your cousin has been extraordinarily generous in offering to teach me to ride.”
Georgiana’s head snapped toward Darcy, her eyes wide. Then she peered at Miss Elizabeth. Darcy saw the exact moment his sister understood his purpose. “My brother wrote that you remind him of our mother.”
Miss Elizabeth’s smile faded to surprise. “I—he…?”
“Georgiana,” Darcy said, wishing his sister had inherited even a fraction of Richard’s ability to deflect and dissemble.
Georgiana already moved toward Miss Elizabeth, her shyness forgotten.
“He did. He mentioned that you loved horses but had never had the opportunity to learn.” She glanced at Darcy, her expression softer than he had seen it in months.
“This is why you sent for Atlas. You will teach Miss Elizabeth as you did me.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, seeing no point in denying what his sister had already revealed. “I will.”
Miss Elizabeth’s vulnerability made his breath catch. “That was kind of you, Mr. Darcy. Extraordinarily kind.”
“Atlas requires exercise before his journey to Pemberley.”
Richard made a sound that might have been a scoff. Darcy ignored him.
“Of course,” Miss Elizabeth said. But her eyes told him she knew better.
Georgiana stepped closer, her earlier reserve completely abandoned. “I should love to help with your lessons, Miss Elizabeth, if you would permit. My father, brother, and Atlas were my teachers as well. They were endlessly patient and wonderfully forgiving of mistakes.”
“I would be grateful for any guidance,” Miss Elizabeth said warmly. “Though I must warn you, I shall likely be the most hopeless student you have ever encountered.”
“Impossible,” Georgiana said, leading Miss Elizabeth toward the sofa. “If you love horses, you will learn. The rest is merely practice.”
Richard moved to stand beside Darcy, keeping his voice low. “She is not at all what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Darcy asked, unable to look away from where Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth sat on the sofa, already deep in conversation.
“A young child of about the age of ten or twelve who ate, slept, and dreamed of horses.” Richard paused.
“When you wrote that she reminded you of Aunt Anne, I incorrectly assumed you meant her love of riding, but I see it now. Georgiana has taken to her—I have not seen her this comfortable with anyone since—”
“I know.”
“And you.” Richard’s tone held knowing amusement. “You are watching her as though she might disappear if you look away.”
“I am doing no such thing.”
“Cousin. I have known you your entire life. You have never brought Georgiana to meet a woman. You have certainly never summoned both of us to the wilds of anywhere so you could teach someone to ride.” Richard hesitated. “What are you about?”
Darcy had been avoiding this question himself. When his sister’s face lit with delight from something Miss Elizabeth said, he could no longer pretend he acted out of charity or the practicality of exercise for an aging horse.
“I have no idea.”
Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “Well. That is at least honest.”
From the sofa, Georgiana called out, “Brother, Miss Elizabeth wishes to know if she might meet Atlas this evening. Would that be acceptable?”
He turned his attention to her. The hope in her expression decided the issue. “Of course. If she does not object to visiting the stables before dinner.”
“Only if it would not be an imposition,” Miss Elizabeth said, rising.
“No imposition at all.” Darcy moved toward the door. “Georgiana, will you accompany us? And Richard, if you would—”
“Provide propriety and witness your madness? Delighted,” Richard said cheerfully.
As they headed toward the stables, Georgiana walked between Miss Elizabeth and Richard while chattering about Atlas’s temperament. Darcy both anticipated and dreaded the moment Miss Elizabeth would meet the gentle beast that had carried so much of his own history.
This was not about Atlas, or Georgiana, or even Miss Elizabeth’s lack of opportunity. This was about making Elizabeth Bennet smile. Dangerous ground indeed.