Chapter 18 Omega’s Sigh
“Darcy, welcome home.”
“Longman, good to see you.”
Following their usual custom, neither man bowed, nor did they shake hands. They only nodded their heads in mutual respect. Longman had been a groom for Darcy Senior for many years before his death. Father and son had depended on him for decades, and the forms of their interaction were well settled.
It was Longman who had mostly taught the young Fitzwilliam Darcy to ride.
His father gave his son lessons like most men of his station, but he had been easily distracted.
It was Longman who taught the young Darcy heir the essence of horsemanship.
It was Longman who whipped George Wickham within an inch of his life when a nasty trick nearly cost the lives of the heir of Pemberley and two good horses.
(One of the groom’s greatest regrets in life was that he had not finished that particular job.) The two men understood each other as few others could.
Darcy took a deep breath. “I understand I owe you a large debt of gratitude. You took care of my wife when I did not, and for that, I am eternally grateful.”
The gentleman thought there was little point in belabouring how Mrs Darcy came to be at Pemberley without proper support, or whose fault it was. It would belittle both men’s intelligence to pretend it was not entirely the fault of the master, and neither was very inclined towards prevarication.
“Your wife is kind to horses.”
Many people assumed, much to their peril, that Mr Longman was not especially astute, since he did not read very much, nor did he like to talk a lot.
Others assumed he was overly simplistic in his opinions, since they mostly related to horses.
Neither view was correct. In fact, Mr Longman was a keen observer of human nature, who knew far more than anyone thought he did.
He only liked to boil it down to its essence.
When he evaluated people, they either abused horses, were kind to horses, or were indifferent to them.
He felt no need to add any nuance to that assertion, even though someone who knew him well could map a person’s entire personality from those words and the inflexion used with each.
Darcy nodded. “I feel I was not kind to her horse.”
Longman frowned. “I will not disagree.”
That said, the two men, with a dozen or two words, understood each other perfectly, so Darcy asked, “I understand she rode Omega. I suppose that was your suggestion?”
“It was, indeed. If you will pardon my saying so, your wife needed something to cheer her up, and your uncle needed a bit of comeuppance. He is closer to a mule than a horse in temperament—perhaps a donkey—but I do believe he understood the message. It was too late, and he was too stubborn to correct course—but somewhere, rattling around in his head, he knows he did her wrong.”
Darcy chuckled. “I heard she rode by him like a Valkyrie.”
“That she did. You are a lucky man.”
“A stupid man!” Darcy exclaimed in disgust.
“You can be both.”
“I suppose you have worked out that she left without a trace?”
“I thought she might.” He stared at the nearest fence for a minute, and added, “She spent quite a lot of time talking to Omega that last day. I suspect she was saying goodbye and possibly asking advice.”
Darcy did not even ask Longman if it had occurred to him to dissuade Mrs Darcy from leaving or mention his supposition to someone who would.
Longman would never do such a thing, but not for the reasons most would assume.
He did not leave the lady to her own choices because she was the mistress of the estate, or because she was his social superior, or because she was better educated than he in some ways.
He left the lady to her own choices because she was a woman grown and had no need for any man to tell her what to do.
Mrs Longman was a fine example of a woman who took no guff from anybody, and Longman could not abide any man who wanted a weakling wife.
If Mrs Darcy thought she should be elsewhere, it was not his business.
Darcy paused a bit before continuing, knowing the groom would tell him whatever he chose.
Longman continued, “She was not happy—not by a mile. She liked riding; of that you can be certain. She was smart as a whip but never lorded it over people. She was as nice to her young maid, who could not even read when they met, as she was to Mrs Reynolds or your neighbours. I think she liked Reynolds and Jennings.”
“You know it is my fault she was unhappy.”
Longman only laughed. “When a wife is unhappy, nine times out of ten, it is the husband at fault. Forgive me if I just assumed that.”
“Did you know the story?” Darcy asked in genuine curiosity.
“Enough of it,” Longman said, then he thought a minute. “You made a right mess of it, but I feel in my bones that she will be back—she belongs here. Of course, as Mrs Longman will no doubt tell you, I have been wrong before and will be again.”
“As have I, Longman—as have I.”
“You should ride your wife’s horse. You need to talk to Bartlet, and it will be interesting to see if the beast has been changed by association with Mrs Darcy.”
“Of course.”
“Go fetch him, if you please. Bring him into the stable. Feed him an apple. Maybe he will go easy on you,” Longman replied with a chuckle.
Darcy grinned along with him and went to fetch his wife’s horse.
Twenty minutes later, both men were walking down the front drive towards Lambton. Darcy obviously did not need a groom to come along, but he thought his old friend might give him more clues as they went along, or he might be useful in interpreting whatever Bartlet had to say.
The first mile or two they walked the horses and occasionally trotted.
Longman pointed out a trail that Mrs Darcy preferred because it had a field of flowers, a tree, or a stream she liked.
He pointed out a fallen log in the middle of a meadow that had served as her introduction to jumping.
He pointed out a trail winding up to the moors that Mrs Darcy had ridden astride instead of sidesaddle.
He pointed to a bench by a stream where she would stop to read for a few hours, while the groom went back to Pemberley alone, assuming she would get herself home.
They paused a couple of miles out to allow the horses to drink at a stream. “You know, she was always looking for something.”
“What do you mean?” Darcy asked, genuinely curious for something-anything that would tell him a bit more about Elizabeth.
Longman shrugged. “She did not start riding at first, in the winter, but she always came by the stables with a kind word and the occasional treat for the horses. In the beginning, I think she was looking over her shoulder for monsters.”
Darcy frowned but nodded to encourage him.
“After a while, she started to settle in, and she was looking for something to occupy her mind or fill her time. She knows every horse by name, and the hounds as well.”
As Longman paused, he chewed on the side of his lip thoughtfully. “She was looking for—a place, or a purpose—I think. She wanted to know where she fit in.”
Both men pulled the horses from the water and let them crop a bit of grass, while he continued.
“After your uncle came, I think she was looking for something else. I have no idea what. I would be tempted to say a sign of kindness from someone who was not her staff.”
“Was the staff at least kind to her?”
“Except for Knight.”
Darcy grunted. “I vacillate on that one. One minute I want to sack him, and the next, I can hardly chastise him for acting on what I told him.”
Longman continued, “Not my business,” but he did not need to say that sacking came closer to his desires than not.
They thought a minute, then the groom continued, “Miss Bingley’s visit, oddly enough, cheered her up. She seemed almost—not happy, but less unhappy—after that.”
Darcy frowned. “And then? I assume you are working your way up to Lady Catherine?”
“Ah, your lady aunt! I believe she said something truly shocking and terrible to your wife. I assume you heard what was shouted?”
“Some of it.”
Longman sighed resignedly. “It was what was said before that, privately, that you should worry about. Of course, I do not know the details, but she weathered the Matlocks’ storm with hardly a raised eyebrow. Lady Catherine must have told her something truly awful, and if I may speculate—”
“Pray, do.”
The groom paused for quite some time, then kneed his horse into a slow walk, which Darcy followed. “Mrs Darcy would not say a word about it, but after that—”
He took a deep breath and continued, “—I think, as much as she hated Lady Catherine, she surmised there was some truth in what your aunt said. After that, I believe she was looking for something to convince her she had not left one horrible family to land in an even worse one. Unless I am mistaken, which is entirely possible but not likely; not a single blood relative said a single good or kind word to her during your entire marriage. Unless you said something kind to her before your wedding, she would be entitled to the opinion that she fell into a pit full of venomous snakes.”
Such a frank assessment was uncharacteristic in a groom, but Darcy had always believed in surrounding himself with men who said what he needed to hear, whether he wanted it or not.
He sighed. “I did not.”
“I suppose you will need to work on that.”
“I will, given the chance.”
The men continued to Lambton, not saying much more. They had any number of things they should discuss, but both knew it would be entirely pointless.
By the time they arrived at the village, Darcy quite liked Omega, but he was unwilling to venture an opinion about whether it was because he liked the horse, the horse had been improved by association with Elizabeth, or he just wanted to feel close to her, and the horse was the closest he was likely to get for a while.