“Oh yes. I thought it best to inform you of the disparity between the two ladies at Knight’s Manor. Whilst Patrick and I esteem Miss Bennet and deem her to be superior company to her cousin, Miss Barton benefits froma superior situation. Her father has apportioned fifteen thousand pounds to her. In contrast, Miss Bennet lacks a dowry.”
My friend caught my gaze. “The two ladies received a fine education at home from a governess, and a music master taught them to play the pianoforte. They are both skilled musicians.”
“Indeed, their duet performances are delightful.” Mrs. Hayward’s forefinger traced her pursed lips. “Another consideration is Miss Bennet’s uncle, Mr. Gardiner. He is the younger brother of the late Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Gardiner is a tradesman in London, and according to Mr. Barton, he is not an honourable man. In fact, Mr. Barton has taken pains to ensure Miss Bennet is kept far away from him.”
“That is a shame.” To have such a relation, estranged or not, would hinder her chances of marrying a man of any importance.
She gestured to Hayward. “Patrick met Mr. Gardiner once.”
“Did you?” I regarded my friend.
“Yes, I made his acquaintance when he last stayed with the Bartons. I must have been twelve back then. He seemed amiable at the time.” His mouth twitched to the side. “There is one more consideration with respect to Miss Bennet that I learnt from my father and shall tell you in confidence. Although Miss Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter, she is not, in actuality, a relation to the Bartons. Rather, the late Mrs. Rebecca Barton served as her godmother, and Mr. Bennet named her and Mr. Barton as Miss Bennet’s guardians.”
“I see.” That made Miss Bennet’s situation all the more peculiar.
Mrs. Hayward shifted to a new position and recovered her former sanguine air. “We are invited to Knight’s Manor for dinner on Monday, so you will meet Miss Bennet then.”
“Very well.” In order to alleviate any possible awkwardness between us, I should apologise to the lady for having inadvertently purchased her favourite horse.
Monday, 16 September
Darcy
Hayward and I rode our horses upon a picturesque path along the River Avon that morning. Upon our return to the stables, we parted company: Hayward returned to the house, while I approached the russet-haired groom, Tim, and asked him to saddle Lily.
When he brought the mare to me, I almost admonished him for having made a mistake. This horse bore little resemblance to the spirited steed I had admired and purchased on Saturday. She walked at a sluggish gait, more like a hackney nag than a fine riding horse.
Could Mr. Barton have sold me a sick animal? I stepped around Lily and searched for any signs of disease. “What is wrong with her? She must be ill.”
“No, sir.” Tim brushed his hand along Lily’s nose. “She’s well enough. She ate every scrap of ’er grain and most of ’er ’ay this morning. She’s just a bit down in the mouth.”
“You believe the mare is depressed? Why would that be?”
“She’s pining for ’er mistress.”
Could that be the sole reason for this alteration? “You refer to Miss Bennet.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I suppose she has ridden Lily here in the past.”
“Yes, many times.” A smile lightened Tim’s look. “The lady is a friend to the mistress.”
“You seem to approve of Miss Bennet.”
“Oh yes, sir. She’s like a ray of sunshine. Always has a kind word for anyone she meets.”
His description matched my impression of her from that day at the haberdasher’s shop. “Well, I expect exercise will improve the mare’s temper.”
“Yes, sir.” Tim’s tone, though, did not convey confidence in my statement.
I took the reins from him. When I mounted Lily, her ears moved back, and she stamped a front hoof. Could she be unaccustomed to carrying the weight of a man? “Easy, girl. All is well.” I directed her towards the forest path, and she maintained the same tired walk as before. I urged her into a trot and then a canter. She obeyed my cues but without a whit of enthusiasm.
When we came adjacent to a tree, I stopped Lily, grabbed a bare, dry twig, and broke it off. We continued at a walk, and I hit the twig against my boot loud enough to create a cracking sound. Lily’s ears shot up, but her pace did not improve. After repeating the effort a few more times without success, I threw the twig away. We came upon a perpendicular path, and I turned her to the left. In an instant, she transformed: her head shot higher, her nostrils flared, and her sullen walk became a prance. “Yes, that is right. Good girl.” I ran my hand along her neck.
She seemed to have acquired the energy of ten horses. In fact, I had to restrain her from changing to a higher gait on her own. Soon, I cued her to move into a trot, then a canter and a gallop. In time, flecks of foam appeared on her neck and upper chest, and I slowed her. So, my conjecture had been correct: she had needed nothing more than to leave the stables and have a good run.
Then the realisation hit me: Lily had a particular destination in mind.Blast,I ought to have guessed this at once. I sat back in the saddle and brought her to a halt. She thrust against the reins in an obvious bid to continue onwards. “No, we arenotgoing to Knight’s Manor.” I spun her round. With the release of a doleful sigh, she adopted a lethargic walk once again.
