Suspicions rising with every step, I picked up my pace, eager to arrive at the Grays. The groom greeted me, but as nothing noteworthy had happened during my two visits following my introduction to the horse, he continued about his duties. Mr. Gray had already been paid the requested sum and stated I was free to come and go as I pleased so long as Persephone was gone by the end of the week. Now it only remained for me to collect the mare and lead her to Longbourn. The group of servants that had gathered around the paddock those first days had dwindled; there were only two boys lingering in hopes of a spectacle.
I patted my pockets once again, reassuring myself that my enticements were in place. I would have to be judicious with my bribes or risk running out of treats before arriving at our destination. My knife would enable me to offer new slices of apple along the way.
For the past two mornings, I had spent time with Persephone, grooming her, talking to her, and allowing her to grow accustomed to my presence, to my scent and the sound of my voice. She did not trust easily, just as Elizabeth had said.
When I arrived that day and found her standing alone in the paddock, she watched me warily, her ears flickering. Nodding to my small audience, I received waves of encouragement but overheard one of the boys wagering against me.
I turned my full attention to the mare. Softly and soothingly, I talked to her, doing my best to put her at ease as I opened the gate.
“Darcy!” The loud voice of the man I had worked so hard to avoid boomed behind me. My shoulders bunched up toward my ears. It might have been a herd of elephants behind me for all thecare Richard took to soften his step. How had I not heard him approach?
“There you are!” proclaimed Bingley triumphantly, as though he had found a lost stray.
I silently cursed this unwanted company, then shushed them and cast a warning glare at the boys chuckling on the other side of the fence.
Persephone watched me closely. I was sure she had seen the halter. If I did not do something quickly, she would lie down and make it impossible for me to budge her. Swiftly, I pulled Elizabeth’s handkerchief from my pocket and held it out to her nose. I was not sure she would pick up on Elizabeth’s scent—she was not a dog after all—but I would be remiss if I did not try every tool at my disposal.
My conscience rationalized my continued possession of the pilfered item as being indispensable for this particular endeavor. It was an honorable use—far more justifiable than taking comfort in the softness of the square in my pocket or pressing the soft fabric against my face to catch the smell of Elizabeth’s rosewater on it.
To my delight, the mare took a step in my direction. Encouraged, I backed toward the opening of the paddock, holding the handkerchief in front of her nose all the while. When she stretched forward to get a good sniff, I slipped the halter over her ears, holding the leading rope loosely between us. The onlookers uttered respectful murmurs of praise for me when she did not pull against me or step away.
I led her out of the paddock and continued down the path that would take me to Longbourn. Just as Mr. Gray’s estate disappeared behind a dip in the hilly pasture and I became confident my plan would succeed, the horse planted her hooves in the mud and refused to take another step.
To my chagrin, Richard and Bingley had chosen to show their support by trailing behind us, occasionally uttering a useless bit of encouragement.
“They can conquer who believe they can!” called Richard.
“You think a quote from Virgil will inspire the horse to move?” I asked.
“Why not? She follows the scent of Miss Elizabeth’s handkerchief like a dog on a scent. How did you snatch that pretty little memento anyway, Darcy?”
I gritted my teeth together, refusing to reply.
Bingley raised his finger into the air with a gasp. “I have it! Who was it that said he speaks Italian to God, French to women…”
“No, no, no! You have got it all wrong, Bingley. It is Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and…” to Richard’s voice, Bingley added in unison, “German to my horse!”
“Charles V,” Richard said with a bow.
I stared at them. “You want me to speak German to the horse?”
Bingley shrugged. “It cannot hurt.”
“Do you know any German?” I asked, looking at a blank Bingley.
Richard raised his hands when I looked at him. “Eu não falo alemão.”
“That’s not German.”
“Just trying to be helpful.”
“I wish you would stop.” I tugged on the halter once, twice. On the third attempt, I dropped my voice and said, “Guten morgen, fräulein.”
Persephone did not move. I looked about, calculating the distance to Longbourn. If my conclusion was correct, we were about one-third of the way there. Close enough to pull out the first apple.
The mare reached forward to snatch it out of my hand, but I deflected her nose with my arm. “Clever girl! But no, you must earn your treat.” Pulling my knife out of my boot, I quartered the apple. Holding a slice in front of her, she took a few steps, which I rewarded with the juicy piece. This worked well.
As judicious as I was in paring out her incentive, we still had not reached Longbourn when I ran out of apples to slice. I had hoped she might recognize her surroundings and not need additional encouragement to continue. Regrettably, no amount of waving Elizabeth’s handkerchief in front of her nostrils or whispers of German greetings inspired her to move.
