Though he blushed slightly, Darcy held her gaze as he responded, “Stephen recommended it.”
“Well, that explains it,” Georgiana teased. “Fitzwilliam will do anything Stephen tells him to.”
Before Darcy could protest, as he looked ready to, his father handed Elizabeth a package. She untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper.
“The Vicar of Wakefield. I mentioned wanting to read this only recently.” Elizabeth stroked the cover reverently. “You are so very thoughtful. Thank you so much.”
“I shall expect a letter with your thoughts before the end of January,” he told her.
“I don’t think gifts are supposed to come with assignments and deadlines,” Darcy observed.
“For others, perhaps,” Elizabeth responded. “But for me, the greater part of the gift is your father’s willingness to discuss our readings together, share with me his wisdom and listen patiently to my thoughts and ideas.”
Mr. Darcy’s chest puffed up slightly at this, and Darcy too looked pleased with her answer.
“Well then, I suppose we must offer Miss Elizabeth an assignment to go with our gift,” Darcy said to Georgiana.
Elizabeth’s heart skipped more than one beat at his words. Our gift? Darcy was nodding at Georgiana, who fidgeted a little before retrieving a piece of paper from the table beside her. She turned and handed it to Elizabeth with a shy smile. Lizzy felt a swoop of excitement at the air of mystery that seemed to surround this paper and at the looks being given her by the entire party. It was clear everyone knew what her gift was. Smiling back at Georgiana, she took the paper. It was a thick white sheet folded in half, presumably to conceal its contents. Carefully, she opened it. Inside, across both sides of the fold, was a pencil sketch of a horse. From the level of detail, she could tell he was beautiful, with a long flowing mane, a regal bearing and a strong build. Georgiana had drawn him as if he was looking at her, a short tuft of mane falling over one eye, his head bent slightly towards a patch of grass in the foreground.
“He looks regal,” Elizabeth said after staring at the drawing for a minute. “You are a truly gifted artist. I will seek out a frame for the picture when I get home. It will remind me of our love of riding together and of you and of Pemberley. Thank you.”
“What a nice speech.” Georgiana giggled. “And I know you meant every word, but of course this scrap is not the gift.”
“It is not a scrap, “Elizabeth insisted. “It is a work of art.”
“Be that as it may,” Darcy interrupted before his sister could retort. “The horse is not a she at all, but a he and HE is the gift.”
It took a moment for Elizabeth to comprehend Darcy’s meaning and for more than the usual reasons.
“This horse is real?”
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy laughed. “He very much is. He was born to one of the mares at Matlock House last spring, and we have intended him for you since that time but knew he would not be ready to be trained for riding until this coming summer. And so, he will be moved to Pemberley, where he will be available for your exclusive use this May.”
“He is yours, Lizzy!” Georgiana exclaimed when Elizabeth seemed unable to respond. “He will live in Pemberley’s stables, and you can ride him all summer!”
“I . . . “ she stared at the drawing, tracing the horse’s lines with her finger. “What is he called?”
“They are calling him junior,” Darcy told her. “You can name him whatever you like.”
“This is . . . thank you, of course it is the most generous gift. I am . . .” Elizabeth rose, and when Mr. Darcy did the same, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you. I am so grateful.”
Mr. Darcy returned her embrace, laughing a little at her enthusiasm, though it was to be expected. Next, she turned to Georgiana, whom she practically hauled out of her seat. The girlshugged and laughed. “Thank you as well, Master Fitzwilliam,” she said over Georgiana’s shoulder. He nodded his acceptance as his eyes danced with merriment.
“I assure you,” Mr. Darcy said, “we are nearly as excited as you to have Junior in our stables and for you to have your own mount when the three of you go off on your adventures.”
The remainder of the visit was spent in congenial conversation with Junior featuring prominently as a topic of interest. Dinner was as delicious and plentiful as it always was at Pemberley. Long after darkness, the guests took their leave. Elizabeth, Mrs. Gardiner and Georgiana confirmed their plans to spend the day at Barlow Hall two days hence to finish the blankets and hats they had been working on to put in the gift baskets for the tenants and staff at each estate.
Mrs. Gardiner insisted Elizabeth descend the stairs after her so that she, Mr. Barlow and Mr. Gardiner could behold her in all her “grown-up splendour.” Elizabeth was thankful for the vote of confidence. As she looked in the mirror, Anna, beaming behind her, was less certain than her aunt had seemed when she swept from the room moments earlier that she was a sight anyone would be particularly interested in beholding.
“Have a lovely evening,” Cora, Amelia’s nurse, said as she and her charge followed Mrs. Gardiner. Elizabeth thanked her and offered her cousin one last kiss.
Elizabeth turned to the large mirror to take one last look.
The gown, it must be said, was exquisite. Anna and Rachel, a downstairs maid with a talent for embroidery and sewing, had added several new details, including some beadingon the sleeves and shoulder and altered it to fit her perfectly. Her hair was equally lovely. Though she had, on several occasions, practiced with her sisters and their shared lady’s maid for the more intricate coiffures, they had never achieved anything like the style she now wore. Her voluminous dark curls were piled atop her head, several cascading down from within the arrangement to touch her neck. It looked somehow natural and exact. A green ribbon, the material taken from the hem of her dress, which had to be shortened to fit, was woven through the curls.
All in all, Elizabeth was pleased; she looked pretty, but she was again struck by how young she still looked despite these efforts. Normally, she appreciated that she looked younger than her fifteen years. It kept gentlemen at home from thinking about anything beyond a dance and prevented her mother, most of the time, from urging her to be more forward as she did with poor Jane, who, for better or worse, had matured much more quickly and looked all of her seventeen years. But tonight, Elizabeth wanted one gentleman in particular to see she was, or was becoming, a grown woman. At least old enough that he would wait, perhaps? It was silly, she knew. There were more obstacles between her and Fitzwilliam Darcy than the six-year-and-seven-month age difference. She determined to think of it no more and simply enjoy the unique enjoyment the evening promised.
“Are you ready, Miss?” Anna’s question pulled her from her thoughts. “You look lovely, I hope you know.”
