“I hardly know what to say. This is extraordinarily generous of you, sir. Do you mean it? Truly?”
“I do. It is practical,” he said, though even to his own ears the words sounded false. “Do you agree?”
“Of course. I agree.” The words came out in a rush. “Thank you. Truly.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes bright, and Darcy felt his heart constrict.
“You are most welcome,” he said. “I shall introduce you properly when they arrive.”
Darcy was reluctant to leave the paddock, to break whatever spell had developed between them.
Elizabeth fledto Jane’s room as soon as Mr. Darcy left for his ride, her mind spinning.
A horse. He was bringing her a horse to ride.
She paced the length of the room while Jane watched from the bed, a knowing smile on her face. “Lizzy, you will wear a path in the carpet.”
“Jane, I have no riding habit.” Elizabeth stopped mid-stride, touching her gown. “What am I to do? I cannot ride in this.” She brushed at her skirt. “It would be entirely inappropriate. And his sister will be here. What if she is as proud as he was at the assembly? What if she looks down on me for my abilities? Good heavens! What if I fall off?”
“Breathe, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth took a measured breath. “I want this with all my heart, Jane. I would tolerate any amount of condescension, any number of cutting remarks, if it meant I could sit on a horse again. Even just to walk around thepaddock.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think that makes me ridiculous?”
Jane opened her mouth to respond, but Elizabeth continued, the words tumbling out. “I have not let myself want this in years, Jane. Not truly. It hurt too much to hope for what could never be. And now…” Her voice broke. “Now Mr. Darcy offers it, and what if I love it even more than I did at five years old, and then it ends? Unless I marry a man who keeps horses, this might be my only opportunity to ride, Jane. My only one. And then it will be gone, and I will spend the rest of my life knowing exactly what I am missing.” She sank into the chair; her hands twisted in her lap. “At least when I had nothing, I could lose nothing.”
“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said. “I think Mr. Darcy would not have made this offer unless he meant to follow through. And there is a possibility that Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst has a garment you might borrow.”
“I hope you are correct.” Elizabeth stood and resumed her pacing. “I shall simply have to manage.”
Jane captured Elizabeth’s hand as she passed the bed. “You will manage beautifully.”
Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand, drawing strength from Jane’s steady confidence. “I hope you are right.”
4
Later that afternoon, gardeners moved methodically through Netherfield’s garden beds, snipping the tops from the spent blooms. Elizabeth’s footsteps on the gravel path provided the only sound save for the occasional cry of geese flying overhead in their neat V-formation.
Deep into autumn, the landscape held a stark beauty—most leaves had abandoned the trees, leaving skeletal branches reaching toward the sky. Like the day Jacob drove Jane in the pony cart to Netherfield Park, clouds had been threatening. Yet, day after day, the sun broke through.
She gazed down the long drive, hoping to glimpse Atlas’s arrival at Netherfield. The crunch of boots on gravel behind her made Elizabeth turn.
Mr. Darcy approached at an easy stride, wearing an amicable expression that she was beginning to associate with their being away from the drawing room. Elizabethcould not resist a smile. “You are on two legs, sir. No horse?”
“Guilty as charged. I have been known to ride from the house to the stables rather than lead a horse the distance. My cousin finds it endlessly amusing, though I have seen him do the same.”
“A matter of mere yards?”
“Perhaps fifty at most.” His cheeks colored with self-deprecation. “In my defense, if one has a horse already saddled…”
Elizabeth grinned. “That is the reasoning of a true horseman, sir.”
“Precisely,” he said, his eyes warming at her understanding. “I see you grasp the principle entirely.”
They fell into step together, walking the gravel path without conscious decision. The ease between them felt natural, inevitable—so different from the stilted conversations from before.
“Will you tell me about Atlas?” Elizabeth asked. “I confess I have been thinking of little else since this morning.”
Mr. Darcy’s mien softened further. “He is a Cleveland Bay—tall, regal, with a rich coat and dark mane, tail, and legs. His ears are tipped with black. He stands over sixteen hands, with a proud bearing. In his youth, he was the very image of a versatile, powerful horse.”
