“Impossible,” Georgiana said, leading Miss Elizabeth toward the sofa. “If you love horses, you will learn. The rest is merely practice.”
Richard moved to stand beside Darcy, keeping his voice low. “She is not at all what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Darcy asked, unable to look away from where Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth sat on the sofa, already deep in conversation.
“A young child of about the age of ten or twelve who ate, slept, and dreamed of horses.” Richard paused. “When you wrote that she reminded you of Aunt Anne, Iincorrectly assumed you meant her love of riding, but I see it now. Georgiana has taken to her—I have not seen her this comfortable with anyone since?—”
“I know.”
“And you.” Richard’s tone held knowing amusement. “You are watching her as though she might disappear if you look away.”
“I am doing no such thing.”
“Cousin. I have known you your entire life. You have never brought Georgiana to meet a woman. You have certainly never summoned both of us to the wilds of anywhere so you could teach someone to ride.” Richard hesitated. “What are you about?”
Darcy had been avoiding this question himself. When his sister’s face lit with delight from something Miss Elizabeth said, he could no longer pretend he acted out of charity or the practicality of exercise for an aging horse.
“I have no idea.”
Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “Well. That is at least honest.”
From the sofa, Georgiana called out, “Brother, Miss Elizabeth wishes to know if she might meet Atlas this evening. Would that be acceptable?”
He turned his attention to her. The hope in her expression decided the issue. “Of course. If she does not object to visiting the stables before dinner.”
“Only if it would not be an imposition,” Miss Elizabeth said, rising.
“No imposition at all.” Darcy moved toward the door. “Georgiana, will you accompany us? And Richard, if you would?—”
“Provide propriety and witness your madness? Delighted,” Richard said cheerfully.
As they headed toward the stables, Georgiana walked between Miss Elizabeth and Richard while chattering about Atlas’s temperament. Darcy both anticipated and dreaded the moment Miss Elizabeth would meet the gentle beast that had carried so much of his own history.
This was not about Atlas, or Georgiana, or even Miss Elizabeth’s lack of opportunity. This was about making Elizabeth Bennet smile. Dangerous ground indeed.
6
After changing into half boots and gathering her coat, they hurried to the stables. Miss Darcy kept up a steady stream of conversation—describing Atlas’s favorite treats, warning her that he would nuzzle your pocket if he suspected you carried a treat.
“He is quite shameless about it,” Miss Darcy said. “No dignity whatsoever when food is involved.”
“Unlike Gracie, who maintains her queenly bearing even when begging,” Mr. Darcy added.
“Gracie does not beg,” Colonel Fitzwilliam corrected. “She merely makes it clear that a tribute is expected and overdue.”
Elizabeth smiled despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. The banter between the three of them spoke of deep affection.
The stable yard lay peaceful in the fading light, most of the grooms having finished their evening duties. The scent of hay and horses and leatherenveloped Elizabeth as they entered, familiar and achingly nostalgic.
“Sam!” Mr. Darcy called. “Are you about?”
A man emerged from one of the boxes, wiping his hands on a cloth. He was perhaps fifty, with graying hair and the weathered face of someone who spent his life outdoors. His eyes were kind, his expression respectful but not servile.
“Mr. Darcy, sir. Miss Darcy, Colonel.” He nodded to each of them, then to Miss Elizabeth.
“Sam, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Elizabeth, Sam has cared for Darcy horses since before I was born. He knows more about horseflesh than any other man in England.”
The groom’s weathered face creased in a smile. “I do my best.”
