“He knows,” Mr. Darcy said from behind her. “Already, he knows you care for him.”
Elizabeth could not speak. Could not turn around. She simply stood there, Atlas’s heavy head warm against her shoulder, his breath steady on her neck, appreciating everything she had tried so hard to contain. And in that moment, surrounded by the smell of wet horse and fresh hay, with rain drumming on the stable roof and Mr. Darcy’s presence across from her, the horse-loving child in Elizabeth dreamt again.
She had fallen in love with a horse at five years old. But at twenty, with Atlas’s presence against her and Mr. Darcy standing near, Elizabeth felt something shift inside her. The depth of it surprised her—how much she wanted not just the horse, but the man who had brought him. The realization made her pause from an overwhelming awareness that her heart wanted him, whether she was ready or not.
8
Once Atlas was settled, Mr. Darcy stuffed their gloves into his coat pocket. He clasped her hand in his as they dashed to the house. Elizabeth’s gown clung to her legs, heavy with rain and mud, and she was acutely aware of Mr. Darcy beside her in equal disarray, the touch of her palm against his sending shock waves up her arm. They did not speak—what was there to say after that moment in the stable?—but the peace and joy she felt accompanied them.
Longbourn’s butler threw open the door, allowing them access and taking their dripping outerwear. Elizabeth glanced up at Mr. Darcy. His smile grew as he pulled their dry gloves from his coat pockets and set them on a shelf above where their coats and hats hung.
The drawing room was chaotic. Her mother held court from her favorite chair, her voice carrying above all others as she regaled Colonel Fitzwilliam with an account of Jane’s illness and Mr. Bingley’s attentiveness. Her father sat in the corner, ignoring them all. Mary wasat the pianoforte, her fingers moving over the keys with more determination than skill. Kitty and Lydia flanked Miss Darcy on the sofa, talking over each other in their enthusiasm to learn everything about London.
“And do you attend many balls, Miss Darcy? Oh, you must! With your brother’s fortune and connections— Mama, does not Miss Darcy have the most elegant pelisse? I should die for such a pelisse! And I am certain you know all the handsomest officers. Why, now that the militia are here, Meryton is teeming with attractive men in their scarlet tunics.”
Poor Miss Darcy looked rather like a rabbit cornered by hounds, her expression hovering between polite interest and alarm.
Jane sat in the corner chair, her posture perfect despite obvious lethargy, doing her best to moderate the mayhem. She noticed Elizabeth in the doorway, and her shoulders eased.
“Lizzy, there you are. And Mr. Darcy.” Jane rose, swaying slightly. “Forgive me, but I find I must retire. The journey has fatigued me more than I anticipated.”
Elizabeth crossed to her side. “Come, I shall help you upstairs.”
“No, thank you, Lizzy. Mama,” Jane said, her voice carrying just enough to cut through their mother’s monologue, “Would you be so kind as to assist me? I should like your company.”
Their mother’s expression shifted from annoyance at the interruption to pleasure at being needed. “Of course, my dear! Though I cannot think why you wish to leave such agreeable company. Colonel Fitzwilliam was just telling me about—well, never mind.”
Jane was not yet finished. “Come, Kitty, Lydia, Mary—you will attend me as well.”
“But Mama…” Lydia began.
“Now,” Jane said, in a tone that brooked no argument, surprising them into action.
The exodus was swift and complete. Within moments, the drawing room held only Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Darcy, and Mr. Bennet, who had been observing the proceedings from behind his newspaper with evident amusement.
He lowered the paper now, studying Elizabeth’s muddy hem and Mr. Darcy’s scuffed boots as if they were clues to a mystery. “Well. This is an interesting morning. Lizzy, what is this about? Jane mentioned something about a horse?”
Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy, uncertain how much to reveal. “Mr. Darcy has been generous enough to allow me the use of his horse, Atlas, for riding lessons. Atlas is currently in our stables, as he accompanied us from Netherfield.”
“I see. And you are home because…?”
“We had imposed on Miss Bingley long enough,” Elizabeth said carefully. “Given that Longbourn is so close, there seemed little reason to remain.”
Her father’s eyebrows rose. He was no fool, and Elizabeth knew he heard what she had not said. However, he merely folded his newspaper and set it aside.
“Mr. Darcy,” he said, “Might I have a word with you? My study, if you would be so kind.”
Darcy inclined his head. “Of course.”
As the two men departed, Colonel Fitzwilliam moved to stand beside Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth teased, “Well done, Miss Darcy. You survived the Bennet sisters with admirable composure.”
“They were very, ah, enthusiastic,” Miss Darcy said weakly.
Elizabeth suppressed a smile. “I apologize for my family’s exuberance. We are not often visited by such distinguished company.”
“Please do not apologize,” Miss Darcy said earnestly. “They were kind, simply rather overwhelming in their kindness.”
