In Mr. Bennet’s study,Darcy stood before the desk while Miss Elizabeth’s father sank into his chair with the air of a man preparing to be entertained. “So. A horse.”
“Yes, sir. Atlas is a twenty-five-year-old Cleveland Bay gelding. He has been with my family since I was two years old. My sister and I learnt to ride on him after outgrowing our ponies. He is now ready for retirement at Pemberley.” Darcy kept his tone measured, factual.
“I see. And you brought this horse from London to teach my daughter to ride.”
“I did.”
“That is generous of you, Mr. Darcy.”
“It is practical, sir. As you are likely aware, the distance between here and Derbyshire is considerable. Having Atlas rest in Hertfordshire is a boon. He requires easy exercise, and Miss Elizabeth…” He continued. “Your daughter explained what happened to your young niece. I can only commend you for your caution while your daughters were young. However, your adult second daughter yearns to ride. If I can remedy that situation, even temporarily, I consider it a privilege rather than a burden.”
Mr. Bennet considered him for a long moment. “Lizzy stopped asking for a riding horse years ago. I thought she had forgotten about it or perhaps decided it did not matter. Now I find she has not forgotten at all. She simply learnt not to hope for what she could not have.”
“I believe so, sir.”
“And now there is a horse in my stables. A horse my daughter already adores, if I am understanding the situation.” Mr. Bennet’s expression was resigned rather than angry. “When you take Atlas away to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy, I shall have no peace. Lizzy will not ask—she never does—but I shall know. And my wife will certainly ask. Loudly and repeatedly.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Do you? Because it seems to me, Mr. Darcy, that you have created a situation from which there is no comfortable retreat. For any of us.” Mr. Bennet leant back into his chair. “However, I suppose the damage is done. You and your family are welcome at Longbourn whenever you wish to call. I am always at my leisure.”
It was not quite a blessing, but neither was it a prohibition. Darcy inclined his head. “Thank you, sir. That is most generous.”
“Is it? I wonder.” Mr. Bennet picked up his newspaper again, signaling the conversation’s end. “I suspect we shall all discover the answer to that question in due time.”
The return journeyto Netherfield began with plans and enthusiasm despite the continued rain. Georgiana sat beside Darcy, already chattering about what Elizabeth should learn first.
“She has excellent instincts,” Georgiana said. “She will be a natural rider, of this I am certain.”
“We shall start with the basics,” Darcy said. “Mounting, dismounting, proper seat. We will guard against being too ambitious until she has confidence.”
“Which can be learnt inside the stable while it is raining,” Richard said.
“And I can ride beside her once she is ready,” Georgiana added. “Our horses will look lovely together—Atlas’s bay and Starlight’s gray.”
Richard, whose hired mount was tied to the back of the carriage, said, “Perhaps we should plan a proper ride once Miss Elizabeth has mastered the basics. Through the countryside, at a nice, gentle pace.”
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Darcy said, though he smiled at their enthusiasm. The image of Elizabeth riding beside them through Hertfordshire’s lanes appealed to him greatly.
They entered Meryton’s high street, the carriage slowing to navigate the foot traffic despite the rain. Shops lined both sides of the road, their windows glowing with lamplight against the gloom. A few hardy souls hurried along the walkways; umbrellas tilted against the weather. And there, standing beneath the eaves of the inn with a group of red-coated officers, was a man who looked entirely too familiar.
Darcy’s entire body became rigid.
He knew that posture, that easy stance, the calculatednonchalance with which the man leant against the wall. Even at this distance, even through rain-streaked glass, Darcy recognized Wickham instantly.
Wickham looked up as the carriage passed. His eyes widened, then narrowed. He straightened from the wall, observing the Darcy crest on the carriage door.
A challenge sparked in the look they exchanged.
Wickham’s expression shifted through surprise to calculation to something that might have been satisfaction. Then he smiled—that charming smile that Darcy had learnt long ago to distrust—and sketched a mocking half-bow.
“Brother?” Georgiana’s voice quavered. She followed his gaze. “Is that—it cannot be.”
“Do not look at him.” Darcy’s voice came out harsher than he intended. He forced himself to gentle his tone. “Georgiana, look at me. Not at him. At me.”
Her face paled; her hands trembled in her lap. “What is he doing here?”
“I do not know.” Darcy pulled her close, letting her hide her face against his shoulder. Over her head, he caught Richard’s eye.
