Atlas’s ears swiveled toward his voice. The horse’s steps quickened slightly, as though he too could sense they were nearing safety.
The moment Elizabeth saw Atlas, her entire body sagged with relief. Then she ran.
“Elizabeth, wait!” Miss Bennet called, but Elizabeth was already halfway down the lane, her skirts flying, heedless of propriety or decorum or anything except the horse limping toward her.
She reached them, breathless. “Oh, Atlas,” she said, her voice breaking. “Oh, you brave, wonderful horse.” She reached up to touch his face with trembling fingers, and Atlas lowered his head to her, huffing warm breath against her palm. Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s face, but she smiled.
“You found him,” she said, looking at Darcy with such gratitude that tenderness welled up inside him. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing him home.”
“He found himself,” Darcy said. “I merely brought him to you.”
They walked the final distance together—Darcy on one side of Atlas, Elizabeth on the other, her hand resting gently on the horse’s neck. The gathered crowd parted to let them pass, and Darcy led Atlas into the stable, into his box, where fresh hay and water waited.
Jacob was there immediately. Sam brought a lampand hung it on the hook so they could see properly. Darcy carefully removed the blood-soaked cravats and examined the area in better light.
“It is a clean cut,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “Not too deep. If we keep it clean, prevent infection…”
“We will,” Elizabeth said. She had rolled up her sleeves and accepted a cloth from Jacob, dipping it in the water. “Tell me what to do.”
They worked in silence for a while, cleaning the wound, checking Atlas’s other injuries. The welts from the whip were angry and raised, but none had broken the skin. They would heal with time and care.
“Sam,” Darcy said, “ride to Netherfield and fetch my medical supplies from my valet. There is a salve in my trunk. Bring the entire kit.”
“Aye, sir.” Sam rushed to Gracie.
“He needs water,” Darcy stated. “And food, if he will take it.”
Jacob brought fresh water, and Atlas drank long and deep. They offered him grain, but he only lipped at it half-heartedly before turning away.
“That is not uncommon,” Darcy assured Elizabeth, seeing her concern. “He is exhausted and in pain. His appetite will return once he has rested.”
Mr. Bennet appeared in the stable doorway. “How is he?”
“He will live if we can prevent infection,” Darcy said. “But he needs care. Constant attention for the next few days at least.”
“Then he shall have it.” Mr. Bennet’s gaze moved to his daughter, who stood with her hand resting on Atlas’s neck, her eyes never leaving the horse. “Lizzy will notleave his side, I suspect. And I imagine you will not either, Mr. Darcy.”
“No,” Darcy said. “I will not.”
“Then I shall ask Hill to prepare the guest rooms for you and your sister. You cannot ride back and forth to Netherfield in the middle of the night if Atlas takes a turn.” Mr. Bennet’s expression was serious. “My youngest daughter may have been foolish, but you have been honorable in this matter. The least I can do is offer you hospitality while you tend your horse.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Bennet nodded and withdrew, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth with Atlas and the soft glow of lamplight.
Richard extended their thanks to the others for their help, while Miss Bennet invited them all inside Longbourn for refreshment.
Elizabeth turned to look at him, and in the lamplight, he saw tear tracks on her cheeks and the depth of emotion in her eyes.
“You saved him,” she said.
“He saved himself, Elizabeth. You should have seen him—he faced down Wickham with more courage than most men could muster. He is old, he is hurt, but he is unbroken. That is what matters.”
Elizabeth’s eyes searched his face, and Darcy knew she was seeing past his words to the truth beneath. He loved this horse. He loved watching Elizabeth with this horse. He loved?—
He cleared his throat. “We should recheck him,” he said, stepping away before he could say something he could not take back. “Make certain the bleeding has fully stopped.”
They fell into a routine over the next few hours—tending the wound, offering water, monitoring Atlas’s breathing, and the warmth of his skin. Sam returned with the medical supplies, and Darcy applied the salve carefully to both the chest wound and the worst of the whip marks.
