Gracie tossed her head as they approached the stable, and Darcy patted her neck absently. He needed to make amends. But how did one apologize for an insult one had not registered delivering? How did one explain that what he had said then bore no resemblance to what he saw when he looked at her now?
He dismounted and handed Gracie’s reins to a waiting groom, his thoughts as tangled as they had been when he set out.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a complication he had not anticipated. And he had no idea what to do about it.
3
“Jane, you will never believe the horse I met,” Elizabeth said, settling into the chair beside her sister’s bed with her needlework.
Jane’s color had improved considerably that morning, and though Mr. Jones still insisted she remain abed, her eyes were brighter, her breathing easier. She looked up with interest. “A horse?”
“Mr. Darcy’s mare. Her name is Gracie, and she is magnificent. Chestnut coat, perfect conformation, and the most spirited temperament you can imagine.” Elizabeth’s needle paused mid-stitch as she smiled at the memory.
“Gracie?”
“Lady of Pemberley. But his sister renamed her when she was just five years old, after her favorite doll.”
“How charming.” Then, with a knowing look, Jane said, “And Mr. Darcy told you this himself?”
“He did.” Elizabeth returned to her stitching, keepingher eyes on her work. “We spoke near the paddock yesterday morning. And again today.”
“Two mornings in a row.” Jane’s tone remained neutral, though Elizabeth could hear the question in it. “That does not sound like the aloof gentleman we met at the assembly.”
Elizabeth’s needle stilled. “Perhaps I am softening somewhat in my opinion of him.”
“Perhaps?”
“Jane, you must not read too much into it.” Elizabeth set down her needlework. “On every occasion I have been in his company since his arrival—at the assembly, Lucas Lodge, at dinner, in the drawing room, during tea—he has been arrogant. Distant. The two conversations near the stable could well have been an anomaly. A momentary lapse in his usual reserve.”
“Or it might be that he is more comfortable speaking of horses than making polite conversation in a room full of people.”
Elizabeth considered this. Mr. Darcy had indeed been different at the stables. Almost amiable. “I suppose that is possible.”
“And you enjoyed speaking with him?”
“I enjoyed speaking about Gracie,” Elizabeth corrected. “The horse is extraordinary, Jane. When Mr. Darcy rides her across the fields, they move as though they are one creature. I have never seen anything so beautiful.”
Jane smiled. “I shall never forget how you loved riding behind me on old Jackson. Even at that plodding pace, you thought we were racing the wind.”
“We were racing the wind,” Elizabeth said with mockseriousness. “And we would have won, too, if Mr. Barton had not stopped us.”
Jane brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. “I do not believe you miss Mr. Barton’s presence at Longbourn in the five years since he departed.”
“Never!” Elizabeth grimaced. “As soon as I learned he had taken a new position closer to his family, I assumed I would have the freedom of the stables. Of course, I understood Papa’s reluctance to allow us to ride. But I did not expect him to restrict me from having any contact with the animals. Who knew that Papa would remain contrary?”
“It is a wonder we did not fall off and injure ourselves, is it not?” Jane chuckled. “Bareback, astride, with no reins.”
“And no skill.” Elizabeth was transported to that summer morning, to the memory of Jane’s steady presence before her and the rhythm of hoofbeats beneath them. “I do love everything about horses. Their sounds—their breathing, their whicker when they greet you. The smell of hay and leather. Is that strange?”
“Not at all.” Jane’s expression turned wistful. “I understand. Mr. Bingley keeps several horses, you know.”
“Ah, so that is why you like him so much. It has naught to do with his kind nature or handsome face. It is entirely about his stables.”
“Lizzy!” Jane’s cheeks flushed pink, though she was smiling. “You are terrible.”
“Never!” Elizabeth countered. “And you are evading the question. How many horses does Mr. Bingley have?”
“I do not know the exact number,” Jane said primly. “Though he mentioned he enjoys riding and keeps a hunter for the season.”
