“Yes, the seamstress did an excellent job of seeing that I was turned out suitably.” Elizabeth smoothed down the jacket and ran her hands over the soft, warm skirt.
“I was not speaking of the seamstress, but you are quite right; she must be commended for her small part in making you look quite the sophisticated country lady.” His eyes danced with admiration. Perhaps realising that he had been staring, Mr Darcy averted his gaze, clearing his throat rather self-consciously. “Shall we?”
Deliberately, Elizabeth took several deep breaths as they crossed the foyer and went out into the chilly morning air. She was glad of the thick woollen fabric that would protect her from the biting cold. As November came to a close, the mornings would only grow more frigid. Nor was she afraid of the chill, Elizabeth thought determinedly. It would be exhilarating to feel its nip against her cheeks.
When they reached the stables, the groom proudly announced that he had saddled the most docile horse in Mr Darcy’s possession. “She is a twelve-year-old mare, and most patient and gentle,” the older man said. “She will take care of you, Mrs Darcy.”
“I thank you, Hobbs,” Elizabeth said. She took a chance and ran her hand gently down the palomino’s golden neck. Her flowing white mane stood out in beautiful contrast, making her think of milk and honey. “What is her name?”
“Dutchess,” the groom answered. “You won’t find a better-tempered horse in all of England, I assure you, ma’am.”
Mr Darcy came up beside her and patted Duchess’s mane. His hand trailed down and rested beside hers, gently brushing her fingers. A jolt of electric shock rushed through her at the slight touch. Out of a mixture of habit and a sudden, strange shyness, she took her hand away.
“Well, how do I mount? She is very tall, is she not?” Elizabeth asked. Despite her best efforts, her voice shook, and she silently chided herself for being so nervous.
“Bring the stool,” Mr Darcy instructed.
One of the stable boys did as he instructed, while Hobbes told her how to mount. She stepped up on the stool, and Mr Darcy steadied her as she climbed atop the beast’s back. Feeling dangerously unstable in the unfamiliar position, Elizabeth struggled to sit upright. Her hands shook, and her breath came in gasps.
“You mustn’t show fear, Mrs Darcy. It makes them nervous,” the groom instructed her.
Elizabeth swallowed. How was she to control her fear when her heart seemed as though it might beat out of her chest? “Are you well?” Mr Darcy asked.
She licked her lips. Why was she so thirsty of a sudden? “I —” she began.
In the next moment, the world went completely black. She felt herself falling to the side, helpless to resist.
“Elizabeth!” she heard Mr Darcy calling her name. She mentally prepared herself to meet the ground, resigned to the pain that would follow.
To her surprise, she felt strong arms catch her just in time.
“Elizabeth?” Mr Darcy said gently. His voice, strained from fear and from the effort of holding her, was so very close.
She could not have responded, try as she might. Her body had completely betrayed her. For long moments, Elizabeth was lost to reality. Slowly, she returned, frowning as she tried to open her eyes. She heard her husband’s voice, seeming very far off. “Put the horses away, Hobbs. We shall try another day.”
“Shall we help carry your wife to the house, sir? We could construct a stretcher to carry her,” one of the older stable boys suggested.
“That will not be necessary,” Mr Darcy said.
Elizabeth knew she ought to speak, to tell him he need not worry and that she could return to the house under her own power, but speech seemed impossible. Though consciousness had returned, it was as though she had not yet regained power over her limbs.
Perhaps, on second thought, it was as well she did not yet attempt to stand.
Mr Darcy did not seem unduly inconvenienced by the effort of carrying her. He had arranged her so that her head was resting against his chest, his strong arms encircling her back andknees. His stride was easy and even, as though her weight did not trouble him at all.
“It’s all right, Elizabeth,” he murmured, almost too softly to hear. “I have you. You are all right now.”
Mrs Reynolds was deeply distressed when they returned to the house so soon and inquired whether she ought to call a physician. “No, thank you. I am sure Mrs Darcy will come around soon. I will take her to her room now. Please send up some smelling salts and a pot of tea. And perhaps some refreshments as well. I should not be surprised if fainting makes one hungry.”
Without waiting for an answer, Mr Darcy carried her up the stairs and down the hallway to her suite of rooms. He set her gently on the bed and started unlacing her boots.
She really must tell him that she was awake and well. Making a desperate effort, Elizabeth found her voice, though the words seemed strangely distant. “Oh, dear,” she said. “That was very foolish of me, to be sure.”
He came to the head of the bed. “Hardly,” Mr Darcy said gently. “I do not think foolishness had anything to do with it. Are you well, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, perfectly,” she said hurriedly. “Except for being rather embarrassed, that is. How cowardly you must think me!”
Mr Darcy looked surprised. With the same easy strength and competence he had shown in carrying her, he helped her sit up and propped several pillows behind her back. Kneeling at her bedside, he reached for her hand. To Elizabeth’s mingled astonishment and pleasure, he pressed it to his heart. “No,certainly not. But I believe I owe you an apology. I did not realise how deep your fear went.”
