“Probably get tanned for it.”
“Not if you tell the stablemaster that Iinsistedon walking alone. Come, John, and repeat the word to me.”
“Sheinsisted, sir,” he said, his face a grimace of consternation and concentration.
“Just so. Now, do not forget about my maid and get along with you. Iinsist.”
Resisting the urge to assess just how tender my bottom was by fondling my benumbed cheeks, I set out walking. I tottered along as the numbness gave way to a variety of aches, kinks, and—oh lord! There were two spots that were now stinging.
“I verily hate Mr Johnson,” I muttered to myself as I went.
His challenge, I realised, had been stiff. The matter of daring a novice rider into taking an exceptionally long ride was in itself in the nature of a prank. The more overt challenge was in how I managed the event after the fact. I thought hard about what to do. I would not pit my husband directly against his steward, of that I was certain. For all I knew, they were accomplices. Nor did I think confronting Mr Johnson head on and alone would accomplish anything but an escalation in our developing war. I had been wrong to let him goad me into riding. I fervently hoped I would never again be so stupid in my dealings with him.
For all that, I really could not let him get away unscathed.
Nothing came to me as to what to do, however, and so I turned my thoughts to my private conversation with Mrs Travers. I thought carefully about what steps I might take in her case, and I devised a plan. Eventually, I saw Wilson marching towards me in a great huff.
“Mrs Darcy! I cannot believe they have had you out riding all this time. I began to be exceedingly concerned over three hours ago.”
“I am afraid I will have to take dinner standing, Wilson.”
“You really should speak to Mr Darcy. What could that man have been thinking to take you halfway to Manchester and you not used to a horse?”
“I believe he was testing my mettle. Do not distress yourself. I have learnt a great deal, I assure you.”
“I hope you have, ma’am, but at what cost?”
“I need to write two letters as soon as may be. I suppose I will stand at the bureau to accomplish that, then I would like a hot bath.”
“Of course. I had them set the water on the hob as I stepped out.”
“And I suppose I will need a salve.”
“We shall ask Mrs Reynolds what to do. Here, lean on my arm.”
15
FITZWILLIAM DARCY
I returned to Pemberley from Fairhaven in Crossly after a satisfying day in which I felt like Darcy of Pemberley again, deep in the everyday work of my estate, speaking of horses and of the commodities market, and such. There awaited Johnson, however, with a look of gravity on his face. I recalled he had taken Mrs Darcy out to meet tenants, and so I barked out, “What now?”
My mood of useful satisfaction, erased in an instant, gave way to extreme irritation as he spoke. I listened to my steward with impatience and called for Mrs Darcy.
16
ELIZABETH DARCY
Mrs Reynolds came tiptoeing into my room in the late afternoon. She seemed visibly shaken upon hearing Wilson’s whispered description of what had been done to Mrs Darcy.
“But why did you not insist Mr Johnson turn back after the first hour, ma’am?” she asked, struggling to both pardon her colleague and defend me—her mistress—at the same time.
“I should have, Mrs Reynolds. Only I wanted to make a good impression on everyone, and I suppose I did not wish to grovel for mercy to Mr Darcy’s steward. I can only blame my stupid pride,” I said with a rueful chuckle.
Mrs Reynolds accepted this. She, too, seemed to have a good deal of pride and perhaps understood. She demonstrated her commiseration by taking my urgent letter for the post to Mr Harrison, returning with a salve and willow bark tea, and checked on me twice thereafter.
Some hours later, I was lying on my stomach staring at the pattern of the wallpaper in the dancing light of the fadingsun. I had slept to be sure, but fitfully. Mostly I had reflected on a host of pains I suffered other than those caused by my saddle. The sharp, breath-stealing pain of separation from my home and family came full force, as did the dull throb of anxiety over my shameful marriage to a man who seemed increasingly to hate the sight of me. Added to this mix was the frisson of fear. I was so young, so inexperienced! I felt utterly cast-out, a friendless apostate, and beyond that, I felt I now had, if not enemies, antagonists, of which the chief among them was certainly my husband’s steward.
I turned my head as Mrs Reynolds approached my bed and spoke in a low murmur.
