Page 86 of Me and Mr. Darcy

‘Good,’ replies Mr Darcy with satisfaction, and it strikes me that he never really doubted that his suggestion would be met with approval. In fact, I’ve never seen Mr Darcy be anything but confident, I realise, watching him take Thunder by the reins and assuredly lead both horses out of the stable.

But that’s what makes him so darn attractive, I tell myself firmly. A sensitive, modern-day man who’s into making joint decisions over the new kitchen blinds and asking your opinion over whose turn it is to load the dishwasher might make the better boyfriend. But it’s hardly the stuff of sexual fantasies, now, is it?

Anticipation buzzes and I follow him out of the stables. ‘How did you manage to arrange all this?’ I ask, wrapping myself tightly up in his coat.

‘A gentleman never gives away his secrets.’ He smiles enigmatically.

And to think I’ve been making do with going Dutch at pizza restaurants, watching bad foreign art movies and fighting off drunken advances on first dates my whole life.

‘I thought we could ride up to Sham Castle.’

My stomach flips. Oh, wow, I read about Sham Castle this morning in one of the guidebooks.

‘Awesome,’ I enthuse, trying to keep my excitement under wraps and completely failing. Well, do you blame me? A horseback ride. With Mr Darcy. To a castle. Please.

Buzzing, I watch Mr Darcy loosely tying Thunder to a gatepost. Then, still holding Lightning’s reins, he turns to me. ‘I presume you’ve ridden before.’

‘Oh, yeah, loads,’ I enthuse.

‘Splendid. In that case, what are we waiting for?’

Chapter Twenty-five

OK, perhaps loads is a slight fib.

I used to have lessons when I was younger, but I gave them up when my affections suddenly switched from Prancer the pony to Bruce in seventh grade. Which means I was . . . Wow, was I only fourteen?

Doubt prickles, but I quickly dismiss it. That isn’t that long ago. OK, so it’s fifteen years, and I know that’s technically more than half my life, but time speeds up when you get older so you can’t count it like that. And anyway, I’m sure it’s just like riding a bicycle. It will all come flooding back to me just as soon as I get back in the saddle.

‘Would you like me to help you mount?’ Mr Darcy politely holds out his hand.

‘Thanks, but I’m fine. I can manage,’ I reply, smiling confidently.

Obviously he’s not used to modern-day women doing things for themselves, I think, feeling all capable and independent as I turn to Lightning. Only up close, she seems much bigger than before. And for some strange reason those stirrups seem much shorter than I remember. My eyes travel upwards. Wow, you really need to be flexible to get your leg up there, don’t you? I feel a wobble of doubt, but I quickly brush it away.

I do yoga. No problem.

Throwing back my shoulders, I take a deep breath, hitch up my dress and with one seamless move hoist my stiletto into the stirrup.

‘Urrrgggghhhh.’

Grunting loudly, I pull myself up on to the saddle and swing my other leg across. Except I hadn’t realised just how that joint has affected my balance. With one leg in the air, the other foot suddenly twirls round in the stirrup, twisting my ankle. A sharp pain shoots up my leg and for a moment it’s touch and go as I clutch on to Lightning’s mane, legs akimbo, butt in the air. Fortunately, however, I think I do a really good job of regaining it and before you know it I’ve slid my other foot over and am sitting upright.

There. Easy peasy.

Smiling triumphantly, I glance over at Mr Darcy. He looks stunned. I feel a beat of pride. It’s as I thought. He’s obviously really impressed. In fact, he’s almost speechless.

‘Do . . . um . . . women not ride side-saddle in America?’ he enquires, stumbling over his words.

‘Oh, no, we ride Western-style like the men,’ I say. Smiling modestly, I try getting comfy in my saddle which I suddenly realise isn’t like the ones back home. That’s funny, I can feel a draught.

I glance down and notice my dress has ridden up and is now sort of concertinaed round the tops of my legs in bunches of chocolate satin. At the same time I realise Mr Darcy is staring agog at my naked thighs.

Oops. Tipsily I tug down the hem. ‘Ready,’ I trill happily, looping my fingers round the reins, just like I remembered. See, I knew it. It’s all coming back to me.

‘Um . . . splendid,’ he stammers. Gosh, what’s wrong with him? He seems a bit dazed. I wonder if he had a few drinks too beforehand?

But if he did, it hasn’t affected his balance, I notice, as he unties Thunder and mounts him with the slick ease of a professional rider.