Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo)

by Sharon Lathan

  As a man noted by everyone, including himself, to be far too serious and somber, the sensations were surprisingly wonderful. Not for the first time, he recognized how akin his love for Elizabeth was to the euphoria experienced while racing his horse. Of course, with Elizabeth the euphoria was constant and penetrated into the marrow of his bones.

  Tossing the last edge of toast onto the grass, Darcy’s smile widened as three blue jays dove to the ground and commenced a heated battle over the delicacy. Indeed, even common acts of nature were now a source of amusement and joy. Shaking his head at the folly but still smiling, he headed toward the stable compound.

  It was quiet inside the brick structure, or relatively so. The horses nickered and neighed softly, some munching hay and oats or shuffling lazily inside their stalls. Intermittent dull clanks drifted from the smithy to mix with the sporadic sharp ring of metal tools. Hushed conversation and laughter came from a trio of grooms sitting on a bench drinking coffee, none of whom noticed Darcy enter. Another groom glanced up from the bridle he was repairing, inclined his head respectfully, and then went back to his task without saying a word.

  Within days of his first stay at Netherfield the year prior, the stable workmen learned Mr. Darcy was supremely particular when it came to the care and handling of his horse. Typically, he preferred to groom and saddle Parsifal himself, today no exception, so being ignored suited him just fine.

  Stealthily, he walked directly to a large enclosure in the back where his faithful mount waited. It had unconsciously become a sort of game, Darcy sneaking as silently as possible, trying in vain to surprise. Parsifal, as always, poked his head over the wooden gate long before his master was visible, his welcoming nicker a combination of Happy to see you! and It’s about time you came!

  “Good morning, Parsifal,” Darcy murmured, one hand stroking the horse’s neck while the other offered a sugar cube confiscated from the breakfast room. “Plenty rested?”

  Parsifal flicked his ears and released a snort. Darcy laughed, correctly interpreting the sarcastic Of course I am. Parsifal butted his nose against Darcy’s shirt-no-waistcoat-covered chest, and then snagged the lapel of his plain jacket between his teeth, tugging once.

  “Yes,” Darcy answered, “we are going to race today. No need to avoid mud puddles to keep me clean. Happy now?”

  Lifting his head in an exact mimic of a nod and swishing his tail vigorously, Parsifal expressed his happiness at the idea. The firm nudge into the locked gate was quite clear too, Darcy soothing him with another sugar cube and rub between the ears. “Be patient. Give me a minute to gather your gear.”

  Despite their mutual enthusiasm to run, Darcy took his time saddling Parsifal, the horse not minding the delay too much. The occasional jab with his nose or pawing leg revealed his impatience, yet the familiar routine was an enjoyable interlude for man and beast. For Darcy, raised with horses since birth, it was an ingrained necessity to run his hands over his mount’s body, testing and examining for anything amiss, while simultaneously strengthening the bond established when Parsifal was a foal.

  The last buckle was being cinched when Darcy heard voices. Paying minimal heed, his ears perked at the pitched tone of a female, and then he swore when identifying Caroline Bingley.

  “Mr. Darcy! I am in luck. I hoped you had not departed as yet. Gorgeous morning for a ride, is it not?”

  “It is indeed, Miss Bingley. If I may suggest, the trails through the east wood are wide, easy to traverse, and provide adequate shade.” He tugged on Parsifal’s reins, the horse all too happy to comply, but Caroline stepped directly into their path.

  “Those paths are lovely; however, I am in the mood for a faster pace.”

  “The avenue skirting the wood is even, as is the track encircling the pond. Perfect for a moderate speed, yet safe.”

  “I prefer a bit of danger…when riding. Dare I challenge you to a race, Mr. Darcy?”

  Parsifal tossed his head, apparently in agreement with his rider on the ridiculousness of that notion. Unavoidably smirking, Darcy said, “It would be a pointless endeavor to do so. Apollonia is a fine mare, but no match for Parsifal.”

  “Perhaps,” Caroline countered, moving closer, “although until the end, nothing is certain. Besides, it is the race itself that thrills and heats the blood. Even if I lose the sprint, I will catch you in the end, Mr. Darcy.”

  Belatedly, Darcy realized that she was misinterpreting his discourse as an invitation to ride with him, and peppering her response with personal messages. Steeling his facial muscles, he moved to the right, placing Parsifal nearer to Caroline.

  “Therein lies the problem, Miss Bingley. I have no desire to engage in a race with you today, or any other day for that matter. If you tried, I can assure we would not be caught.” Pausing, he leaned forward, training his stony eyes on hers. “Take my suggestion. Stay to the safe pathways, where you will not run the risk of being hurt.”

  As if on command, Parsifal emitted a harsh blow out his nose and stomped his front hoof inches from Caroline’s feet. She yelped and jumped aside, Parsifal accepting her submission and stepping past her. Darcy said nothing else nor did he look back. The second they were outside the stable, he swung into the saddle, one brush of a booted-heel the only signal Parsifal needed. Within minutes, they had cleared the compound and swiftly left the orderly areas of Netherfield Park behind them.

  They ran hard for a good mile, during which Darcy steamed at the persistent advances from Caroline Bingley. He was not so foolish as to expect her to admit defeat so easily. Worst of all, her ploy that morning hinted at a determination greater than suspected, even after the scandalizing fashion exhibition the night before. In all his years of knowing her, never had she risen so early in the morning. Not to ride a horse—an activity she was not overly keen on in the first place—or for anything else.

  And how had she known he was awake and heading to the stables? He had not mentioned his agenda the night before, except to Elizabeth, but Caroline had sat at the far end of the dinner table. Either she was talented at lip reading or a servant was spying. He rather doubted the first, and the latter, while not shocking, was disconcerting. Taken altogether, it increased his apprehension that a confrontation was inevitable.

  Eventually the exhilaration of cool air whipping his face, the potency of flexing muscles charging over the earth, and profound unity with his mount as they moved together overcame his unrest. Caroline was forgotten. Anything troubling was forgotten. There was only the connection with Parsifal, their power and control synchronized as the terrain rushed by, hooves pounding a rhythmic beat in time with Darcy’s heart.

  They stopped to rest in a hidden dell, where a trickling stream formed a tiny pond. Discovered accidentally while here the previous autumn, it was a tranquil place to catch their breaths, quench their thirsts, and snack from the wild berry vines and two apple trees growing near the water. Darcy was unsure who owned this land. There were no markings, no dwelling places visible, and no signs warning visitors away, so he did not worry over it. Besides, just beyond this valley parcel was the extensive meadow that was by far his favorite place in Hertfordshire to run with Parsifal.

  Also discovered last year, the grassy field was flat and uninhabited, so great speeds could be attained. There were also a number of conveniently located rocks, cattle stiles, bushes, and the like that were excellent for jumping. Unlike the land near the secret dell, he knew who owned the meadow, or at least a portion of it. The property lines were imprecise, so he was not clear on exactly when the northern pastureland crossed into Netherfield Park acreage, but the locale was perfect for finishing the circuit of their vigorous race.

  He and Parsifal had ridden over the meadow a dozen times, never once speculating where the green veldt was in relation to Longbourn until encountering Elizabeth one morning shortly after her stay with Jane at Netherfield.

  To say he had been stunned to happen upon her was a massive understatement! Never had it remotely entered his m
ind, even knowing how fond she was of walking, that he would meet the woman already burrowed into his heart and invading his dreams, in ostensibly the middle of nowhere. One of the prime reasons he had embarked on that particular furious race was to seek oblivion from the torment of wanting her, when logic told him she was utterly wrong. Yet there she had been, standing on the rungs of a fence near a remote copse of willow trees, watching him. Even after he had skidded to a halt, he had expected it to be a conjured vision sure to disintegrate any second.

  Then she had spoken—“Demons chasing you, Mr. Darcy, or do you have a death wish?”—startling him further, but also restoring a modicum of clarity—only the smallest sliver of clarity, because to this day he could not recall their brief conversation with accuracy. Parsifal’s name was mentioned, Elizabeth adding to his amazement, and respect, by knowing the poem by von Eschenbach, where he had acquired his stallion’s name. Then something ridiculous about reading German and accomplished women, and a vague impression of his sister’s name in there somewhere. It truly was a jumble, since all he vividly remembered was wanting, more than life itself, to wrap her in his arms and kiss her until neither could breathe. Hell, if being honest, he envisioned far more than simply kissing her! His dream from the night before had meshed with the living, gloriously beautiful flesh in front of him, and he could not say how he had maintained any control over his body. A certain part of his body had painfully resisted his harshest discipline, a fact best not shared with his betrothed until long after they married. If at all. How his innocent love would respond to his admission of such beastly, ungentlemanly thoughts he did not want to know.

  How many times after that embarrassing encounter did he ride by the willow copse and look for Elizabeth Bennet?

  Every. Single. Time.

  Glancing at the rise, where the trees stood near the rickety, wooden fence bordering Longbourn estate, became a reflexive action he did not consciously register. Until he saw no one there, and then the sensation of sadness, while swift, was intense.

  Today was no exception.

  He and Parsifal dashed at their typical breakneck speed, Darcy enveloped by the incredible fluidic movement of his mount. The world was a blur yet queerly sharp at the same time. Together, as if seeing from the same eyes, they distinguished dips in the land, every rock or moldering log or bush. The deer grazing off to the right were noted, as were the startled rabbits and squirrels, and the hawk circling something delicious on the ground. Everything checked and then dismissed unless recognizable as a hazard to avoid or an object to jump.

  Approaching the willow copse, Darcy’s attention was on the small herd of cattle up ahead, trying to determine which direction they were going to veer as he and Parsifal rode closer, when his eyes automatically swept to the left.

  For a split second, he wondered if love truly had bewitched him to the degree where hallucinations of Elizabeth were invading his waking minutes! After all, the fuzzy figure could be anything or anyone when seen in a flash peripherally from a distance.

  No, it is a person waving at me!

  Heart pounding harder than Parsifal’s hooves striking the turf, Darcy smoothly steered them into a wide, arcing turn. By the time they reached the fence where Elizabeth stood, her smile brilliant and eyes shining, Darcy had gotten over his astoundment and was silently thanking God and the saints in heaven for this wondrous coincidence.

  He slowed Parsifal to a trot well before reaching the fence line. He needed the time to steady his breathing and master his overloaded faculties.

  She was as ravishing as she had been during their encounter last year. More so, actually, because rather than appearing annoyed or uncomfortable, as she had then, today she was bursting with delight. Darcy did not think it possible for his heart to beat faster without failing utterly. Pleasure was written on her flushed face. She leaned forward from her precarious perch on the second rung from the top, her chest rising rapidly with each inhale. The combination revealed, even to his untrained and dubious eyes, the full scope of her love for him.

  The reality hit him square in the chest. Yes, she had told him of her love. Yes, she had accepted his proposal. Yes, she had expressed her affection in numerous small gestures. This Elizabeth Bennet, however, was displaying her ardency blatantly and vehemently.

  God! How is it possible to love someone so fiercely?

  He ached from physical desire beyond what had assaulted him before. Elizabeth was staring at him boldly, her eyes scanning his body in a frank manner that was as arousing as it was extraordinary. As much as he thrilled at her appraisal, under the circumstances, it was vital to shove those fixations firmly aside. Focusing only on the awareness of her love was heady enough—accepting that she could yearn for him sexually was dangerous.

  Their trot became a sedate walk, Darcy leading Parsifal directly toward Elizabeth. Without preamble, he leaned in, cradled her face with his right hand, and kissed her—just a tender press of closed lips, yet enough to ignite a fire inside his veins.

  “Miss Elizabeth, what a delightful surprise. Come here often, do you?”

  Caressing her cheek with gloved fingertips, Darcy bestowed a second kiss before she could answer. The feel of her hand pressing his tighter against her cheek and the slight parting of her lips nearly sent him over the edge. Literally. Maybe Parsifal sensed his master about to topple out of the saddle, or maybe he was bored of standing still. Whatever the instigation, his sudden shift and loud snort broke the spell.

  Elizabeth jerked backward, and Darcy grabbed her arm before she tumbled off the fence. “Hold up there!” he shouted, the exclamation for Elizabeth and Parsifal. Yanking on the reins, Darcy squeezed his legs around the horse and leaned back while steadying Elizabeth at the same time, causing an odd dance to ensue. Both laughed at the absurdity, which only served to increase the shakiness.

  Once assured of her stability, Darcy let go and walked his restless horse in a series of prancing circles. He was still laughing, but stopped when he saw her face.

  “My apologies, Elizabeth. Did Parsifal frighten you?”

  “A little, yes. All my attention was focused on you”—she flushed and glanced down for a second—“and I almost forgot you were on a horse. His commentary on the situation took me by surprise.”

  “He is quite opinionated, I fear. Especially when his purpose has been interrupted.” Darcy pointed to the wandering cattle when Elizabeth cocked her head in question. “I do believe he was anticipating scattering the herd when I changed our course. In that case, his pique is directed at me, not you.”

  “Well, I do apologize to Parsifal for spoiling his fun, although I imagine yonder cows would thank me. I pray my interruption did not spoil your fun, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Indeed not, Miss Elizabeth,” he teased. “While stampeding cattle is tremendously satisfying, the pleasure of meeting you transcends. I cannot fathom a better way to end my ride than with you.”

  “What a pity, then, that you are on that side of the fence. We are doomed to be parted unless I climb over the fence. I have done it before—”

  “Yes, I imagine you have,” Darcy interjected, laughing.

  “If you imagine it, then I suspect you know what I mean when I say it is not the most ladylike of ventures.”

  “Probably not, by some standards. I tend to think I would enjoy the spectacle, not the least because of the possibility of seeing a bit of your legs.” He grinned at the rosiness that infused her face, and loved it even more when she tossed her head and made as if to climb higher, her expression arch. Gods but she is a minx! “Save your dignity, Elizabeth. My solution to the dilemma is expeditious and does not involve either of us resorting to improper behavior.”

  Wheeling Parsifal about, Darcy left her with mouth agape and eyes wide. Galloping full tilt a good clip, he whirled around, and with a shout and added jab with his heels, launched into a barreling rush straight at the fence. A glimpse at Elizabeth’s pale face, as he and Parsifal leapt cleanly over the top rung, did s
end a sharp stab of regret into his heart. By the time they slowed and came about, exhilaration from their acrobatic feat and the sheer delight of seeing her standing feet away under the trees usurped any regret.

  Until, that is, he dismounted.

  “How could you do that without warning me? My heart stopped, I swear it did! You could have hit the rail or fallen off when he landed! Or what if he decided the fence was too tall and stopped? Off you would go, flying through the air and—You think this is funny?”

  “Yes—that is, no, of course not, but, well, you are overreacting, Elizabeth. None of those things were likely to happen.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He dropped Parsifal’s reins, the stallion immediately wandering off to graze without a backward glance, and crossed to where Elizabeth stood. She was pale and trembling, but she had also fisted her hands at her hips and glared at him furiously. Her anxiety for his safety was rather touching, a warm glow spreading through his chest, and he tried not to grin. Obviously he was not showing an adequate amount of contrition because her scowl deepened.

  Grasping her fists and pulling them up to his lips, he answered, “I am sure because Parsifal and I have jumped all sorts of obstacles, including fences, and many were taller than this one. In fact, we have jumped this fence before, a bit further south. My mistake for not giving due warning or elucidating my expertise as a horseman. Your concern warms my heart, but there is no need to fret over my safety on a horse, trust me.”