by Glenna Mason
“Elizabeth, I was just about to—” The strong horse pushed Darcy, sending him flying a foot, then stomped his foot again and swung his hips in irritation.
“Mr.—uh—Fitz, I’m afraid I’m keeping you from your horse.”
Darcy smiled. Elizabeth almost collapsed. Her knees went noticeably weak. He said, “Madison and I were just going to take a couple of spins around the circle. Would you care to try it? I assume you are a rider.”
“I'm glad I wore these fashionable tight jeans to class today,” Elizabeth thought. “I may get a ride out of this visit after all.”
She answered aloud, “I ride every day, rain or shine, but I've never driven a sulky. I'm afraid I'd injure your horse or myself.”
Darcy laughed with delight, his dimples sparkling, his eyes flashing. “You might indeed. My plan is to have you hop in with me. I have a sulky suitable for two. And I have driven a sulky before.”
“Oh, it sounds such fun! May I?”
“Then since you are dressed in jeans and boots,” he invited, looking her over, his eyes lingering on her long slim legs and perfect shape in the designer jeans, “we can saddle up two of my other horses and ride out over some of the farm, if you have time. It won't be dark for another couple of hours at the earliest.”
“Why, Fitzwilliam, I thought you'd never ask,” Elizabeth flirted, adding a slight drawl to the words, brought on by his natural, gentle Southern speech pattern and an abrupt shift in her own attitude, suddenly feeling more comfortably brazen than shy.
“Go for it!” she advised herself silently. “Why not? What have you got to lose?”
“Great!”
“Wow!” Elizabeth thought, “I haven't been this taken with a man since Thomas Hardy; no—that's the author. It was Hardy Thomas and that was six or seven years ago in grad school. In fact,” she reluctantly admitted to herself, “not ever, actually.”
The shout “Bring out the big sulky and hitch Madison to it, Pete” broke into Elizabeth's reverie. “And then saddle Jefferson and Garrard for me please. Thanks!” Darcy requested in that Southern drawl so typical of central Kentucky gentlemen, just a slight drawing out of the words, enough to sound, oh, so gentile.
“Come on, Elizabeth, I will show you my barn and horses while we wait. I nickname all my horses for those Kentucky counties, which have been named for famous men. I've also got a Shelby and a Breckinridge, a Harrison and a Bourbon. They are all purebred standardbreds with long fancy names that I cannot remember. Hence the nicknames.”
“Just a minute,” Elizabeth requested. She rushed back to her car, and she retrieved the egg basket with the green apples that she never ever left home without.
“I'm always prepared to make new friends,” she said on her return. He smiled in appreciation of her basket and her charm.
Elizabeth knew that she had pretty features; she seldom cared, but today she intended to make the most of her inherited beauty. She perceived that Darcy had enjoyed watching her run over to the car and lean over it for the basket. She did have one sensational backside.
“Would you like one?” Elizabeth offered, as she hung the basket over her left arm and bit into one herself.
“Sure,” Darcy said. He tossed an apple a couple of times happily in the air, before rubbing it automatically against his shirt.
They munched on their apples and traveled down the row of stalls, stopping to pat each horse, before feeding him an apple treat. Elizabeth was in her milieu and knew it. Darcy could easily comprehend that here was a gal at home with his horses—his world. By the time the two exited the barn, Darcy was smitten. Elizabeth sensed it. She had made her conquest. She relaxed into the part of femme fatale. After all, she'd studied it for years—by reading literature.
Darcy assisted Elizabeth into the sulky, walked behind it and then climbed up beside her. It was snug, and she was glad, as she nestled next to his strong shoulder. Darcy raised one arm around her and grabbed one side of the reins with that hand. Elizabeth was actually pressed into his muscular frame. Darcy expertly guided the horse onto the track and with a cluck of his tongue sent them all three flying. The pace seemed fast to Elizabeth, but recognizing gaits easily, she realized that Darcy was holding back so as not to frighten her and that horse was actually prancing at a slow canter. Madison stepped high and proudly, obviously secure in his prowess.
After three or four circles of the parade ground, Darcy clucked again and the speed increased. The sulky seemed to be almost leaving the ground. Elizabeth screamed like a teenager on her first roller coaster ride. Darcy slowed the pace immediately to a slow trot.
“Elizabeth, I am sorry, if I frightened you,” he said, now slowing to a walk.
Elizabeth, aware that her hair was sticking out in all directions, ran her fingers through it.
“I know I look a fright. I was screaming because I forgot my baseball cap,” she lied, with a wink.
He pulled up the sulky. A red haired, freckled face boy came to hold the halter. Darcy jumped down and circled the carriage to assist Elizabeth. She leaned against him accidentally, when he lifted her. And his hands slipped in surprise. He almost dropped her.
“Jefferson and Garrard are all saddled for you, sir.”
“Thank you, Samson.”
Darcy said, “Would you like to go to the house first? We may be out a couple of hours.”
“I'd love to change out of my cashmere sweater. I have a t shirt in the car.”
He extended his arm; she wrapped hers around it, and they strolled over to Elizabeth's car, where she picked up her royal blue t shirt.
“I came straight from class,” Elizabeth explained. “I had meant to call you for an appointment, but the day was so perfect and the drive so pretty, I just decided to take a chance.”
“I'm glad you did. Are you a student or a teacher?”
“I'm only a student of human nature,” she replied, smiling and flashing her baby blues at Darcy. “I'm a professor at Eastern Kentucky University: The English Department.”
They entered one of the most beautiful entry halls Elizabeth had ever seen. “Oh!” she said, faking a swoon. “It is so spectacular. Does someone live here or am I at the movie set for Twelve Oaks in Gone with the Wind?” Elizabeth teased.
Darcy laughed genially, obviously pleased at the compliment.
“Elizabeth, go up the stairs and to the front left bedroom. You will like it. It matches your eyes.”
Soon Elizabeth, attired in the royal blue, perused the room. No safe here, she decided. She left her cashmere sweater on the bed, so she’d have a legitimate reason to return upstairs.
After a brief interlude in the front hall where Elizabeth admired several portraits, the two were on their way back to the barn. They were soon astride a roan and a chestnut—both large and strong. This time Elizabeth was not the least bit concerned. She had yet to meet the horse she could not master.
“I truly enjoyed our ride,” Elizabeth said.
“I'm glad! To me it's the equivalent of a good round of jumps or maybe even two minutes on Derby Day.”
Elizabeth peered at him quizzically.
“I didn't say the actual Derby,” Darcy explained, thinking her silent query referred to his Derby comment.
“Do you jump then?” Elizabeth asked, a plan developing in her mind. “Do Jefferson and Garrard?”
“Well, yes, if you've a mind to.”
“Oh, I've a mind to,” she said, smiling broadly, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“Really!” he said, excited at the prospect. He smiled broadly, his dimples returning. Elizabeth's heart literally skipped another beat.
“Do you have dinner plans, Miss . . . Elizabeth?” he inquired.
“No, I have no plans at all for the evening.”
“Then will you stay for dinner? I am an excellent cook.”
Elizabeth's heart swelled. He rode and cooked. She tried to remember, “Why am I here?”
In the saddle Elizabeth was the equivalent of a
nyone—well, almost anyone—Pat Day and a few other notable examples excepted. She proved it early on as she stretched Fitzwilliam Darcy's skill, keeping pace with his every challenge and adding a few of her own. They trotted, cantered, galloped and jumped.
Elizabeth seldom got to ride with anyone else, due to her demanding work schedule, so the experience of dual horsemanship was doubly rewarding for her—the handsome Fitzwilliam Darcy and companionship on a ride. This duet was designed for fun and fun alone. It succeeded for both parties.
The two laughed raucously, slapped high fives at brilliant jumps, raced each other across pastures, and conversed with their horses in a four way dialogue. By the time they pulled into a walk on their way back to the barn, they were communicating easily like old school chums.
Back at the stable, Elizabeth handed her reins to Samson, while insisting she'd love to brush Garrard down.
“Next time, Elizabeth.” Success! She had advanced to a next time.
“We need to get in, if I'm going to get the charcoals going for the steaks and the roast corn. By the way when I said I'm a good cook, I slightly exaggerated. I'm a good cook on the grill.”
Elizabeth was just grateful he hadn't asked her to provide any culinary assistance. She was not ready yet for Mr. Darcy to know she lagged in any department. She offered to chop vegetables for a salad.
“Wonderful!” Darcy answered. “I hate chopping.”
“I hope you are not going to shower and change for dinner, Fitzwilliam,” she kidded. “I'd hate to be the only one in the room smelling like a horse.”
“Well, we have two choices. We can go casual and cook and dine on the porch or in the kitchen, or we can shower and freshen up. If you wish to change, you might find something suitable in my mother's wardrobe. You are about the same size.”
Elizabeth was torn. She'd love the chance to mill around upstairs, and what a sweet offer— his mother's clothes. She could not decide. Darcy accepted her hesitation as a negative.
“Let's not shower,” Darcy finally said, obviously worried he had seemed forward and improper. “We can eat on the patio and, if it gets too cold, we can move to the kitchen or the library in front of the fire. Next time, come earlier and you can shower in a guest room,” he declared, with a decided emphasis on the words next and guest.
Elizabeth loved the idea of a next time. She interpreted this as his acceptance of a probable future friendship. Gently, she requested, “While you start the fire, can I go get my purse and just freshen up a little?”
“By all means, freshen up, but I would like to observe, if I might, that you already look well-nigh perfect,” Darcy complimented.
“When you come back down, we can go to the library for a drink before dinner. Then when the coals are ready, we will roast the corn while we make the salad. The steaks can go on last. I'm a rare man myself, but we can cook yours longer.”
“You’re a rare man alright,” Elizabeth thought, but said aloud, “Medium rare, if you please.”
At her car, Elizabeth obtained her camera and shot a couple of pictures of the front of the house. She stuffed it in her big brown bag. Back inside she hurried up the stairs, washed up, put the cashmere sweater back on and applied some fresh make-up. She then stepped into the other three bedrooms quietly, finding the one across the hall to be a rose décor, which, according to the clothes and papers strewn here and there, must be Darcy’s. The most likely bedroom for the safe? She quickly glanced about; there were no pictures big enough to hide a safe. She sneaked quietly into his walk-in closet, which was packed, but showed no indication there was room for a safe anywhere, unless there was a secret door behind the clothes for an attic recess. Returning to the hallway, she noticed one last room at the head of the stairs. Dare she? She'd been gone a long time.
Yes, she did dare. Elizabeth entered the room; the walls were lined with bookcases. There was a lone desk with a computer, a settee and a leather chair. “If the safe is not down in Darcy's library, this is the next best guess,” Elizabeth concluded, noting the closet door was locked.
“I must go. Next time I will arrange to shower, so I can have an excuse to spend more time up here,” she whispered. “If there is a next time, and if it is soon enough to matter.”
She quietly exited Darcy's office and began the descent down the gorgeous winding staircase. As she reached the landing, Elizabeth was startled to see Darcy leaning on the newel post, Rhett Butler style, just like Gable looking up at Scarlet at Twin Oaks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The evening definitely got chillier in more ways than one. After Elizabeth descended the staircase with her host waiting expressionless at the foot of the stairs, distracted even, his eyes avoiding hers, she chattered aimlessly, apologizing time and again, apparently making matters worse.
Elizabeth realized that she had broken a time-honored decorum of hospitality, snooping around in someone else's house. He must have heard her in his bedrooms and office. She assumed that Darcy was too much of a gentleman to rescind his invitation for dinner, but the pleasure had gone out of it.
They sat in front of the library fire, sipping bourbon on the rocks, Elizabeth filling the gaps in the conversation, Darcy quiet and contemplative, his eyes resting on the fire, not the flash of Elizabeth's determined eyes.
Finally, however, after a second round of drinks had been poured, Darcy suddenly glanced at his guest, as if he had just remembered that she was there. Elizabeth apologized one more time, giddily this time, feeling the effects of her embarrassment merge with the smoothness of the bourbon.
“It was very wrong of me to go into your rooms without your permission or escort. The sapphire blue room is so beautiful that I was drawn to see the others. Which is no excuse, but it is the reason. Please forgive me my inexcusable indiscretion, Fitzwilliam.”
“My mother's,” he said.
Elizabeth looked at him.
“The decorations are my mother's.”
“The beautiful bedroom with the sapphire blue striped wallpaper and the matching sapphire drapes was hers, wasn't it?”
“She loved sapphire blue.”
“As do I.”
“You're very like her.”
Elizabeth's heart leaped.
“Not in coloring of course. There you are opposites. She was a brunette with hazel eyes, but your enthusiasm for life matches hers, I believe.” Elizabeth began to apprehend that she might reclaim his attention.
“Your eyes are sapphire blue.”
The fire brightened Elizabeth's eyes, as did the company. Sitting there at attention on the edge of her chair, she was a woman falling in love.
No one could doubt her beauty at this moment. Certainly it did not escape Darcy's notice. He observed her with a renewed interest. He said, “It is I who should apologize, Elizabeth. I started thinking of meeting you and of your family's interest in my charity and of all the ramifications involved. I—” He stopped there.
“Shall we roast the corn and chop the salad?”
The evening proceeded with no more alarms. And when Elizabeth took off for Claysmount at about ten, she breathed an audible sigh of relief that she had not created an irretrievable disaster.
Elizabeth had invited Darcy to the Bennet’s home, Longbourn, Friday afternoon for a ride, followed this time by a shower and a more formal dress for dinner. That left her with the possibility of a return offer for Saturday. Her investigative time was running short. Sir William wanted a final report by Sunday; the insurance payments could arrive any day now.
Sir William and Tish planned to invite Darcy to Stantonfield for dinner Monday night. Elizabeth knew that even if she returned to Pemberley on Saturday, she would not try any more detection. And Elizabeth intended to stay far away from the Monday night encounter. She and Darcy might wish to see each other again. She was certainly interested enough to keep the possibility alive by having nothing to do with Monday night.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was handsome and seemingly compatible with her in
important ways. After fixing dinner, they had pulled a tea table in front of the library fire and dined quietly. Then the two had spent a congenial hour investigating the books shelved all around them. Elizabeth had found Darcy to be not only an enthusiastic reader, but also a collector of early editions, a hobby she shared.
With great pleasure Darcy showed off his most treasured early editions to her. As Elizabeth scanned the delicate leaves, obviously delighted to be holding something so special, Darcy sat to one side watching, amazed that someone else could value them as much as he.
So the visit, which had begun with an exhilarating ride for two in a sulky, ended with a quiet appreciation of early publications. A day of two extremes, which when put in tandem, presaged a union of like minds.
*****
All the rest of the week Elizabeth rose early, barely able to sleep in anticipation of Friday. She rode out long and hard, working Gypsy to the maximum, expending her own energy to the point of exhaustion. As she jumped the fences and cantered across the fields, Elizabeth's mind turned only to Darcy, their ride together, their laughter and their close encounter with dispute. She continuously cautioned herself, “Beware! He is thirty-five and never married. He may not be the one woman kind or he may have a girl already in New Jersey or Lexington or both.”
Still Elizabeth remembered, “I am thirty. I have no man tucked away somewhere. Maybe he's like me. Maybe he has been too involved in his life to look for love.”
Elizabeth reveled in memories of the dark curl falling on his forehead, the broad shoulders so reassuring riding in front of her, the slight masculine smell of after shave lotion, and the delightful rise of the corners of his mouth when it curved into a smile. She too recognized the hard knot in the pit of her stomach when she remembered the trial he would face just next Monday and the very likely possibility that after that meeting she would never see Fitzwilliam Darcy again. The thought was so debilitating that she chased it away. Like Scarlet, she would think of that another day.
Thursday Elizabeth consulted with Peter, regarding Friday's dinner. “I want this very special, Peter. You know I seldom entertain a gentleman friend, so I want the occasion memorable.”
