B006O3T9DG EBOK (35 page)

“Yes,” she called out. “Children, I shall come directly.”

She betook her robe about her and rose from their bath, thinking of nothing but her motherly urges. Indeed, as she left the room, the saturated tail of her robe drug behind her like a wet mop.

Darcy slid down into the water until it lapped at his chin; a small whiff of her scent was all she left him. It was just as well. Her body lying wet and slippery against his had inspirited him. Had they lingered together longer, the gods of lust might have overtaken him. His loins tingled even then. After a moment, he realised that the half-open door did not suggest her imminent return. So he stood, pausing only long enough for the excess water to cascade down his body ere he stepped from the copper tub himself.

Hannah observed her mistress leave her bath and quickly gave her a dry robe. Although Mrs. Darcy waved her away then, it piqued the maid’s pride to be privy to her lady’s privacy. Hannah gathered a chambermaid and hastened to the bathing-room to see to their duties. Hannah was rarely taken unawares by Mr. Darcy in Mrs. Darcy’s chambers, for he was often there. Therefore, when they gained the room just as Mr. Darcy stepped from the tub, it was not Hannah who shrieked.

In a trice, Hannah clamped a hand over the young chambermaid’s eyes lest the sight of Mr. Darcy in all his naked glory compromise the poor girl’s expectations in any of her future copulatory endeavours. Both of the women hastily turned their faces to the wall. Unperturbed by the encounter, Mr. Darcy was in his robe and on to his own dressing-room in less than a blink. The maids remained in place long after he had gone on his way.

Hannah had brothers and assured herself that she had been more startled than shocked. Still, she trembled as she went about wiping the wet floor and draining the bath water. She noticed the chambermaid stood yet with her face to the wall.

“Make haste, you hear me!” she told her urgently.

The young maid turned first one foot and then the other as if sneaking upon the tub and its water. When she finally reached the edge, she peered over the side.

Hannah hissed, “Get with it now. The gentleman has gone. Do you think he’ll rise again like Lazareth?”

“No’m,” said the maid, who was slow to retrench her thoughts. She marvelled, “Such a sword I have never imagined! If a lady canna’ be happy with that what is there for the rest of us?”

“Hush up!” Hannah insisted.

The door had not closed all the way behind the maids and Cressida crept into room for its warmth. First, however, the dog trotted to the water on the floor and began to drink. Hannah grabbed the dog and scooted her out the door before returning to her chores.

As they worked, Hannah said, “Everyone must learn for themselves that we have but today and must live for it or be lost forever. The master and mistress shall recall that when their sorrow is finally wore out.”

Chapter 49

Repair

The next morning, mist clung to the oaks and the eerie shrieks of peafowl could be heard in the distance. A lone figure moved stealthily between trees beside the path that wend its way down to the stables.

A way up the road stood a boy of perhaps fourteen, his face was quite solemn. He was Edward Hardin’s oldest son and newly promoted to stable duty. He nervously scratched his upper lip with his lower teeth. The expression he bore announced that he knew well that the office he held was of great import. He clutched the reins of a bay mare with both hands. The horse was saddled; its head hung low as it nipped at a tuffet of grass. When the figure approached, he recognised her. The horse nickered softly and the boy gave an awkward bow. Without a word spoken between them, the boy legged the rider onto the steed. Then with nary a heel to its flanks, the horse and rider cantered away. The boy watched as they crossed the bridge and headed towards the valley.

Dampness hung in the air, causing him to shudder. A storm loomed. It was good she wore her cape.

———

With a flick of Elizabeth’s crop, Boots began to a canter.

It did not escape her mind that her husband often took to the saddle when he wanted quiet to ponder his cares. That was not her reason, however. She wanted to escape from that which grieved her and was in want of privacy to do so. A wild gallop—the sort that Darcy always cautioned her against—was what she desired.

As her feet were bare, she feared giving a bit of heel to the mare’s flanks would be useless. However, with only a nudge, the horse began to run—welcoming a chance to stretch her stride. They raced with unschooled abandon, setting her heart aflutter. For a few moments, she was elated. As the horse began to pant, Elizabeth slowed her to a walk. Just below lay her favourite prospect. Crossing the bridge, she pointed the horse where the valley narrowed into a glen bordered by a rough coppice. She and her husband had spent many an afternoon there languishing in love’s embrace. Those carefree hours seemed several lifetimes past.

“Ah, to picnic in Eden once more,” she whispered.

In want of reclaiming those long lost days, she urged her horse towards the shelter of those recollections. She and her horse knew the way thither intimately.

The mist increased to a light rainfall. She was well-aware that riding in the rain was dangerous. The leather of the saddle and reins would play tricks on her. However, going where she chose in the manner she so chose, was an impertinent excitation. Whilst Darcy had always ridden wherever he pleased, he had insisted that she kept to the paths. His gentlemanly caution was both charming and an enormous perturbation. This morn, she did not want to be seen or confined. She did not care to meander beneath the tulip trees, but to embark on a mad sprint in the brambles, splash through the brook, and then ride up the hill to the ruins of the hunting tower.

Beneath her cape, Elizabeth wore nothing but her nightdress. Her feet were wet with dew and slipped in the stirrups. She gave them up altogether, the risk of being drug was too great. However, that was the only caution she heeded. Her escapade had suddenly elevated from mere excitation to risking life and limb. She reminded herself that, as a wife and mother, she owed it to her family to be more prudent.

First, she would take yonder hill.

Another flick and Boots began to labour up towards the crest of the rise. When they gained the top, she drew her to a stop and gazed at the mist-laden hillocks. The wind rushed under her sleeves giving her the fleeting sensation she had wings. Feasting upon the thrill, she tossed her cape back over her shoulders and urged Boots to begin their descent.

The reverse side of the hill was steep—far steeper than the incline. Rather than slowing, Boots gathered speed. Elizabeth drew back on the reins, but that only made Boots fling her head wildly about. As the mare plunged downward, her hooves skidded on the wet turf. Elizabeth tried to slow her. It was useless.

By the time they gained the bottom of the hill, Boots was unmanageable. Unused to having her head, the horse bolted forward. It was all Elizabeth could do not to be thrown. As rain began to spatter harder, the horse ran madly towards the wood. Elizabeth’s cape twirled as if whirligig, every rotation tightening it about her neck. If her cape caught on a tree limb, she would be dashed to the ground. The more she attempted to restrain the mare, the more violently the horse ran. All she knew of how to gain control of a runaway horse fled her. The instinct to leap from the saddle was strong; however before she could decide to do it, a call rang out.

“Turn her to the side!”

Boots was running full out, but Elizabeth tugged on the right rein, turning her in a wide circle. By then Blackjack’s long stride overtook her. Darcy’s command notwithstanding, Elizabeth reached out for him. With one swift movement, he plucked her from her horse and onto his.

Clasping him tightly, she was overborne by a frisson of gratitude and—was it ecstasy?

His highest interest lay not in passion, but in scolding her.

Slowing Blackjack, he asked, “Are you mad? Are you
mad
?”

As the question was at that moment rhetorical, she did not feel compelled to answer.

When Blackjack came to a stop, she released her grip and slid to the ground. Her brewing ardour was not suppressed. Panting with excitement, fear, and anger, she attacked the gnarled ties of her cape. Although she dared not look at his reproving countenance, she was well-aware that Darcy had come after her with such haste that he rode bareback. She spied steam rising from Blackjack’s withers and immediately quit fussing with her ties and looked about for Boots. The horse had stopped a short distance away, quivering with fright. She called to the mare, but was ignored. Darcy whistled and Boots perked one ear. Unhurt, but a bit unforgiving, the horse walked towards them.

Darcy slid down from his horse and walked purposefully in her direction. His gait was so firm, quite without realising it, she backed up several steps. He was right to be angry. Not only had she endangered the mother of his children, but her horse too. As he neared her, she could see just how unamused he was. Drawing her cape about her, she looked at him defiantly. His eyes softened and he reached out to her palm down, as if to settle an excited filly. Such a gesture did not appease her. She turned on her bare heel and stomped off in the direction of her horse. Hearing Darcy fast behind, she hurried her step. Yet, within three strides he caught up to her.

Catching her shoulder, he said, “Do wait.”

“I cannot,” she said, shrugging him away.

“You shall.”

With a keen eye, she looked back at him. The expression upon his countenance had not the imperiousness of his words. Soft rain dripped from the end of his nose. Without a thought, she used her sleeve of her gown to wipe it and his chin. Catching her hand, he dropped to one knee and bid her sit. Her cape was rapidly becoming soggy, but she wrapped it about them both (for she had no shoes and he had no coat).

In their snug shelter, she put her cheek to his. They kissed.

Within that time, the rain became a mere drizzle. Still, neither was willing to return to the world of restraint (where well-born people do not scamper about half-dressed).

However disinclined Darcy was to quarrel; time had come for them to speak of what they had so scrupulously avoided.

He said, “I truly feared you meant to do yourself harm.”

She was aghast at such a notion, retorting, “Sir! It is you who are mad to think such a thing!”

Lowering his chin for a moment, he then looked directly at her, saying, “You have turned me away.”

There. He was out with it.

Indignant, she rebutted his accusation, “I have done no such thing!”

“I shall not sit here in this rain and argue the point. You have, in essence, turned me away,” he said with finality.

Touching his face tenderly, she said plaintively, “Not in my heart—never in my heart.”

Said he, “If you do not want to bear another child, I shall protect you against it in every way possible.”

He thought to tell of another time, another decision.

“After our first son was taken, you were near death, Lizzy,” he said softly. “I thought you would die. I vowed then that I would do what I must—chamber alone if necessary to keep you safe. I will renew that vow now if you so wish.”

She shook her head.

“No, I do not wish that,” she insisted. Her voice light, she said, “I am merely in a bit of a muddle.”

He spoke not a word, but his expression questioned her assessment of her state of mind.

Seeing that, she reminded him, “I rallied then, did I not?”