Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (35 page)

Stunned, she lay there still holding tightly to the horse’s reins. When she opened her eyes, she knew she was upon her back, for she saw nothing but the almost cloudless blue sky that somehow had been gifted with a scattering of glittering stars.

“Stars in the morning,” she thought dumbly. “How odd.”

Gradually the stars disappeared and she saw Lady take a step toward her and put her nose directly above her face as if to take her due.

“You could have let me know you so little liked taking this jump, Lady. We could have discussed it.”

Although the horse did not actually reply, when Lady shook her head, Elizabeth understood the message. Lady was in obvious disgust at such a clumsy and unwise rider. Elizabeth was disposed to lie there a moment longer, trying to decide if she was impaired or not. Feebly, she moved her limbs about. It appeared no more ill had befallen her aside from possibly loosening all her teeth. Still undecided if she should simply repose as she was for a time or try to stand, she was suddenly confronted.

Col. Fitzwilliam ejaculated, “Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Are you injured?”

With no little amusement, he had been watching her attempts from the vantage of his own horse some distance away. However, when he saw her fall, he had raced over to her and jumped down, horrified that he had stood idly by and allowed her injury.

Understanding that he had witnessed all, her humiliation was compleat. She closed her eyes in defence of her mortification. First scorn from her horse; now this.

“How long did you have me in your eye?”

She started to laugh, but her body ached. She then liked not to laugh. Fitzwilliam pleaded with her not to move and insisted he would go for help. Call for a surgeon. Send for Darcy.

“No, no, I am fine, I assure you, sir.”

She slowly rose whilst he continued to insist that she not.

“Allow me to demonstrate that I am fine.”

He helped her up and she moved about a little slowly, but in perfect working order. The good colonel was certain that a gentlewoman such as herself could not possibly continue after such a spill. Elizabeth attempted to persuade him she had not the constitution of a frail, elderly aunt by changing the subject from herself to the mare.

“I cannot understand Lady, for we took a small jump yesterday with no problem. Today she is not of that mind. Darcy said she was even-tempered. Perhaps she likes me not at all.”

Fitzwilliam looked the mare over.

“Lady? This is Lady?”

Elizabeth nodded. Fitzwilliam could not but contain his mirth.

“Lady might have jumped in her younger years, but she is far too stiff in the hocks to do so now.”

“If so, why so near as yesterday did she take it in all good stead?”

“Perhaps she forgot she could not,” he suggested.

“As simple as that?”

“I can explain it no further. If you managed to have Lady take a jump, then you are indeed a horsewoman of merit.”

“Has she great age?”

“Well over twenty years, I dare say,” Fitzwilliam said. “In fine shape for her age, but for riding, not jumping.”

“Darcy gave me an old horse named Lady and did not tell me she could not jump,” she said, unreasonably miffed.

“I think he intended for you not to jump,” Fitzwilliam suggested.

“Obviously. But I shall not be deterred.”

Quite adamant about that, she really did not know what recourse to take. It would seem her husband had foiled her. Thereupon, an idea occurred.

“Perhaps you could help me select a horse that will jump, Colonel. I know the stable is rich with them.”

“Indeed. However, the hunters of Pemberley are far too high-spirited for an unpractised rider.” Endeavouring not to dampen her spirit, he thereupon added encouragingly, “No matter how natural her talent.”

Near tears with disappointment, she could not disguise her frustration. In the face of her acute distress, Fitzwilliam offered the reins of his own fine animal, Scimitar, whereupon Elizabeth looked at him in wonder.

“You would allow me to ride your horse?”

“There is no other I would trust you to than Scimitar.”

After her fall, she felt cautious enough to accept his generosity. Generous it was, for she knew most men would begrudge anyone other than themselves to ride their horse. Men who rode to hounds were thought to be more parsimonious with their hunters than they would be with their wives.

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth stayed in the field for the better part of an hour. Scimitar, indeed, proved a willing and safe jumper, carefully picking his way over the fallen tree trunk no matter what Elizabeth did or did not do. Fitzwilliam was not a superior teacher to Darcy, but as she was less intimidated whilst enlisting his correction, she found herself responding more easily to his instruction. In time, however, even the colonel was frustrated trying to give her more than the most rudimentary of schooling, for a side-saddle was foreign to him. Moreover, there was the impediment of the necessity of a gentleman speaking to a lady of body parts. However comfortable Fitzwilliam was with polite conversation, he was accustomed to giving explicit instructions to cavalrymen in his charge. The vocabulary of the two did not overlap.

(“Elizabeth, keep your back straight and cup your…self forward. Good, now grip the horse’s sides with your…limbs. Shoulders back, er…front out.”)

Finally, finding nothing to request besides “toes up” that did not demand a euphemism, he declared, “I fear you need to have a real instructor, or at least the advice of someone who has mastered jumping in such a precarious balance. The best horsewoman I know is Lady Millhouse.”

Patting Scimitar’s neck, she explained she wanted to surprise Darcy, then asked, “Do you fancy Lady Millhouse would be willing to school me? And if she did, would she be discreet?”

“Of course she would be happy to help you, she despises idleness. Although I am quite certain there is not a discreet bone in her body, nothing diverts her so much as intrigue. Your secret will be safe with her.”

Elizabeth returned Scimitar’s reins with reluctance. He put up his hand in opposition.

“I would be honoured if you allowed my horse to help teach you. I would be happy to leave him here until the hunt and take another back to Whitemore.”

Grateful he was there to leg her back upon Lady, Elizabeth did not want to think of the spectacle she would present if she had to walk the horse back on foot to the stables.
As they arrived back at the barns, young John met them. Elizabeth explained to Fitzwilliam that John was privy to her ruse. Hence, Fitzwilliam removed his saddle and left Scimitar’s reins in the boy’s hands with instructions for him to be saddled each time Elizabeth rode. She bade Fitzwilliam good-bye and left him to select a temporary mount.

She had not allowed herself to limp until she had returned indoors. Now, as her limbs were extremely sore, her thoughts begged, “Mrs. Darcy is unattended,” but she could not make herself call it out however she might need attending. Upstairs, Hannah filled an invitingly hot tub for her. As she eased herself in, Hannah gasped and pointed to her bruised elbows. Elizabeth dared not inquire as to the colour of her derrière. Her husband had only just returned and though she would have liked to soak in the tub for hours, she forsook the water. Gowning herself in long cuffed sleeves, she lay back upon their bed trying not to emit a groan of pain. She felt as if she had fallen off a horse.

Seeing his wife in her gown so early in the eve led her husband to believe she was in a mood of affection. As to why this night of all nights he was most desirous of sharing this favour with her bestride him, Elizabeth could only inquire silently of God.

As she sat atop him, it was not his hands beneath her gown, but her aching point of collision that seized her thoughts. He instantly realised the moan from her was not born of desire.

“Lizzy, what is the matter? Are you ill? You should have spoken.”

Found out, she gratefully fell to the side and groaned in relief.

“Are you ill, Lizzy?”

She shook her head decidedly. Her neck was sore and she moaned again.

“Your horse threw you!” he accused.

“I fell off my horse,” she admitted.

She reconsidered. Perhaps she was thrown from her horse, that sounded more proficient, but his countenance did not appear to invite such specifics.

“How?” he demanded.

She replied defensively, “You put me upon a horse that would not jump!”

This accusation was met with silence.

Then, “Yes. You were not to jump.”

He was maddeningly good at this, confronting her with facts as he did.

“You said I was not to jump. I did not choose it.”

There, touché.

“You cannot learn to jump until you learn to ride.”

Having no answer to that, she changed course, “Lady was her name. I should have guessed.”

She huffily turned upon her side, her back to him. However, her side ached and the only position of comfort she could find was upon her stomach. She was too sore even to huff effectively.

Taking pity upon her, he sat up and begat a gentle massage of her shoulders.

“I pray this shall convince you to allow yourself to become more practised before attempting such a thing again. And please promise not to ride alone again until you are.”

She considered it would not be deceitful to promise him this and did. The promise extracted, he raised her gown and saw her bruised backside. He winced. Looks of reproach were exchanged. A truce was called.

H
unt day began a little gloomy and cold, but by the time all the riders had converged upon the courtyard, the sun had burned away the chill. Pemberley was filled with guests, the most serious hunters having spent the night in order to get the best rest, and hence the keenest sense in pursuit of the fox. The field would consist of four-and-twenty hunters, not to mention a few unlikely riders (beyond the Mistress of Pemberley). In truth, Elizabeth was somewhat relieved about a turn of events she learnt of but the night before. For she believed if her own endeavour was ultimately untoward, a public show of other impolitic riders would dilute her infamy.

Eventually disabused of the notion that Elizabeth was already with child, Mrs. Bennet had turned her attention to the still unmarried Kitty, applying to Mr. Bennet to stay on for the weekend of the hunt. This application may well have been upon Kitty’s behalf, but it was at her mother’s behest. For Mrs. Bennet was riding the heady crest of three married daughters within the year. Her optimism bade her believe that Derbyshire society in general, and the auspices of Pemberley specifically, would offer Kitty more opportunity of matrimonial possibilities than Hertfordshire.

Mr. Bennet was not in favour of the extension of their visit, complaining he could not sleep well in any other bed but his own. That had always been his given reason for his reluctance to travel, but there was a truer one.

He had a keen interest in books, and Pemberley’s vaunted library had held him captive for the first half of his visit. However, his love of literature fared a poor second to his admiration for independence. That was primary, and relished beyond any other possession. Once Mrs. Bennet found him hidden in a deep chair, twirling a glass of brandy,
The History of Rasselas, The Prince of Abyssinia
open in his lap, all joy of Pemberley evaporated. In the home of another he had not the opportunity to take his leave upon some solitary errand as he did when at Longbourn. Confinement with his wife was tolerable only when there was chance of escape.