Page 66 of Colour My World
“Miss Catherine.” He bowed, perfectly civil, perfectly unreadable.
Elizabeth’s lips tightened. He was all politeness—and yet something in the precision of it left her more unsettled than if he had been openly rude. Again.
Kitty elbowed Elizabeth and widened her eyes. Elizabeth curtsied with her.
Mr Darcy turned to the other man. “Walk him back. A few hours rest should see him mended.”
“Never you mind, guv’nor. You’re the one I came for.” He opened a saddlebag and handed over a parcel.
“Thank you, Perkins,” he said, passing the man some coins. He patted the horse’s neck. “You are a noble creature, Mercury.Mind where you step.”
Mercury whinnied, as if in reply. Mr Perkins chuckled, then began walking the horse back toward Meryton, murmuring what sounded like the start of a story: “So there I was, standing knee-deep in the Itchen —clear as glass, that river down in Hampshire—no boots, mind you...”
Elizabeth’s head swam. She ought to say something, but what?
She glanced from him to the horse and back. “You seem surprisingly at ease, Mr Darcy.”
He drew a handkerchief and cleaned the blade. “Any man who owns horses should be.”
She tilted her head. “Indeed. One might almost believe you prefer horses to dance partners.”
He looked up. “They are less prone to misinterpretation.”
She smiled without warmth. “And less inclined to speak their mind.”
“Some minds are worth hearing. Others—” He stopped and bowed. “Good day, ladies.”
He mounted the black horse she had admired moments earlier and rode off without another word.
“You were unkind just now, Lizzy.”
“I merely stated—”
“You assumed,” Kitty interrupted. “He helped because he could.”
It appeared Mr Darcy reserved his tenderness for thoroughbreds, not for the thoroughly slighted.
* * *
Meryton, the following day...
Darcy had intended the morning’s ride to clear his mind, but Bingley’s words lingered like grit in the bit. How could MissElizabeth possibly believe he had insulted her at the assembly?
Goliath surged beneath him as they took the rise, but Darcy’s thoughts stayed fixed on her cool reception at Lucas Lodge, her pointed remark on the road. He had expected wit. Instead, her words had held an edge. A veiled reprimand. Had she truly taken offence?
When matters grew muddled at Pemberley, he appealed to higher judgement. And none held more sway with Miss Elizabeth than her father. By the time High Street and its shops fully materialised beyond the hedgerows, he had made little progress in sorting sense from feeling. He dismounted and secured Goliath to a post outside, murmuring a low word of praise as the horse shook out his mane.
A bell chimed as he stepped into the bookseller’s shop. Ink and leather mingled with dust. Knowledge slept on the shelves, waiting to be claimed.A few minutes to browse, and then I shall consider again the dilemma named Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He turned down the aisle and halted. She stood before the shelf, fingertips tracing the spines of well-worn volumes. Sunlight from the front window lit her hair like polished chestnut. She stood on her toes and swayed softly to a rhythm he could not hear.
His mouth turned dry.
Before he could retreat, she glanced up.
“Mr Darcy!”
“Miss Elizabeth.”
