Darcy & Elizabeth by Linda Berdoll

night Colonel Fitzwilliam had visited Pemberley before he left with his regiment for France. Hardin particularly recalled the colonel remarking that, because of the impending war, it was apt to be a late night. As was the colonel’s habit when his visit was to be lengthy, he removed his own saddle and had Scimitar turned into a paddock to await his return in comfort. As it happened, Mrs. Darcy had taken out Boots that afternoon. The horse was behaving more unruly than usual and she was turned into an adjoining paddock to cool down. Regrettably, the horse’s behaviour indicated that she was coming into season—something the boy who had seen to her had not detected. At this point in his recitation, Hardin paused for a deep breath.
    Thereupon to the scene came Elizabeth, who, having heard about Boots’s condition and the ensuing commotion, had made her way down the short path to the stables with the intention of enlisting a bit of reason with her husband. She stopt short of the conversing men, listening intently.
    â€œHe went and jumped the fence—five boards it was—who would have thought it? Our best hunters would have needed more lead to take that fence,” Hardin shook his head in wonder of the feat. “The boys got ’im right out but ’twas too late, of course.”
    Elizabeth had been standing slightly to the side during this exchange and Cressida felt reassured enough by her presence to come and lie at her feet. Elizabeth, however, reached out and pulled at Darcy’s sleeve, having the good sense to ask her question out of the hearing of Hardin.
    â€œI am certain I witnessed this event,” she said in a low voice.
    Cressida heaved herself back to her feet and trotted back to her sanctuary beneath the waggon.
    â€œDid you, indeed?” Darcy replied giving his wife his full attention.
    â€œI am happy to assure you that nothing could have possibly occurred in the nature of what you fear for Scimitar only scuffled with Boots briefly—the merest of moments. I had only feared that she might have received a nip on her shoulder, but there was nothing. All was well.”
    She stood back in all happiness to be able to reassure her husband that his fears were unfounded. If Boots was to foal, if it was not by Blackjack, it was by another of their own horses.
    â€œA mere scuffle, say you?” inquired Darcy.
    If she was not mistaken, she believed that enquiry to be a trifle contumelious. Hers in return encompassed as much resentment as one word could possibly convey.
    â€œYes.”
    He closed his eyes and briefly pursed his lips. He then slowly shook his head.
    â€œLizzy…” he began, before apparently remembering himself by saying, “We shall speak of this later.”
    She narrowed her eyes, but realised that the entire subject of just what horse did what to another horse and how long it took to do it was not a subject that should be broached in company. Hence, glancing at Edward Hardin (who was doing his best not to hear their discourse), she acquiesced. She did not acquiesce with great generosity, but she did acquiesce—but only upon that one point.
    With all due reasonableness, she offered, “Is it as abhorrent as all that? I mean to say, Scimitar is a beautiful horse—and of the same line as many of Pemberley’s horses.”
    Poor Hardin stood in nodding agreement with the good sense of Mrs. Darcy’s words. He had believed the learning that such a fine animal as Scimitar was the culprit would have appeased Mr. Darcy. For some unfathomable reason, that information had only inflamed his ire. Elizabeth’s interjection did nothing to soothe Darcy, and he stomped about unhappily to such an extent it frightened the grooms to head for the safety of the nearest byre. His pique nearly moved Hardin to do the unthinkable of tugging upon Mr. Darcy’s sleeve to bring him back to his senses—for clearly he had left them behind. Of