Darcy sat tall and splendid in his red hunting jacket with large gleaming buttons and knee-high boots. The white tights that clung to his muscular thighs gleamed like snow. His horse was a massive stallion who frightened Elizabeth at first, but she’d been introduced to the beast, and now she knew that he had a sweet temperament and enjoyed apples and bits of sugar. Darcy looked proud, stern, like the great gentleman and master he was. His eyes looked calmly over the men.
Then he looked at her.
His smile took her breath away. With the smallest motion of his legs he directed his horse towards her. The smile destroyed the impression of noble severity. It made her stomach flip in little fluttering circles. He only looked at her this way.
She hurried to meet him, her boots crunching on the hard ground.
Darcy took her hand and leaned low on his horse so that he could kiss her, the warm breath heating her through her thick gloves.
“Off to kill some poor fox?” Elizabeth smiled gaily at him. “What has he ever done to you?”
“One hopes it shall be a dame, so that we can reduce the horde of pests destroying the livestock of this country that much more.”
“Nay, nay — horrid notion. To plan to kill awoman.”
“A Lady Fox. But then she would be a whig.”
Elizabeth giggled and then groaned at the pun on the name of the famous politician. If he had not been sitting on his black snorting beast, she would have shoved him. “Not such a joke. No. No. Whiggishness is no excuse to kill foxes.”
“It is my pleasure to entertain you with such word play.”
“No! I do not give encouragement to such jokes.”
“Of course not, my dearest.”
Elizabeth flushed with happiness, though she could see from his eyes that he fully intended to use any other puns which crossed his mind. “Notthateasily. You cannot call me my dearest and expect me to accede to everything—”
“Our life would become a dreadful bore if I could.”
“The pun is a vulgar form of humor, far beneath you.”
“It is poetry, rhyme. Rhythm — you admire the Bard. He uses puns oft. We have before discussed the farce in Midsummer Night’s Dream. You referred once to the character by the name ofBottom.”
“Horrid, shocking man — if I loved you not, I would be obliged to slap you.”
“Only foryourbenefit do I make such jests.”
“You are a strange benefactor—but I throw my hands in the air” — Elizabeth dramatically threw her hands into the air — “And I wash my hands of the matter. Ifthe Barduses puns, I cannot expect a mere mortal such asyouto resist.”
“Nor will I expect a mere, mortal female such as you to resist the addition to my allure such humor gives.”
“Arrogant man.”
“You admire me for it.”
“Take care. I would be made miserable if you hurt yourself leaping some gate you ought not attempt.”
“Do not worry — you can ask Bingley — I am the soul of caution during the chase.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows skeptically.
“Perhaps not thesoulof caution. I show some moderation.” He openly ogled her person. “I have too much eagerness for our wedding to let it be put off by a bad fall.”
“Thatthought I shall depend upon.”
The gamekeeper sounded his brass horn, and the hunt gathered into its formation, Darcy near the front. Everyone laughed and chattered. They all were splendid and handsome in their jackets upon the healthy horses. The hounds were released and they leapt around the kennelmaster. The horn was blown again in a tighttaroofamiliar even to Elizabeth. The hunt set off.
Georgiana walked near Elizabeth and they stood together, watching the clump of horsemen, with Darcy’s head sticking up above them all, descend down the carriageway to Netherfield, and then around a bend in the road which took them behind a tall hedge and hid them from the sight of the half dozen ladies who had come out so early. The top of Darcy’s cap bubbled up, barely above the line of the hedge as they rode along, and then the group turned down the road again, and even that disappeared.
