She blinked as she accepted it, and that was when she felt the tears coursing down her cheeks under her riding veil. She tried to thank him, but her mouth was so numb that whatever came forth sounded little like speech. Trembles and shudders took her, more because of her defiance of sorrow than the exhaustion of her feelings, and it was a long while before she could command herself again and cease wiping her face.
All that while, Mr Darcy had ridden in respectful silence, glancing at her now and again in sympathy, but not asking for her to be calm, never pressing her to collect herself before she was ready. “Mrs Fitzwilliam,” he said at last, when she had returned both hands to the reins and was breathing regularly again, “perhaps you can tell me whatwouldcomfort you. You have spoken of boredom, and while I cannot exactly employ you, perhaps we can seek some meaningful occupation to give you purpose.”
She sniffed and nodded. “That would be just the thing. Maybe I could help Mrs Reynolds, or occasionally look into the stables, or—”
Mr Darcy cut her off with a look that was half admonishment, half reluctant amusement. “I thought more like learning an instrument or a new language. I would be pleased to hire whatever tutors you desired.”
“Oh.” She swallowed.
“It is not an unreasonable notion. Think of it—a soldier’s bride who can speak multiple languages or soothe her husband with music is to be praised.”
She tried to smile, but her lips were not very obedient. “Yes. I suppose that would be gainful employment… for when Richard returns.”
He nodded firmly. “For when Richard returns. And another thing that would be useful to know around this country is how to leap a fence. I take it you have not attempted any hurdles, or at least not in a side-saddle. I thought we could try the rail fence down there, if you are willing to let me instruct you.”
Elizabeth looked down the valley to where he indicated, and something warm kindled in her breast. “I would like that.”
“I understand there were few fences to trouble you, where you come from.”
She chuckled, though there still lurked the threat of dried-up tears behind it. “Not many, no. There were other obstacles, though—holes, of course, and sagebrush. Oh…” She closed her eyes and pulled in a long breath as if she could imagine the sweet zest of it. “Thatissomething I miss, the smell of sagebrush.”
“And what is that?”
“A scrubby bush, more dusky grey than green. Its branches and roots are twisted and ugly, it always sprouts just where you do not want it and the cattle hate it, but that smell—I never knew how I loved it. It is earth and sunsets, miles of rolling emptiness, and freedom. It’s dust hovering in the air just after a good gallop, and a humble sage wood campfire to roast your evening meal, with the voices of all your dearest ringing into the night under a blanket of stars.” The tears had started again, but this time she wiped them gently away rather than fighting against them.
“It sounds positively dreadful,” Mr Darcy decided, but he was watching her as he spoke, waiting to provoke her into a giggle. It worked, and Elizabeth sniffed her tears away into laughter.
“Actually,” he continued, “I wonder if you might appreciate our English Lavender. It is dusky and pungent, like you describe—a flower like no other. Perhaps it would be a passable reminder of your sage.”
She smiled. “It might.”
He gazed steadily back at her, his countenance easy and searching. “Then I shall have some brought to your room. What else? Can you think of anything that would make your residence at Pemberley more enjoyable for you, Mrs Fitzwilliam?”
She lifted her shoulders. “You will think it silly. Vain—wicked, even, and wholly inappropriate.”
“Try me.”
She cringed, an embarrassed grin, and then hopefully; “Would it be possible, at least occasionally, to call me Elizabeth? I mean only as a friend, of course—as friends do. I mean, you call Richard Richard, and I am not trying to say that—”
“Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy repeated. “Just plain Elizabeth.”
“I am not trying to cast off Richard’s name,” she hastened to explain. “But you did ask what would make me feel more at home.”
He nodded. “I see no objections, if it is but occasional, for informal situations. If it is to be so, then you must reciprocate and call me William.”
“Truly?”
He smiled—those perfect white teeth gleaming in his perfect square face as his eyes softened in a way that made Elizabeth’s insides feel like molten butter. “Truly. Come, are we to take that fence today—Elizabeth?”
She did not dare continue gazing at him, and she did not trust her voice to make a steady answer. Instead, she turned her horse’s head and galloped down the field, with William hot on her heels.
Chapter 16
Wyoming,
May 1900
“Lydia,whereareyougoing so late?”
