Page 28 of A November to Remember

Darcy stepped between Miss Elizabeth and the stallion, extending his arm to shield her.

“Do not approach him, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy ordered, his voice sharp with genuine alarm. “Step back. He is ill-tempered and vicious to strangers. He tolerates only myself and my sister. He will bite you if you bring your hand too close.”

Miss Elizabeth, however, did not step back.

“Do not fret, Mr Darcy. I know my way around difficult horses. It is their owners who baffle me.”

She ignored Darcy’s outstretched arm and took a slow step closer to the snorting horse.

“Miss Elizabeth, I insist that you retreat—” Darcy began, his panic flaring anew.

“Hush, Mr Darcy,” she commanded, keeping her attention fixed on the horse. “You are making him nervous with your shouting.”

Darcy fell silent out of shock. No one ever told him to hush. Not even his own aunt dared to speak to him in such a manner.

Miss Elizabeth extended her arm slowly, her palm open and flat. Resting on her gloved hand was the remaining half of her apple.

“There is a good gentleman,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a low, soothing register. “You are very large, and you are very loud, but I suspect you are mostly bluster. Are you not?”

Roc lowered his massive head. He sniffed the air, his hot breath billowing over her glove. Darcy tensed, fully prepared to throw himself bodily over the woman to protect her from the inevitable snap of the horse’s teeth, but Roc did not bite.

The ill-tempered stallion, the terror of the Pemberley stables, delicately plucked the apple from Miss Elizabeth’s palm with his lips. He crunched the fruit happily, chewing with sloppy eagerness. When he had finished, the horse took a half-step forward and nudged her shoulder affectionately with his muzzle, demanding more.

She laughed, raised her hand, and began to stroke the horse’s neck, scratching a spot just behind his ear. Roc closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, the very image of a domesticated lapdog.

Darcy stared at the scene with a sense of betrayal.

“He is a fraud, Mr Darcy,” she declared, smiling as the horse nudged her again. “He is not vicious in the least. He simply enjoys maintaining a formidable reputation to avoid being bothered by those he deems unworthy. It is a highly effective strategy.” She shot a quick, sideways glance at Darcy. “I suspect he learned it from his master.”

Darcy had just been insulted. He had just been compared to a temperamental animal, and yet, he felt no urge to defend his dignity. He felt only warmth expanding in his chest.

“I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, his reputation is earned,” he managed to say, stepping slightly closer, though he kept his hand firmly on the reins. “He threw three grooms at Pemberley before I was able to break him. He has never allowed a stranger to touch him without extracting a blood price. You have a unique talent.”

“I grew up in the country, sir,” Miss Elizabeth explained, continuing to stroke the horse’s mane. “One learns quickly that animals respond far better to calm but firm rules than to shouting and fear. They just wish to know where they stand.”

“A philosophy that applies equally well to human interactions, I imagine,” Darcy observed quietly.

Miss Elizabeth paused and turned her head to look at him, the amusement in her eyes shifting into something more thoughtful, more assessing. Loose curls lashed around her face, and Darcy was overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and tuck a stray lock behind her ear. He gripped the reins tighter to anchor his hands.

“You mentioned your sister,” she said, breaking the charged silence that had settled between them. “You said the horse tolerates her.”

Darcy blinked, surprised by the shift in topic. “I did. Yes. Her name is Georgiana.”

“Is she older or younger than yourself?”

“She is much younger,” Darcy replied, his voice softening at the mention of her name. “She is a little more than fifteen.”

“Fifteen,” Miss Elizabeth repeated, a wistful smile touching her lips. “My sister Lydia is nearly the same age. Energetic years, to be sure. Does she share your preference for formidable horses and imposing estates, Mr Darcy?”

“Georgiana shares some qualities with me. Others, far less so,” Darcy confessed, moving closer so he did not have to shout over the wind. “She is quiet and exceedingly shy with strangers. She prefers the library to the ballroom, and she has a talent for the pianoforte that I could never hope to emulate.”

“She sounds lovely,” she offered. “It must be difficult for her, being thrust into the glare of society if she is naturally reserved. Does she enjoy London?”

“She endures it,” Darcy admitted. And then, without knowing why, he continued. “She went through a small ordeal recently... I came here to allow her time to find peace and her footing without the presence of her elder brother. She... requires peace.”

“I sincerely hope her ordeal is well behind her. She is lucky to have such a devoted and protective brother,” she said sincerely.

“I am her guardian,” Darcy said, his eyes focused on Roc’s ear. “I would move the earth to ensure her safety and her happiness.”