Page 22 of Time Stands Still

Lady Catherine looked as though she wished to admonish them all for such fanciful nonsense, her mouth already open to deliver a sharp rebuke. But Darcy spoke first, his voice sharp with renewed purpose as he pulled a thick, dark volume from a high shelf. “Here. This might be something.” He blew a cloud of dust from the cover, revealing the title in faded gold leaf: Temporal Aberrations & Other Afflictions of the Natural Order. “Let us see what afflictions this volume has to offer.”

He laid the book on the table, and he and Elizabeth bent their heads close, turning the initial pages to examine the list of chapters within. The air was charged with a new energy, a genuine hope that superseded his aunt’s bluster. With their heads bent together over the volume, the rest of the room seemed to fade for Darcy. After a few moments, he was vaguely aware of Richard giving a theatrical sigh and returning to the letter he had been writing, now and then casting a curious glance in their direction. Anne retreated to a quiet corner with the book she had brought with her, occasionally glancing up from its pages. Even Lady Catherine’s stream of commentary eventually subsided, her topic having been so thoroughly exhausted, and a quiet look at her chair confirmed that she had dozed off, her chin resting on her chest.

For the next hour, there was no sound but the rustle of pages and the distant ticking of a clock. They found accounts of days that grew shorter, of seasons that refused to turn, and a cryptic, frustratingly brief entry on ‘The Serpent which Eats its Own Tail,’ describing a rumoured curse in which a man was forced to live the same moment of failure in battle until his courage was renewed. It was not their situation, but it was close enough to send a thrill of possibility through them both, a shared spark of hope that defied the odds.

Darcy was the first to look up, noticing the light in the room had shifted, the sun now high in the sky. “It is approaching noon,” he said, his voice low. “We have a promising indication. We can look for similar volumes and continue our study of this one on the morrow.”

“I agree,” she murmured, her expression bright with a hope that mirrored his own. “It is more than we had yesterday. Indeed, I had quite forgotten the hour, so engrossed was I. But I believe I must return to the parsonage now. I have imposed upon your family’s gathering for long enough.”

“Imposed?” Darcy countered, his voice low so as not to be overheard. “You have done nothing of the sort. You have enlivened it. There is no need for you to leave.”

“Nevertheless, I feel I must,” she insisted, though her eyes held a hint of regret. “Lady Catherine appears to be quite content in her slumber, so I shall make my adieus to Miss de Bourgh.” She then turned from him, and he watched as she closed the book and moved to excuse herself, approaching his cousin Anne with a quiet grace. He could not hear her words, but he saw Anne’s small, answering smile, a brief, private exchange. The scene was a welcome reminder of Elizabeth’s interaction with Georgiana.

“Well,” Colonel Fitzwilliam declared, finally setting down his pen with a decisive flourish. “I believe I have absorbed all the scholarship I can for one morning. All this talk of ancient deeds makes me wish for one of my own. A ride, perhaps. What say you, Darcy? The lanes are dry enough.”

Darcy readily agreed. He was not about to let Elizabeth return to the parsonage alone, not when he sensed a new and potent intimacy blossoming between them. The ride was a perfect solution, a continuation of their private discourse. “An excellent idea,” he said. He turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, perhaps you would care to join us?”

“That is very kind, Colonel, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth replied, a faint, strained smile on her lips, “but I must decline. I am no horsewoman.”

Richard looked genuinely surprised. “Truly, Miss Bennet? I had supposed everyone from Hertfordshire was born in the saddle. Your country seems to produce such vigorous ladies.”

“A vulgar prejudice, Richard,” Lady Catherine boomed from her chair, having evidently been roused from her doze by the change in conversation, her eyes snapping open. “Though one must admit, a firm seat is the mark of good breeding. I was considered one of the finest horsewomen in the county in my youth. Had Anne’s health permitted, she would have been my equal. It is a matter of lineage as much as practice.” She cast a dismissive glance at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth’s smile tightened, but she merely said, with remarkable composure, “I am afraid my lineage has failed me, your Ladyship. I learned the principles as a girl, but… I took a fall some years ago. I confess I have been reluctant to ride since.”

“A fall?” Anne asked, her voice soft with concern, her eyes fixed on Elizabeth.

Darcy’s heart gave a lurch, a protective instinct mixing with a sudden, brilliant idea. This was an opportunity, disguised as an impediment.

“Then you must allow me to help you find your confidence again,” he said, his voice firm but gentle, cutting across any further pronouncements from his aunt. He kept his gaze on Elizabeth, willing her to agree, to see the deeper meaning in his offer. “A gentle horse and a patient companion are all that is required. We could begin this very afternoon.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows shot up in genuine amusement. “Well, Darcy! I did not take you for a riding master. This is a new side to your character.”

Elizabeth looked flustered, her cheeks flushed. “Mr. Darcy, you are too kind. I could not possibly impose…”

Lady Catherine let out a small, harrumphing sound, and Darcy was conscious of her sharp gaze moving between him and Miss Bennet, her eyes narrowed slightly as if sensing a charge in the air that had little to do with equestrian instruction. She was, he realised, ever a keen observer of human nature, however flawed her conclusions might often be.

It was Anne who broke the sudden tension, her voice startlingly clear, drawing all attention to herself. “You could take my old mare, Miss Bennet. She is very gentle. The gentlest in the stables, and quite accustomed to a lady of… quiet disposition.” All eyes turned to her. She met her cousin Darcy’s gaze, then Elizabeth’s, a new and unfamiliar resolution on her face, a quiet strength Darcy had rarely witnessed in her. “I would be happy to lend her. And… and I could show you the paths around the home-wood. They are quite sheltered, and far from the main drive. Mama need not be disturbed by our activity.” Her last words were spoken with a quiet, almost imperceptible glance towards her mother.

“How very thoughtful of you, Anne,” Lady Catherine inserted herself, her suspicious tone replaced by one of saccharine approval, glad that the attention was on her daughter’s generosity. “I am so pleased to see you taking an interest in our guests. It is just as it should be, you and Darcy working together on such a charitable project, helping a less fortunate young lady with her horsemanship.”

The implication was as subtle as a hammer blow, a clear message to Elizabeth of where her daughter stood in relation to her nephew, a constant reminder of Darcy’s supposed future. A hot spike of anger shot through Darcy at his aunt’s boorishness, a surge of protectiveness for Elizabeth. It was instantly cooled by a wave of profound gratitude for his cousin. Anne had not merely offered a horse; she had skilfully and courageously offered an escape, a quiet moment of privacy, and in so doing, had given her tacit blessing to the very thing her mother sought to undermine. The offer was extraordinary. Darcy sent his cousin a look of profound, silent gratitude.

“There,” he said softly to Elizabeth, his voice full of a warmth he did not try to hide, his gaze holding hers. “It is settled. Your first lesson will be this afternoon.”

Chapter Sixteen

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Rosings parkland as the four of them assembled in the stable yard. Darcy’s sense of triumph, which had been simmering since Anne’s timely intervention, grew into a quiet, confident joy. A short time earlier, Anne had taken Elizabeth to her own rooms to procure a suitable riding habit, ensuring Miss Bennet would be appropriately attired for the excursion.

He watched as Elizabeth approached the mare, her expression a mixture of apprehension and resolve, her hands clutched almost imperceptibly at her side. Anne was already there, murmuring reassuring words to the mare and stroking the horse’s nose with a quiet affection. “She is as gentle as a lamb, Miss Bennet,” she said, her voice soft but entirely convincing. “She will take good care of you.”

“I only hope I may prove worthy of her good nature, Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth replied, though her eyes were fixed on the saddle as if it were a peak to be surmounted, a challenge to her courage.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, ever observant and possessed of an acute understanding of human nature, seemed to take in the scene with a knowing amusement. “Well, Anne,” he declared, swinging up onto his own powerful hunter with practised ease. “You mentioned a particular path in the home-wood you wished to show Miss Bennet? Let us ride on ahead and ensure it is clear. We shall meet you there.” He shared a brief, almost imperceptible glance with Anne, a silent communication that conveyed both understanding and approval. Anne gave a slight nod before being assisted onto her own spirited mount, her posture surprisingly firm. With a final, cheerful wave, they spurred their horses to a canter and disappeared down the lane, their laughter echoing briefly amongst the trees.

It was a blatant, and most welcome, act of conspiracy, one that left Darcy with a sense of warm gratitude towards his perceptive cousin.

He moved to her side, his hands reaching for her waist to assist her into the saddle. The moment his fingers made contact, a jolt, as powerful and unexpected as lightning, shot through him. She was so slender, so delicate, and yet there was a firm, resilient strength to her form that surprised him. Her scent, of lavender and fresh morning air, delicate and clean, filled his senses. For a breathless moment, he held her suspended, his hands locked at her waist, her own hands resting lightly on his shoulders. He felt the rapid beat of his own heart, a drum against his ribs. The world, for that fleeting instant, narrowed to the space between them, and he was sensible of nothing but her presence.