Page 3 of Gentlemen of Honor (Bennet Gang Duology #2)

The Cat Has Left the Bag

It took Elizabeth no effort to persuade Thomas and Matthew that they should come to the stable each afternoon while Nanny Hill napped, so they might learn to ride. Nor were they dismayed when Elizabeth informed them that they couldn’t permit Mrs. Oakwood to know. Her brothers had merely nodded seriously, and Matthew had said, ‘Because Mama is afraid horses will kill us.’

Their first day of training, Elizabeth left word asking to be summoned if Mr. Darcy called, and went out to reiterate her lecture on tack. She was glad Lydia had already heard it once, because her sister obviously required the extra lesson. Thomas and Matthew had the advantage of an interest in all things equine, a love for military journals, and a collection of realistically wrought toy horses of various sorts. Lydia didn’t know a bridle from a bootlace.

On the second day of lessons with all three, Elizabeth left a similar message with the staff and went to the stable to await Lydia and their brothers. Soon enough, their chatter reached her, and moments later Thomas and Matthew spilled in, mid-argument, followed by Lydia.

“…have taken it,” Matthew was saying. “It’s been missing for weeks.”

“I didn’t take Papa’s spyglass,” Thomas protested. “You had it. You never even let me use it.”

A jolt of worry went through Elizabeth. Mary had taken the spyglass for Jane to use. They’d had it with them on the hillside above the duel. Surely, when Mary collected Jane’s Bakers, she’d also picked up Papa Arthur’s spyglass? She must have it, and have forgotten.

“I know you took it,” Matthew muttered. “If you lost it, I’m going to melt your soldiers.”

“Don’t you touch my soldiers.”

Behind them, Lydia sighed.

“Thomas, Matthew,” Elizabeth said crisply, the way Papa Arthur used to speak to her and Jane, and later Mary, when they were training. “Are you here to argue or to learn about riding?”

Breaking off their argument, they gaped at her.

Elizabeth reflected that her brothers were good lads, for which they should all be grateful, because Thomas and Matthew had little in the way of discipline in their lives. They could easily be quite awful.

“To learn about riding?” Matthew asked tentatively.

“Try to keep that in mind,” Elizabeth advised, then launched into a discussion of how to check and care for tack, at the end of which she let them tack out Mare Marian with Mary’s sidesaddle. She inspected their work, tightened the girth, and asked, “Who thinks they can get into a saddle on their first try?”

As she walked Mare Marian over to the mounting block, all three of her younger siblings raised their hands.

Elizabeth hid a smile. When Papa Arthur had given her and Jane that lecture and then asked the same question, only Elizabeth had raised her hand. A few years later, when he’d asked Mary if she thought she could get into the saddle, Elizabeth’s younger sister had shaken her head no.

Jane and Mary had been right.

“I should go first because I’m the oldest and the tallest,” Lydia declared, dropping her arm.

“Agreed, but why else should Lydia go first?” Elizabeth asked them.

Tentatively, Thomas offered, “Because we put the sidesaddle on Mare Marian, and Lydie’s wearing a gown?”

Elizabeth awarded him a smile. “Exactly. Lydia can try first, and then we’ll switch saddles, which will give you more practice with Mare Marian’s tack. Then Lydia will try mounting astride, and you two will get to as well.”

“Why does Lydia need to try mounting astride?” Thomas asked. “She’s a girl.”

Matthew turned to him. “Some girls ride astride. Ladies, too.”

“Everyone should know how to ride astride,” Elizabeth said by way of agreement. “If for no other reason than in case of the unexpected.”

“What unexpected?” Matthew asked.

Turning a disgusted look on his little brother, Thomas said, “You can’t know what will be unexpected or it won’t be unexpected, you dolt.” Thomas tended to be very literal, a habit of which Elizabeth would like to break him. A little imagination could be an asset.

Matthew looked down, abashed.

“It is true that you cannot know what surprises you may encounter,” Elizabeth told them in a serious voice. “Your father always said that the best strategy is to be as prepared as you are able, so that when the unexpected does happen, you have as many options at your disposal as possible.”

“Prepared how?” Matthew asked.

“Well, for one, by knowing how to ride a horse no matter what saddle is at your disposal, or even with no saddle at all.”

“I want to ride Robin,” Thomas said. “I don’t even need a saddle.”

“Show me you can ride Mare Marian, and then you can ride Robin,” Elizabeth replied. “Come, Lydia, we will use the mounting block.”

“What about Tuck?” Matthew asked as Lydia came to stand before the three-tiered block.

“Tuck is a bit more particular than Robin.” Elizabeth’s horse required a firm, knowledgeable hand. It would be some time before she permitted any of her siblings to ride him.

“I won’t use the mounting block,” Thomas declared.

“Yes, you will,” Elizabeth replied mildly. “You all will, and you will employ the top step for now. As you gain in skill, you will go lower.”

“Do you use the mounting block?” Lydia asked.

“For sidesaddle, I do,” Elizabeth replied.

“Mr. Bingley doesn’t use a mounting block,” Thomas protested. “Or Cousin Robert, or Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth ignored the pang that went through her at the mention of Mr. Darcy. Two days ago, he’d asked to court her, and she hadn’t seen him since. “I imagine they all used mounting blocks when they were learning,” she said, tamping down a thread of worry.

Lydia climbed onto the first step of the mounting block, studying the saddle. She leaned forward to peer at the stirrup. Elizabeth directed her up to the top step, then explained where to put her feet and hands, when to pull and when to push off in a sort of half jump that would become a more elegant motion in time, and how to hold her skirt.

Lydia tried once, getting tangled. With a grunt, she reordered her skirt and tried again. Mare Marian stood placidly, not seeming to notice.

“Do you want us to come push you?” Thomas called, laughing.

“I’d like to see you even walk in a skirt,” Lydia cast back. “One attempt at a staircase and you’d lose your front teeth.”

Still, their brother’s teasing must have spurred her on, because Lydia succeeded on her third try. At Elizabeth’s direction, she folded her right leg around the top pommel, sitting tall, a large grin on her face.

“Ohhh,” she breathed, looking about. “It’s very high up.” She swiveled to take in their brothers. “You look tiny.”

“Mare Marian isn’t nearly as tall as Robin and Tuck,” Thomas declared. “She’s practically a pony.”

“He didn’t mean that,” Lydia said, patting the white mare on her neck. “Do I get to ride now?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. You get to learn to dismount, and unlike mounting, you only get one try to do it right. Succeed or fail, you will end up on the ground.”

Lydia succeeded, though inelegantly, and Elizabeth had her mount and dismount twice more before they switched saddles. Lydia did better with mounting astride, despite her skirt, and Matthew showed a certain aptitude that he had likely inherited from his father, swinging into the saddle on his second try. He agreed that sitting astride Mare Marian put him quite high up, and that Thomas looked like an ant from up there, and Elizabeth had him dismount and mount several more times.

When his turn finally came, Thomas rushed up the mounting block and swung a leg over Mare Marian with such enthusiasm, he slid right off the other side. Elizabeth jumped forward, keeping him from crashing too indecorously to the ground and hurting himself. He gaped at her, stunned.

Behind him, Matthew laughed. “You are meant to get on the horse, not jump over her.”

Thomas scowled.

“You wanted to be the only one to do it in one try?” Elizabeth asked, regarding her little brother with amusement.

Grudgingly, he nodded.

“Well, you were not, so try again, but with more decorum.” She gave him a push, urging him to walk around Mare Marian’s head. She’d already lectured them very sternly about standing or walking behind horses. Taking back up the placid mare’s reins, Elizabeth said, “You want to be confident with horses, but not exuberant. Even the best horse can spook at the oddest things. Calm and steady is the way to go. Try again.”

He failed twice more, nervous now, but Elizabeth kept up a string of instructions in an even, commanding voice, such as she might use with Tuck. It was important to build a rider’s confidence in small increments, accustoming them to the surety one needed to embody when it came to horses.

Once Thomas succeeded, on his fourth try, Elizabeth had him dismount and mount several times. She then instructed her siblings to unsaddle Mare Marian, and to brush down all three horses. By the time that was done, she could see how tired they all were, but also how pleased. With the promise that tomorrow they would get to ride atop Mare Marian while Elizabeth walked her in the yard, she dismissed them.

As they left the stable her younger siblings raced ahead, and Elizabeth let them. It surprised her that no one had come to interrupt their lesson with word of Mr. Darcy’s arrival, but certainly that wouldn’t be the case most days. Should she discuss her siblings’ riding lessons with Nanny Hill so that they might be moved to the morning, before afternoon callers could be expected? Or would Nanny Hill insist on telling Mrs. Oakwood?

Voices reached Elizabeth from the garden, some feminine and some not, and she turned her steps in that direction, smiling. Her sisters must be in the walled garden with their betrotheds. Mr. Darcy would be with them, conscientiously permitting her to finish her siblings’ lesson. Perhaps she would ask him to join her in teaching them tomorrow. Thomas might respond better to being instructed by a gentleman, rather than his older sister.

She entered the walled garden to the sight of Jane, Mary, Mr. Bingley, and Cousin Robert seated in pairs on two of the four central benches. Elizabeth struggled not to lose her smile as she walked down the path to join them. Where was Mr. Darcy?

When she reached them, the gentlemen stood to bow to her, her sisters rising from their places as well.

“Cousin Elizabeth,” Robert said as he straightened. “How went the lesson?”

“Only one of them fell off a horse, so fairly well,” she replied lightly, then turned to Mr. Bingley. “Mr. Darcy did not join you?”

All four seemed to still. Jane looked down, studying her boots. Mary’s cheeks blotched with red.

“Has something befallen him?” Elizabeth asked in sudden dread.

“What?” Mr. Bingley shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. He, ah, he simply has some matters to see to. In London. Urgent and all that.”

“Urgent matters?” Elizabeth said slowly. “Ones of such great importance that he must see to them in person?” And without informing her that he would be away?

“Ah…yes?” Mr. Bingley’s voice held no certainty. Panic flashed across his features as he sought for more to say, then he exclaimed, “The Hargreaves are to arrive soon. If Miss Hargreaves’s letters to my sister are any indication, they are keen to meet all of you, for which I do apologize. Jane has informed me that you may not wish to make their acquaintance.”

Jane and Mary exchanged a worried look at that .

“But Mr. Darcy has left,” Elizabeth reiterated, shock and sorrow swirling through her, making her dizzy.

“For now,” Mr. Bingley said with forced cheer.

Mary pulled something from her pocket. “He asked Mr. Bingley to give Jane this.”

Elizabeth accepted the collapsed spyglass. It weighed heavy and cold in her hand. She swallowed down bile. He’d learned the truth. Mr. Darcy had guessed that she was Azile, and he’d fled to London rather than see her again.

She cleared her throat and handed the spyglass back to her sister. “Thomas and Matthew were arguing over who lost it.” Mary would know where to leave it for her brothers to discover. Stuck in the back corner of one of their desk drawers, or under a pillow, or in a box of less-often-played-with toy soldiers.

“I will see that they find it,” Mary said gruffly.

Her voice quiet, Jane ventured, “I am certain Mr. Darcy will return soon.”

“He simply needs…” Mr. Bingley grimaced. “That is, Darcy can rush to conclusions, for all his reserve. He needs time to think.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth murmured, swallowing. She had to get away from here. Away from her sisters and the men who loved them. Who cared for them even though they were Boney Bandits. “And I imagine it is very difficult to think in Hertfordshire, whereas London offers considerable space and peace for doing so.”

“Elizabeth,” Jane said wretchedly, reaching out a hand.

Elizabeth shook her head. “If you will excuse me. I smell of horses.”

She pushed past them, ignoring the gentlemen’s bows, and hurried down the path. Leaving the garden, long strides took her to the house. She entered through the washroom, finding it blissfully empty, and made her way up the back stairs. She passed Mary’s maid carrying away burned-down candles and wearing a startled expression to see her on the servants’ stairwell, and finally reached her room.

Inside, Elizabeth closed the door, tears spilling free the moment the telltale click of the mechanism assured her she was alone.

He’d left? Without a single word? Without giving her even one opportunity to provide an explanation?

Mr. Bingley seemed not to care that Jane was a Boney Bandit. Cousin Robert likely lauded that Mary was. But Mr. Darcy, the vaunted master of Pemberley with his connections and his wealth, he couldn’t countenance the idea of courting a woman who knew how to fence. Who may have relieved a few gentlemen of their funds over the years, as if other gentlemen did not do so with regularity at the gambling table. Mr. Bingley and Cousin Robert could accept such women, but not the great Mr. Darcy. His wife must be perfect. Above reproach. He’d likely regretted asking to court a lowly country miss the moment he proposed the idea.

Well, she would not have it. He would not walk away from her without a word. She dashed at her eyes again, swiping away hot tears. Mr. Darcy could, and would, do as he wished, but Elizabeth would have her say.

Pushing away from the door, she crossed to her writing desk and pulled out a clean sheet of paper. Elizabeth would go to London. She would find a way to see him, and she would make her opinions of Mr. Darcy and his beastly behavior quite clear. Leave her with no explanation indeed!

Taking a penknife to a quill with greater force than needed, Elizabeth readied to write to her Aunt Gardiner.