Page 8 of The Gossip War (Pride and Prejudice Shorts #1)
It was harder to convince my Elizabeth to get on my horse than it was to get her to agree to marry me.
Of course, she kicked the rock down the hill that resulted in my unorthodox proposal, but when we climbed aboard my horse in the middle of that cold November night, we were not in fact engaged and might never be.
She had the temerity to explain why walking was better than riding using irrefutable logic.
Since she could walk perfectly safely in the moonlight at three miles per hour while a walking horse could only manage four (and even a trot would be dangerous, let alone a canter), she asserted it would be faster to walk when one considered the time spent tacking up.
It irked me to admit (silently, of course) that she made sense.
Horses were only more efficient over longer distances, or higher speeds (Blast!).
I almost succumbed to her logic (where almost is a euphemism for did not even come close ), but I finally pressed Miss Bennet’s health as the reason to ride—an argument Elizabeth could not, in good conscience, ignore.
Even Miss Bennet’s assurances that she was perfectly able to walk could not be taken seriously at three in the morning in mid-November after four days sick in bed.
I took the trouble to ask if Elizabeth preferred to sit sidewise like a lady riding side-saddle; or astride, which would be unladylike in broad daylight, but had the advantage of being safer.
She chose side-saddle, which I liked very much, as it would be impossible to see her beautiful face if she were astride, and I have been a selfish being all my life.
In the end, I had no idea whether she was more afraid of horses or being close to me—but she was nervous enough to be shaking as I lifted her from the mounting block to the front of my saddle.
I admit that, when I held her in place with my hands gripping her waist tightly whilst looking anxiously at her face for signs of fear, I might have held on for a moment or two beyond what was necessary. Better safe than sorry.
When I tacked up the horses without any aid or fumbling, she seemed mildly curious, but not overly so.
I suspected the previous day she probably considered me too haughty to be capable of any such action; but I reckoned that the evening’s events had caused her to re-evaluate much of what she thought about me, much as I was doing with her.
Fortunately for me, I had no qualms about marrying her, nor about riding my own horse, nor about holding her as close as she allowed.
Aside from the fear of making her life difficult or making her overly nervous; I had no cause to repine.
I wondered idly if putting her needs first would become an ingrained habit.
I had certainly picked it up much quicker than I imagined possible, though I suspected I had a lot to learn and many bad habits to break.
Miss Bennet sat on Miss Bingley’s horse like a warrior princess placed on a saddle before she could walk.
There was always something unnervingly solid and unrufflable about her.
Even the events of that evening produced nothing more than a slight frown.
I hoped to get beyond her placid exterior sooner or later (obviously, hoping very much there was an extended later).
She still looked a bit pale but would have any trouble riding to Longbourn.
In fact, she gifted me one of her beatific smiles that had set many a heart beating wildly, though mine was impervious.
She then nodded and looked carefully at her sister to ensure she was as comfortable as she was likely to get.
“I am trusting you with my most precious possession, sir.”
I smiled and nodded, while Miss Elizabeth scowled, not enamoured with being treated like a baby.
“Ready, Miss Elizabeth?”
She nodded, and I climbed carefully into the saddle behind her.
Both ladies wore greatcoats far too large, so I could not see much beyond their faces.
I employed my own best for Miss Bennet and my spare for Miss Elizabeth, while I of course thought nothing of borrowing Bingley’s for myself.
If Bingley spent an hour cursing the lack of a coat or froze to death, I would applaud his demise.
Miss Bennet led the way, plodding out of the courtyard at a pace Miss Elizabeth could beat on foot. My lady refrained from comment, so I followed at the same pace.
As we walked up the drive towards Meryton, I placed my spare hand on Miss Elizabeth’s hip, and with as much subtlety as a blacksmith, pulled her a bit closer—for safety’s sake naturally.
She glanced up and gave me a look suggesting she knew exactly what I was about but did not complain nor scoot away.
I ordinarily rode with both hands on the reins, but my horse knew to follow Miss Bennet, and I could mostly control him with my legs alone.
I could have left the bridle and reins in the stable without penalty.
I was free to dedicate my hands and eyes to Miss Elizabeth.
A quarter-hour had us skirting Meryton. During that time, I felt Miss Elizabeth gradually become less tense, much to my relief.
I felt that manhandling her back to a closer connexion with my body might not go all that well, but I had no qualms about leaning forward enough for her arm to contact my chest, which allowed me to speak softly into her ear.
“Are you sufficiently at ease? I apologise for any discomfort.”
She turned her head from staring frightfully at the horse carrying Miss Bennet to staring into my face and looked at me frankly and carefully for some time.
She finally replied, “Surprisingly, I am comfortable enough. We should use this half-hour for a private conversation. Much as I appreciate Jane’s help, and much as I want my parents’ advice—this matter is between us.”
I agreed with alacrity, but since I had already said all I had to say about my proposal (for the moment), I nodded to give her the floor.
She seemed to sit up a little bit straighter for a moment, which had the added benefit of bringing her closer to my chest (for which I had no complaints).
“This situation has come upon us inordinately quickly. It will upend both of our lives. I am curious about which of us you believe has the biggest shock over the evening’s events, and which of us will have the most change in our lives?”
She seemed to ask the question as much to practise the art of talking to me without the desire to cause pain, as to get an answer. Fortunately, I had no doubts.
“You have the most shock, and to be honest, you will have the biggest change to your life. You are asked to move from intensely disliking me, to at least provisionally accepting me, over the course of what has yet to be two hours. You had to work out what the Bingleys were about and counter their moves in ten minutes, while I have been fending off compromise attempts for a decade. For the evening’s events, you have had at least double the shocks I have. ”
“Yes, but you did not plan to marry at all, let alone someone like me.”
While I find the art of guessing about others’ thoughts an exercise fraught with danger (especially women, whom I could not understand at all), I still had to think that there was something more behind the question.
It was not as idle as it sounded. I decided to give as complete an answer as I could.
“Once again, there are two aspects to the question. I am eight and twenty. Marriage within the next year or two is inevitable. I can see the calendar advancing as well as anyone. As tonight’s events have definitively proven, it is not feasible to avoid matchmakers forever.
By all rights, I should have married years ago.
Too bad I had not met you then,” I said with what I hoped was a mischievous smile.
I missed the mark. She gave me a ferocious frown and answered with close to a snarl. “What difference would that have made? Absent having your hand forced, you would not even have been tempted to dance with me, let alone court me.”
I wiped the smile off my lips and wondered how I had stepped into it so quickly.
I was surprised when she abruptly took her left hand, which had been gripping her other wrist tightly, and reached up to rub her knuckles along my chin.
I did not actually fall off my horse but felt I really should.
I tried to smile reassuringly, but suspect I just looked confused, so she took the floor.
“I apologise. Jane cannot hear us, so I must chastise myself in her stead by asserting that was unkind and retract it. I am sorry.”
Her contrition made me feel even worse, but I thought I should try to manage the conversation more actively.
“You are correct that my manners have been severely at fault. However, to be perfectly honest, I have been very attracted to you since almost the first night. I was certainly developing an appreciation for you at Lucas Lodge. When Sir William tried to coerce you to dance with me, I was genuinely desirous of doing so; and your refusal did you no harm in my eyes. In fact, I unwisely said something about ‘the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow’ to Miss Bingley. It did not go over well. That was what put her on her guard, and probably the reason she was nastier to you than usual at Netherfield. In fact, I suspect it advanced their plans to ensnare me. She was jealous enough to see the danger.”
“What danger?” she snapped, with alarm.
Not to be intimidated, I pulled her slightly tighter with the hand on her waist. It did not actually move her but conveyed that I would not be averse to the idea, then I stared at her harder than I should have (though she seemed unintimidated).