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Chapter 16

Posted on Saturday, 31 May 2008

The next morning began earlier than usual. The anxious men fidgeted in their chairs as they waited for the announcement. The stakes were high. This was the fourth of five games with the rankings for the stallion close. Almost as if coming to attention, the men eyed Darcy as he entered the dining room. He had been very secretive in preparing for his game; sending an express message to a location none of the men could discover. He continued to steal away to talk to stable hands and the gardener daily and was the first one to glance at the letters received each morning. Moreover, he smiled every day for a week. The smile was what worried them the most.

Blake had guessed fencing, since Darcy was downright unbeatable. However, he did acknowledge to the others he wanted that sport since he had an excellent chance of placing second. In addition he reasoned, thrusting foils, rapiers, or perhaps sabers at another fit the naked jests repeatedly made by today’s game host.

“Tup Running.” Darcy controlled his laughter although his lip curved up on one side and both eyes twinkling.

“What the hell is Tup running?” Kent searched through the document, which did not take long. No maps were provided, and none of the charts like Blake had used for the identifying the order of play were included. Kent scrutinized every word on the single page of instructions.

Leaning back in his chair, Rawlings coughed until he gained everyone’s attention. “In my neck of the wood, ‘tup’ is the equivalent to the ‘beast with two backs’.”

“Surely it cannot be as you say. Remember we were not to be naked!” Blake glared at Darcy. “Explain yourself. We need to know what this is.”

“Pray tell us, how do rams fit in?” Rawlings added in a teasing voice.

“Rams? What about rams?” Bingley’s eyes grew wide.

Rawlings snickered. “Yes. I speak the truth. I witnessed four such creatures arriving last week. The boy said they were yours, Darcy. Come clean and tell us all.

“Tup running is a Derbyshire activity played at wakes and fairs.”

“People bring rams to funerals in Derbyshire? Quite the thing for sheep country, I must say,” Rawlings remarked.

“No, church wakes are festivals to honor the church’s saint. It is amusing and agreeably entertaining,” Darcy answered.

Rawlings rolled his eyes. Darcy took him too seriously at times.

“What do we do with these smelly animals?” Bingley, intrigued with this game, could not imagine how they would be used. Riding would be too easy, and he assumed shearing would be too risky for both the men and the beasts.

Finally releasing his previously restrained laugh, Darcy took pleasure in his friends’ reactions as he pointed to the paper “Read the rules, I did not use any four syllable words for you to ponder over. I had Bingley’s servants turn a large area in the East Meadow into a circled pen of sorts. The rams will be in the circle. You must catch the ram by its tail, and hold tight until a judge taps you on the shoulder. The first one to be tapped wins five points, and next one four points, and so on.”

“This seems too easy, Darcy.” Kent glanced through the rules again, looking for something more.

“Oh, I neglected to mention that the rams will be thoroughly soaped and greased around the end parts. You will discover the difficulty in holding on, I assure you.”

Rawlings nodded to Bingley who said quickly, “Again, you attempt disguise, Darcy.”

Darcy frowned; his expression and long sigh revealed his regret for making any statement of this kind to his heartlessly teasing friends.

“Now I understand your caution about being naked, Darcy,” Blake said as the others chuckled, and then hooted at the image racing in their minds. “I am pleased you are amused. I never so much as patted a ram on the rear. Only once before have I touched its head, and I was a silly child at the time. I will not grab the tail of any animal.”

“Blake, the townspeople will remark on your absence,” Darcy said.

“I have no care to what they say.”

“You agreed to all the games regardless of the type,” Rawlings said brusquely.

“But to grab a ram in such a way. Darcy, I cannot believe you attempt such a hideous deed!” Blake asked.

“Every year. I am exceptionally victorious at the game; otherwise I would not have chosen this sport.”

“Since you do own all the sheep in Derbyshire, your proficiency is unsurprising.” A smirking Rawlings concentrated on the food on his plate.

Darcy scoffed. “I do not own all the sheep. Where do you get such ideas?”

“It is all the talk: Mr. Darcy owns half of Derbyshire, all the mines, and all the sheep,” Rawlings said in an exaggerated imitation of the locals.

“Well, the speculation is not true. Oh yes, one last rule.”

“Are we to kiss their furry bums too?” Blake asked.

Darcy chuckled. “If you so desire, Lord Blake. Now, inside the pen will be four rams and when one is caught, that ram will be removed. This is to ensure the ram you catch will still be greased and difficult to hold onto.”

“Could you have not chosen a different game? Fencing is an excellent amusement for the spectators,” Blake asked, and then quickly added, “Tup Running is rather disgusting.”

“Perhaps the game we play at our fairs in Leicester might have suited you better,” Kent said.

Blake eyed Kent. “You are from Leicester? That is my county.”

With a cold stare in return, Kent nodded. “Yes, I am aware of that, and I have known since our Cambridge days.”

Blake diverted his eyes away from Kent onto his empty plate in front of him. “What is the game they play there?”

“It is called Whip the Cock,” Kent said.

“Whip the what?” Rawlings asked. “Tup Running, Whip the Cock! I am surprised someone does not get thrown in the stockade at these northern fairs.”

“What is, umm, Whip the Cock, Kent?” a grinning Bingley asked.

“They place a rope around—”

“Whoa. This is not a game I would be willing to play.”

Kent laughed. “A rooster, Rawlings, they place a rope around a rooster and tie him to a post. The judges hand all the gentlemen whips. The first one to whip the poor feathered fowl and make him squawk wins it as the prize.”

“What else is there? You and Darcy are so much alike.” Rawlings shook his head.

“Thank you, for the compliment. They blindfold the contestants, spin them around, and then release them with whips in their hands. They wind up thrashing each other before anyone any finds the rooster. The whipping is amusing to watch.”

“A brilliant idea. Maybe we should all be blindfolded and spun in circles for Darcy’s game too.” Rawlings searched for the word blindfolded in the rules.

“I wager Darcy would have included it if he had known about it. Speaking of wagers, does the town know of this game of yours, Darcy?” Kent asked.

“They are being told of it as we speak.”

“Will all those people come?” Rawlings asked, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He already knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to take pleasure in Blake’s reaction.

“This is to be public?” With his mouth agape, his eyes wide, Blake crossed his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “Are we to perform this humiliating activity in front of women and children? I may avoid this game.”

Thinking only of Bingley, Darcy was clearly not pleased, but explained, “There is no reason you cannot drop out. Mmmm. You earned eight points for four competitions. Remember, you only earn them, Blake, when you participate; and I will challenge giving away points for not playing. Now let us see. My total for three games is nine, and if I win, I will be ahead with fourteen. All I would need for the last game is one and the stallion will not be…”—Darcy turned to glare at Blake—“Yours.”

When Blake flinched, and then—with brows furrowed— calculated the numbers in his head, Darcy knew that he had won his argument.

Bingley cleared his throat. “Before I forget, I did invite the judges and their families to share refreshments following the game.”

Rawlings looked up from his meal with an unusual gleam in his eye. “All of the family members of the judges?”

Bingley nodded, pleased with the smiles seen on the faces of several of his friends.

Much to Darcy’s displeasure, Blake retrieved a lady’s handkerchief from his pocket. Closing his eyes, he gently caressed the linen between his thumb and fingers. He raised the cloth to his nose, and then suddenly he smiled to Darcy and agreed to play the game.

The crowds were lively and more animated than was expected. The men complained to Roger Staunton about not having any tavern games except cribbage at his establishment. Staunton promised to approach Mr. Bingley and Mr. Kent with an offer to purchase the ones used for the competition. While this satisfied the men, it did not alleviate their desire to prove how superior they were when measured by a meaningless game. The men hushed at the sight of one of the judges making his way inside the tavern.

“Do you know the game for today?”

When Mr. Goulding announced Mr. Darcy’s game and explained the rules, the crowd talked and snickered until the novelty ran its course. Many men expressed surprise that a gentleman of Mr. Darcy’s caliber would select it as his game. Side bets on the naming his game included fencing, croquet, archery, pitching horse shoes, and one even for jousting. Not a single person considered tup running although many activities with sheep had been suggested: shearing, roping, herding, and even tossing the beasts. But the most unusual bets were for bailing hay, plowing, ram jumping, wool naming, trimming a ram’s hooves or horn, and Mr. Staunton’s favorite—head butting with a ram.

“Where is this tup running being played? Are we allowed to watch?” A patron standing next to Staunton asked. He had placed his wager for second place on Mr. Kent, who was gaining popularity daily. However, Blake still led in the betting on the winner of the horse.

“Mr. Bingley invites anyone interested to come to the East Meadow at Netherfield Park at two.” When Mr. Goulding completed his announcement, the crowd cheered. Not wishing to miss the event, the men made haste to gulp the last of their drinks, wrap up conversations, finish the card or billiard game in order to scurry away to discharge their daily tasks. They especially did not want to forgo the pleasure of witnessing men of distinction lower themselves to this type of frivolity.

Meryton was like any other small village. And so it was, within one half hour, there was not a single person unaware of the particulars for the game. A large turnout did find their way to the East Meadow to view a grubby competition they had never seen before played by gentlemen of consequence.

The generously greased rams pranced in the makeshift pen with their hind parts sparkling in the sun. They snorted and butted the tipped over wagons and hastily constructed fencing circling the pens. The rams obviously did not like the crowd that surrounded them. Darcy had handsomely paid several rather large and beefy stable hands to stand inside the circle holding pitchforks to control any charging ram. He did not wish any of his friends to be hurt. This event, he had told them, was to be pleasurable.

The five gentlemen, dressed appropriately for the activity, entered the improvised wagon-type fence, causing the now hushed spectators to crowd around the circle. Also entering alongside the competitors were Mr. Goulding and Mr. Long who had agreed to tap the men once they caught a ram. Darcy had told the men they must hold on until the tap. Mr. Bennet and Mr. Phillips walked along the pen, ensuring the makeshift pen held up. Standing safely behind the largest wagon, but in plain sight of the contestants, Sir William shouted to the young men to ready themselves.

Each one found a strategic spot from which to begin. Blake was exasperated until he spied Miss Elizabeth leaning against one of the wagons. She smiled when their eyes made contact.

Rawlings resolved to hold back, letting Darcy show how to be successful, before he flopped his body around the rear ends of the rams. He had no doubt his friend would win this game; he was the only one with any experience.

Shrugging, Bingley and Kent looked at each other, the rather annoyed rams, and the excited and talkative crowd.

Sir William dropped the flag.

Darcy was first to move, running straight for the largest ram. Within three minutes, he grasped the ram; however, he was not able to hold on, thereby slipping to the ground. Bingley and Kent both reached other rams, but were unable to grab a hold as they creatures ran away too quickly. The frustrated expressions displayed by the men signified to the onlookers that this competition was not going to be easy.

Cheering, the crowd also laughed heartily as these gentlemen chased the rams. The pitchforks were unnecessary, as the animals were busy trying to run away from the men.

When Blake spied Elizabeth gazing at him while twirling a rose in her fingers, he smiled openly, and made a dash for one of the rams. He missed, but caught sight of her nod. Her sparkling eyes were directed at him, with encouragement to try again. On his next attempt, he actually grabbed the ram, although the beast broke the hold when the crowd shouted wildly for him.

Tap.

Mr. Goulding tapped Darcy as he held tight onto the tail of the ram, and pronounced him as the winner and the proud owner of five points for this game. Darcy failed to notice how silent the crowd became after the announcement.

Tap.

“Mr. Kent, you have come in second.” Mr. Goulding announced for the spectators to hear. The crowd roared their approval.

Blake jerked his head towards the judge, and then, to Kent. With renewed determination, he sped forward, attacking the closest ram.

Ignoring the others, Rawlings finally made an effort at catching a ram. His hand clutched the tail just as he tripped and fell face down, causing him to let go. He was fortunate the angry ram did not trample him; preferring to dash to the other side of the pen away from the men. Nevertheless, from his spot on the ground, he realized Blake was actually having more success than either he or Bingley. Rising abruptly, Rawlings ran to catch the ram Bingley was chasing. He grabbed hold of the beast, but before Mr. Long made his way to him, he spied Mr. Goulding reaching Blake, whom was determinedly holding tightly onto the largest ram.

Tap.

“Lord Blake, you have come in third.”

The horde of Hertfordshire’s finest families shouted their approval. Lord Blake was the other favorite for second place. He was such a polite young man smiling to them on occasion that even the less sophisticated residents liked him as much as Mr. Bingley, almost.

Lord Blake bowed to the crowd before he turned to smirk at Darcy. “The stallion will be mine. I have fared better than you expected. I shall win the Andalusian in the end.”

Darcy, with a twinkle in his eyes, smiled widely to Blake before turning to see which one of the two remaining men would receive the final tap. A startled Blake mentally calculated the points; he knew his friend was smiling openly for a reason.

Darcy nodded his congratulations to Rawlings when he received his tap and placed fourth. After only forty minutes, four of the men caught their rams, causing the game to be finished. Nevertheless, Bingley kept trying to catch Rawlings’ ram. There were no more points to win, as he had earned his one point for coming in fifth. The crowd awarded him with riotous shouts of encouragement, and when he finally caught the beast, Mr. Goulding was quick to tap him on the shoulder. Bingley, like Blake had, bowed deeply to the applauding onlookers. He, however, went a step further by clapping for his friends and for the judges as well.

Sir William stood in the middle of the pen after removal of all the rams and announced the scores for the stallion.

“Mr. Darcy leads with fourteen points; Mr. Kent is second with thirteen; Mr. Rawlings has twelve, Lord Blake with eleven, and finally Mr. Bingley has ten points.” The men murmured amongst themselves for several minutes longer. Each man was calculating who to bet on for the next and final game.

When the crowd dispersed, the five men left to change into clothing presentable for the families staying for refreshments.

The invited families meandered to the house where the staff directed the guests to the still tavern decorated ballroom. Shocked upon entering, a few women fanned their faces, and several men began to whistle. Once accustomed to the sight, some of attendees wandered over to the skittles area, while others tested their skills at quoits.

The Bennet ladies, however, tried their hands at shove ha’penny. The youngest two Bennets had just finished a game.

“La, did you see Mr. Rawlings fall flat on his face? What a sight.” Lydia snorted.

Kitty nodded. “But he at least did not come in last.”

“If they had allowed the redcoats to try, they would have just shot the rams first. Now, that is how to play the game.”

Mr. Rawlings joined them just as she finished voicing her opinion. He laughed at Lydia’s comment. I should have done just that. Darcy did not expressly deny anything of the sort. What fun it would have been if I had shot one of the bloody beasts! Hmmm, Lydia has such a keen mind. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

The girls curtsied first before they began to giggle.

“Mr. Rawlings. I thought you were going to catch your ram and come in second.”

“That was my hope, Miss Catherine. Alas, it was not to be.”

“Would it not be funny if we were all soaped up and some redcoats raced and tried to hold on to us? A soapy blind man’s bluff would be fun! La, what a sight that would be.”

Mr. Rawlings cringed at Lydia’s interest in the militia. Can she think of nothing but redcoats?

“I was happy you won your chariot race yesterday. You looked so fierce when you crossed the finish line.”

“Thank you, Miss Catherine. It was quite a race. I was surprised that Mr. Kent and Mr. Bingley were so skilled. I had expected competition from Mr. Darcy.”

“I do believe Mr. Bingley was happy to be second in that race,” Kitty said.

“Today’s game was such fun. And to watch that Mr. Darcy chase a ram… I am surprised he would even attempt such a thing! He certainly got all dirty like the rest of you.” Lydia eyed Rawlings from his head to his feet.

“Mr. Darcy is experienced in this game. He told us he plays it every year in Derbyshire. It is a regular activity there.”

“That would explain why he won. But, he did not even bow to the crowd. Did you notice, Kitty? He just walked off and ignored us all.” Lydia glared straight at Rawlings with her right brow slightly raised and her head tilted to the left.

Rawlings mirrored her stare. “Perhaps he was more interested in seeing who would come in second. Now, do you young ladies want more punch? It appears your glasses are empty.”

They agreed through giggles and snorts. He left to acquire the drinks a moment before Lizzy and Jane joined their sisters.

“Jane, your gentleman did not do so well. He seemed silly running after that ram,” Lydia teased her blushing sister. As she had repeatedly told Kitty, their eldest sister was such an easy target.

“I suspect he was not at his best today. He had much on his mind. He must see to the invited guests.”

“Lord Blake was third, Lizzy. I saw him smile at you. Is he sweet on you? Do you wish they played a soapy blind man’s bluff instead?

“Lydia! Do not be so coarse.”

Mr. Rawlings returned with the drinks and with Mr. Bingley by his side. Overhearing Lydia’s remark, he could not get the image of Lydia all greased up and running in circles from his mind.

Oh, how I like this girl. She is more akin to a bawdy barmaid, and yet, she is a gentleman’s daughter. I would hear no pretense spoken by this little lady. She has much passion about her. She would not lie still with eyes closed tight, and, most definitely, not be almost fully dressed. Soapy Blind Man’s Bluff, indeed!

The group discussed the competition and the games played so far. Elizabeth spotted Lord Blake sitting alone, but when she started to approach him Mr. Rawlings stopped her.

“Miss Elizabeth, it may be best to give Lord Blake a few minutes. I daresay he would not be the best company at the moment.”

“I do not understand?”

“Lord Blake can only win the stallion by besting Bingley at his own game. Remember, we each chose a game that matched our strengths. Lord Blake has now realized that it will be extremely difficult to win.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rawlings. I will leave him be for now and wait for him to approach me.”

“Thank you, that would be most kind.”

The two returned their attention to the group conversation. Without realizing that he could not win the competition now, Lydia, in her normal teasing fashion, chided Mr. Bingley about his play today. The most points he could win after his game would be fifteen. There would most likely be at least one other with sixteen. Nevertheless, Mr. Bingley was not a man prone to unhappiness nor was he that keen about competition. He was happy just to observe his friends so agreeably engaged.

Kent made his way to visit with Charlotte Lucas. She may not have been the prettiest of the maidens, but she was the most practical. He found her standing apart from the others, enjoying the interactions of the invited guests.

Kent handed her a glass of punch. “Miss Lucas, a good afternoon to you.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kent.” Smiling, she accepted the drink and took a small sip while peering at the young man with surprise.

“Did you enjoy the spectacle?”

“It was great fun. Did you enjoy the game, Mr. Kent?

“Yes. I have never done anything like that before.”

Charlotte glanced around the room. “You chose the tavern games when it was you turn, am I correct?

“Yes, and I understand that Mr. Bingley will let the ladies and children compete at them at the Harvest Feast.”

“Oh, I had best practice then. Will there be a prize?”

Kent shook his head. “Knowing Mr. Bingley, I am sure he will have prizes for all.”

“He seems to enjoy many things.”

“Yes, he is a jovial man. He loves entertainment of all kinds, and he wants very much for everyone in his company to have a pleasant time. I assume you will be attending the Harvest Feast?”

“Yes, my father would not miss it. He has been quite pleased with all the activities. I do not recall him enjoying anything more than being a judge of these games.” Charlotte glanced at Sir William talking excitedly with Mr. Bennet and Mr. Goulding. Returning her attention back to Mr. Kent, she said, “Each game seems to be so different from the rest.”

“Yes, we have all chosen contests which favor our own skills. I, for one, love pub games and have been playing them all my life. We have family competitions as well.”

“I look forward to trying them, although I must say I do not expect to do well. I have never even watched them played.”

“Let me show you, Miss Lucas. I will be more than pleased to teach you. I know a few tricks to winning. All appropriate, of course, but I shall help you, if you like.” Charlotte nodded, and they walked towards the skittles game.

In front of them, a square board with nine wooden bottle shaped pins all lined up in rows of three was set up. Alongside was a long pole with a ball attached to it by a string. The ball could easily reach the pins.

“Miss Lucas, in the game of skittles, you are to swing this ball and knock down as many of the nine pins on this table. This is the indoor version. I do believe Mr. Bingley is planning on using the much larger Alley Skittles for the Harvest Feast, normally used outside.”

“Tell me about the outdoor version? Is it much different?”

“Yes, very different in fact.” Ken chuckled. “That one is played on a long alleyway with the nine pins at one end. Barrel shaped cheeses are thrown at the pins from 35 feet away.”

“I do not think many ladies would be successful lifting such heavy things.”

“True. That one is better for the men. I will ask Bingley to also make this table version available for the ladies.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful.”

“Now, shall I show you how to best release the ball to get no fewer than six of the nine pins every time?”

Lady Lucas studied her eldest daughter and Mr. Kent. Perhaps I was hasty in my opinion that none of the men took an interest in my Charlotte?

Unlike her mother, Charlotte knew he, more than any of the other gentlemen, needed to marry better than she was capable of bringing into a marriage. It was just the way things were done. Nevertheless, today she enjoyed the attention just the same.

As the day wore on, Mr. Bennet proved the best judge to keep the final competition hush-hush. Everyone did his or her best to guess the game for next day. He enjoyed how his friends and families used all their arts to try to discover it. If either Sir William or Mr. Goulding had known the name of the game, the secret would not have held so fast.

Mr. Bennet smiled when he thought of Bingley’s choice. This game will cause more excitement than the others all did put together. I have always wanted to witness such a game, and now I shall.

Rawlings and Darcy remained in the library when all the rest retired for the evening. When Rawlings offered Darcy a brandy, he nodded as they sat near the fire.

“Again, I cannot tell you how honored I was to be included in this alliance. I still do not think I bring anything of value.”

“I would not attempt such an endeavor without you. As my close friend since Cambridge, I trust you implicitly. I also need your sense of things. Sometimes I do not pay attention to the overall state of affairs as I concentrate on the small details. You possess remarkable insight.”

“There is little else I bring to this group. I am concerned that I will not be as worthy a contributor as the others.”

“Who else would venture to the Americas? Not I. Blake suffers from seasickness except in the smallest of boats, and Bingley and Kent are more valuable here.”

“Just the same, I thank you. This is exciting.”

“When in London, did you secure passage for your trip?”

“Yes, on Kent’s family ship, the Lively. The crossing will only take thirty days or so unlike the normal two months trip. I need to thank Kent for his letter of recommendation. The captain indicated they would sail the moment Logan and I board. We will not wait for a full cargo, as is the apparently usual way.

“When will you leave?

“Early December.”

“Are your arrangements to meet with Astor underway?”

“Mr. Cuffage is in charge of those matters I do not need to do anything. I am surprised at his abilities. Although I am concerned with what Mr. Phillips said about the man, I think he will serve us well.”

“I am relieved to hear so. I wish you an easy voyage. The Atlantic can be a bit rough at times.”

“As long as the ship arrives, I know I will.”

“I will worry.” Darcy spoke again after a few minutes of silence “I owe you much, Rawlings.”

“Nonsense. I was the one needing what she offered, Darcy, not you.”

Darcy nodded his head. “Well, I am off to Bedfordshire. I plan to win the stallion. And you?”

“I, too, desire to own the horse; he is a beauty, and every single member of my club would envy me,” Rawlings said. “So I caution you, my excellent friend; I trust I will win the competition.”

“I do not wish for you to think any other way.” Darcy nodded to his friend and retired for the night.

Chapter 17

Posted on Saturday, 7 June 2008

Netherfield Park was silent, except for the men sharing their opinion on the rams, the crowd, the wagering, and the ladies. Tup Running was exhausting and, when followed by a houseful of charming, enticing young ladies, the men appreciated the brief reprieve before dinner.

Although Elizabeth had lifted his spirits, Blake remained sullen. Her gentle conversation was not enough to quell his dissatisfaction with the results of the game that day. Kent moved to the chair next to Blake, and they spoke in hushed tones for a few minutes. Blake raised his head, shrugged his shoulders, and joined in the conversation. He laughed at Rawlings’ witty descriptions of the crowd and the rams, although his response was still subdued.

The men were enjoying the camaraderie when Whitson entered the library and addressed Bingley, who, without delay, rose from his comfortable chair. “Please excuse me. It appears my family has arrived a week early.” He left to greet them properly.

Bingley was waiting on the steps when the unexpected carriage came to a stop at the front door. When the door opened, he welcomed his sisters and brother-in-law to his home with his usual heartfelt invitation. He had worried that Caroline would be difficult after the journey, but his apprehension was unnecessary. She stepped from the carriage with as much exuberance as he had ever witnessed.

“Charles, I was so anxious to come. Why did you ask that I not arrive until the games were over?”

“Caroline, I recall you said you would not set one foot in Hertfordshire while those silly games were being played.” Bingley grinned at her menacing glare before nodding to the other members of the carriage. “Louisa, Jonathan, I hope your trip was comfortable.”

“You could have invited me to participate,” his brother in law grumbled. “I would have enjoyed a few games myself. We have read all about it in the papers. Although I admit, I would not have tried to grab the tail of any animal, let alone a ram. What was Darcy thinking?” Hurst handed Bingley the morning paper that included a long description of the game.

“I was thinking about winning points, Hurst. Nevertheless, it was most decidedly delightful to watch my friends and four spirited rams run away from each other in a small, confined space.” With a glint in his eyes, Darcy appraised Bingley’s stout brother-in-law. “I suspect you will want to take part in the Harvest Feast games; a modified Baker Rifle is the prize. I am aware of your unsuccessful attempts to attain one.”

Hurst’s head shot up. “Charles, must I win some silly competition to get my own rifle? Well, what sort of contest do you plan? Does it require strenuous activity?”

“No. The contests are archery, darts, and target shooting. If you wish to compete, you will need to practice. To hear the gossips tell it, the whole of Hertfordshire will be entering.”

“Darts? Archery?” I think not.” Hurst snorted, adding, “I shall be keen on observing the riff-raff, though. It should be amusing to discover if they can hit the target instead of each other.

“You may be surprised at the skills of the local men.” Darcy bowed his head.

“Mr. Darcy.” Caroline presented him with her often-practiced demure smile. “I am sorry to have not witnessed your game.” She stared at his cravat for a moment longer than was proper. The newspapers described the informal manner in which the men dressed for some of their games. Scandalous.

“I am sorry for your loss of entertainment, Miss Bingley.”

Leading his family into the house, Bingley introduced his butler and several other members of the staff. Bingley and Darcy eyed the threesome as they ascended the stairs to the rest in the family quarters after their journey.

The two friends spoke about certain arrangements to accommodate the two ladies, and some of the difficulties with keeping Hurst unaware of their business plans. They were thankful for the ballroom tavern, which would serve as a place to meet without the ladies present. Bingley ordered Whitson to ensure the ‘tavern’ would remain guarded at all times and closed to all except the gentlemen.

Remaining in the library while they awaited the return of Darcy and Bingley, the other three gentlemen discussed the changes that the addition of a single young lady would bring to the house.

Rawlings poked Blake with his elbow. “Have you met Miss Bingley?”

“I have not.” Blake turned to Kent. “You have known Bingley the longest.”

“She was a young lass of ten the last time I saw her. Nevertheless, she was much like Bingley, except she did not have his hideous grin. Even at a young age, she was more refined than her brother was, and without a doubt, much more interested in books. I do recall that even at eight years of age, she told the most entertaining stories.”

“And, is she—

Before Blake could finish his question, Bingley entered the room followed by Darcy. “My family has retired to their rooms to freshen up after their journey. You will meet them at dinner. I hope you find my sister to your liking. She is witty, pretty, and owns a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. Of course, I am always trying to marry her off.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rawlings caught sight of Kent chuckling and Blake smiling while Darcy simply rolled his eyes.

With the addition of Caroline and the Hursts, dinner was quieter and more polite than usual. The men were careful not to mention the alliance in front of Hurst, as they had earlier agreed. As a typical gentleman of London, he would never sully his hands by becoming intimately involved in trade. As evidenced by his wife, Louisa, he did hold the opinion that marriage to one so richly connected to a tradesman is the only acceptable exception. Regardless of his situation, he maintained the appearance of a gentleman.

Even with so many wealthy, handsome men in attendance, Caroline purposefully sat next to Mr. Darcy rather than taking her normal position at the opposite end of the table. Caroline’s sister sat alongside her. Mr. Hurst took the seat at the other end, and was busy entertaining Mr. Kent and Mr. Rawlings with stories from London. Lord Blake selected the chair across from Darcy. Caroline had no way of knowing she had taken his usual seat, especially since he did not show any signs of discontent when he often glanced her way.

As the servants served the dinner, Caroline appraised the quality of the service, the taste of the food, and the table decorations. But by the unhidden sneer on her face, she exposed her opinion that none of the Netherfield Park services was to her liking. Her calculating expression also indicated many changes were in store for the members of her brother’s staff.

The main topic of conversation over dinner was of the games of late. The competitors spoke of the skills of the players, and the newcomers delighted the men with the London gossip about the competition.

Caroline glanced at her brother. “Charles, many sources declared to me what an exciting amusement the contests have become to all of London. Why, people talk of nothing else; and of no gentleman more so than yourself.”

“Caroline, I have a concern about the competition being discussed in London and articles being written in the newspapers. Do you have any idea how this came about?”

“Well.” Caroline looked down at her plate.

Bingley glared at his sister while tapping his fingers on the table.

“I attended Almack’s with Lady Sylvia weeks ago. I suppose it was my remark to her brother that started the frenzy. He asked about you and wondered where you and Mr. Darcy were these days. I told him the truth.”

“Which was?”

You and Mr. Darcy were squirreled away in some backwater place playing silly games to win a horse. He asked about others in attendance, and I did reveal that Lord Blake, Mr. Rawlings, and Mr. Kent were here as well. It did not take long for Mr. Schofield from the Four Horse Club to join us. He knows you very well, Mr. Rawlings.

Rawlings scoffed. “You told him? Sorry, Bingley. The man is such a rattle. I am positive all of London knew of the competition before the sun rose the very next day.”

“And Jonathan is also responsible for the rumors. He mentioned it at his club and was able to provide specific details about the competition and the horse. He had many visitors interested in learning more. Louisa, is that correct?”

Louisa nodded.

“Your sister speaks the truth,” Hurst said. “I can no longer visit my club without being accosted for information. The London papers and all of the clubs are paying a handsome sum to express messengers to bring the news of the games and the results. The betting on the stallion has become more frenzied with each contest, and I suspect the final competition will be the most heavily wagered of all.”

“Caroline, what else?”

“I know that very night at Almack’s I was surrounded by attendees wanting more information. I believe the ton became infatuated with the event. Everyone spoke of the games everywhere we went. Many ladies called upon me at the townhouse. I could not turn them away. They have become frenzied about it. All they wanted was a tidbit or two to help them place their wagers.”

“There is nothing to be done about it. I suppose you were not at fault, Caroline. But I did ask you to not share the information. I am surprised at the interest. My intention was not to create such a reaction. I was merely being hospitable to my friends.”

“And hospitable you are, Bingley.” Rawlings lifted his glass. All the others followed suit as he toasted the host. Bingley grinned from ear to ear.

Darcy was pleased. Regardless of Bingley's intention, the games had the favorable effect of concealing the real reason for their little trip to this unfamiliar part of the country. Darcy relaxed as he realized the business interests of the men were well protected and unknown to the London crowd.

“My dear brother, when will the final game be?” Smiling behind her napkin, Caroline darted her eyes at Mr. Darcy and then to Lord Blake.

“Tomorrow I will announce the game.” He directed his gaze towards his friends. “At an early morning breakfast.”

The competitors filled the breakfast parlor at the earliest time considered proper. Bingley's early start succeeded in avoiding interference of his family.

With great anticipation, Bingley surveyed the faces of his friends. “Gentlemen, welcome to the honorable Company of Netherfield Park Golfers.”

“We are to play golf, Bingley?”

“I admit I have heard much about the game but have never witnessed an actual competition,” Rawlings said.

“Nor I. I did hear they play golf at the Royal Blackheath.”

Darcy nodded in agreement. “Yes, you are correct, Kent. Even I played at the club, although I was a young lad at the time.”

“Is there anything you cannot do, Darcy?” Blake asked.

“Beat you at chess!”

Bingley tapped his glass with his spoon. “Today we will not play the game, but spend our time practicing.” He grinned when his friend’s curious expressions turned to ones of surprise.

Rawlings scoffed. “We do not need practice, Bingley. Hitting a ball with a club cannot possibly be that hard.”

“You will be surprised at the difficulty, and I promise that you will be thankful for this day of practice before you play the game.”

“Surely you jest,” Kent said. “Why, I play cricket when I visit my family. You must hit a ball with a stick in that activity.”

“Nevertheless, today is set aside for you to prepare to play the actual game.”

Bingley handed out the rules and the map of the golf course. He explained that the one finishing with the least number of strokes for the five holes as outlined on the map would win the game and gain five points toward the competition for the stallion. The men, anxious to begin, asked many questions regarding the rules.

Satisfied with the answers, they finished their meal with alacrity and left for the practice field. They had just arrived when a trail of dust heralded the arrival of a fast moving gig, containing a much-tussled Miss Bingley grabbing onto her hat and carriage. The servant pushed the horses forward by snapping the reins with every scream to hurry.

“I did so long to witness this day of practice,” Caroline said as Bingley assisted her from the gig. She smoothed her dress, patted her hair, and turned to her glaring brother standing beside the small country carriage.

The four other men stood with their mouths slightly agape and their eyes widened, as they shared glances with each other.

“I apologize for missing one and all at breakfast this morning.” Ignoring her brother’s glare, Caroline smiled at Darcy. “I have played before, and rather well, too. I shall be pleased to provide assistance to anyone.”

Bingley stood; stunned into silence. His mouth twisted downward as he glared at her back. Played before? She hit the ball one time and ran away crying when it did not go more than ten yards.

Rawlings, startled by Bingley’s reaction, turned to study Miss Bingley. But, unlike Bingley, his mouth curved slightly upwards as he watched her lift her chin, throw her shoulders back, and walk with that unmistakable London air.

“An excellent jaunt here, Miss Bingley. Perhaps I should recommend you to the Four Horse Club. Not many ladies would become altogether disheveled for the mere thrill of a fast ride.” As she narrowed her cold eyes, Rawlings added, “Do you normally go riding with such reckless abandon? If so, I would be honored to race you.”

Sighing and regaining his focus, Bingley pointed to the trunks brought by his servants. The four men all gathered around, leaning forward to get a better look. Caroline wheedled her way alongside Darcy and Blake to peer at the objects.

Many bizarre looking items lay inside. Bingley nodded to the servant who then started handing out the clubs while Bingley explained their different usage

“Why, golf must be easy with sticks having such big ends.” Blake studied the three wooden clubs and one iron one.

Plowing her way to the trunk, Caroline picked up several clubs and handed them to Darcy. These are yours, Mr. Darcy. They are designed for taller men.

“I am tall, too, Miss Bingley.” Rawlings concealed his smile as she turned and glared at him. “Are there other such clubs? Or is Mr. Darcy the only fortunate one today?”

“Caroline!” Bingley sputtered. “Regardless of the height of a player, the clubs are the same length. If you wish to be helpful, perhaps you could hand out the golf balls. Each man gets ten.

Caroline huffed, but did as asked.

Bingley turned back to the men. “Try not to lose any balls during practice. A few local young lads will chase them down for you; but be careful with your shots as there are no other ones available.”

“I am sure there might be someone else interested in chasing down a couple of them,” With a sparkle in his eyes, Rawlings held out a golf ball. “Miss Bingley, pray tell me, what are they made of?”

Caroline hesitated until her brother took pity on her and answered for her. “Leather stuffed with feathers. If tomorrow is sunny and the ground is dry, they will fly 180 yards or 150 if it is a wet day. Of course, first you must hit the ball.”

“Miss Bingley, I find I need a little help with understanding this game. Do we need two balls for each hole? I see five holes on the map.” Rawlings pointed to the map Bingley had drawn showing the course of play. Before Caroline could answer, he continued, “And I cannot imagine how many strokes are needed? Have you perfected the hit to get the ball to fall in the hole with one try, Miss Bingley?”

Bingley glared at Rawlings and answered brusquely, “I am the best to answer, Mr. Rawlings. I am the one who designed this course. Please direct your questions to me.”

Rawlings bowed. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bingley; I assumed all golf courses were the same.”

As her face colored, she glowered at him. He sent her a quick unrepentant smile. She glared at him even harder than before. Rawlings chuckled, shrugged, and practiced swinging his club.

Bingley worked with each man to show the proper way to hold the club and stand. He soon motioned for them to move to the open meadow, which served as the practice field. Once they mastered their club making contact with the ball, the men found they did indeed fly long distances. Bingley had an area set aside for putting, but he decided to show them that later.

Caroline kept her eyes upon the men. She walked behind them, and, more than once, Rawlings spied her eyeing the backsides of the men. As she neared him, he wiggled his hips, and then, suddenly, turned to her and asked, “Am I standing correctly?

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, Caroline lowered her eyes, and nodded in the affirmative as she left to speak to a servant. Instructing him to have a picnic lunch prepared, she gave explicit orders to include many bottles of wine. Turning back to the men, she caught sight of a smirking Mr. Rawlings leaning on his club. Calling the servant back, she whispered to him before sending him on his way again. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin high, and returned his smirk with one likewise insufferable. He laughed aloud and did not appear embarrassed when the other men looked at him.

The Hursts arrived after the servant left, but before the picnic began. Bingley, noticing his brother-in-law’s interest, offered Hurst the opportunity to practice, and handed over his own equipment. He tried his best not to snigger as his brother-in-law missed the ball with his first attempt.

The two sisters found a useful occupation by handing the men different clubs when so requested. Caroline signaled to Louisa her true feelings for Mr. Rawlings, and was thus able to avoid helping him.

Accepting a club from Mrs. Hurst, Rawlings caught Bingley’s attention. “When will the residents of Hertfordshire be attending your Harvest Feast?”

“What?” Caroline shrieked

“Damn!” Kent’s club missed the ball when she screamed. He turned and glared at Caroline.

Darcy had not taken his shot, but it was not a second later before he also muttered under his breath, “Blast,” when his attempt veered to the left with her next screech.

“When?”

“The date is set for the twenty-fifth of November.” Bingley answered his sister without as much as a blink of his eyes.

“But that is only ten days away!” Caroline looked at her sister, who appeared equally shocked at such a pronouncement.

Rawlings leaned on his club, and with merriment in his eyes, followed Caroline as she moved closer to her brother. Observing her standing tall with her delicate hands furling and unfurling into fists, he began to worry about Bingley’s safety. Bingley, though, did not seem concerned. He grinned at his sister, which seemed to aggravate her more.

“But what, pray tell, is a Harvest Feast?”

“We will hold a fair with a big feast for all the tenants of Netherfield Park and other invited guests. Following the feast, I have arranged for a fireworks display.” Bingley's grin grew wider. “I do not think managing such an affair will be too difficult for you, Caroline. You have such magnificent talents managing these affairs.”

“Me?” Caroline screeched.

Louisa drew near, touched her arm, and glanced over to Mr. Darcy, who was leaning on his club with his eyes clearly focused on them.

Caroline coughed. “Why yes, Charles. I thank you for the compliment. I am sure we can host a wonderful harvest fair and feast”

All the other men stopped practicing and looked her way.

“I do so love to entertain,” Caroline purred, and then smiled to them before turning back to glare at her brother. When the servants arrived with the meal, Caroline and Louisa excused themselves to attend to the picnic reparations.

The men relaxed once the ladies had left. The men uttered many oaths rarely heard spoken by these particular men. Also rarely heard were the chuckles of every servant who found an excuse to view the activity.

“Damn.”

“Damn ball. Bloody club.”

“Blast.”

“You are more than evil, Bingley,” Rawlings said.

Bingley approached Rawlings, leaned in, and spoke quietly, “I may be evil, but I am not mean or cruel.”

Rawlings cleared his throat and bowed his head. “I shall endeavor to follow your lead.”

Bingley slapped his back and left to assist Kent.

“Why did the bloody ball veer to the left? It was just a straight shot. Why is this so blasted hard?” Kent sneered as he grabbed another ball.

A servant halted Bingley’s progress to announce the picnic was ready. Although the men would have preferred light refreshments, they resigned themselves to a feast. Nonetheless, they were delighted with the choice of food and drink.

The men sat comfortably on the blankets under the trees and next to a small pond. With all their efforts spent on the practicing, this short period of rest was welcomed. The sun had beat down all morning and the shade felt refreshingly cool. The smell of roast beef and fresh baked bread filled their nostrils, and the opened bottles of wine enticed their lips.

Rawlings deliberately chose to sit next to Miss Bingley and chuckled when Louisa moved to allow Mr. Darcy a seat. He, however, found a comfortable spot next to Bingley.

“Do you play this game often, Bingley?” Rawlings asked.

“I am a member of the Royal Blackheath. I participate in tournaments often, and I practice several times a week while in London.”

Rawlings gazed at Caroline. “Are ladies allowed to join the Royal Blackheath and play there as well?”

Bingley cleared his throat several times until he gained Rawlings’ attention. “No, only men are allowed. I understand ladies are learning the game, and they participate in games among themselves; but they are not admitted in the club.”

Miss Bingley handed a special basket to Rawlings and said in a syrupy sweet voice, “I had this meal made in particular for you, Mr. Rawlings.”

Lifting the lid, Rawlings chuckled as he beheld a rather large piece of brawn. He leaned down to Caroline. “Touché Miss Bingley. I bow to your ingenuity in retribution.” He realized she must have overheard him at dinner the previous evening say how much he detested animal flesh and especially when it was soused into this pickled form. As much as he hated the look and smell of it, he smiled at her and took a gigantic bite.

When she raised her chin in triumph, he leaned down and whispered, “I, too, claim inventiveness as one of my best assets. Although for me, the perfectly placed question is retribution enough.” He chuckled when she gasped and turned a dark crimson red.

“I cannot go long without playing golf,” Bingley said, wistfully and then smiled broadly. “You may regret learning the game. Your failure to succeed will make you daft. I assure you.”

“So, that is where you disappear to so often?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, I confess. To where did you think I was escaping?”

“I did not know, but I assumed it was not a bookshop!” Darcy smiled at Bingley's laugh. “You must believe, my friend, that I would have joined you had you divulged your secret passion.”

“I was unsure whether you would think this was an acceptable pastime… You do prefer to read in your spare time.”

Chuckling, Darcy rolled his eyes.

Observing Caroline out of the corner of his eye, Rawlings cleared his throat. “Bingley, you did not mention all the festivities after the Harvest Feast. I am most interested to learn more.”

Bingley glared at Rawlings. “Oh, Caroline, lest I forget, and as Mr. Rawlings has so kindly mentioned, we are to host a ball the day after the feast. We will need to invite all the best families of course.”

“A ball in eleven days? Here, in this place?”

Rawlings enjoyed the entertainment provided by the siblings as he nibbled on the brawn, washing it down with large gulps of wine.

“Yes, here,” Bingley said, sternly.

Caroline leaned in close to her brother and whispered, “Charles, are you really serious about hosting a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you proceed, to consult the wishes of the present party.” Caroline inclined her head towards Darcy and added, “I am much mistaken if there is not at least one among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."

"If you mean Darcy," cried her brother, "he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins -- but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing."

Rawlings sent an apologetic look to Bingley and turned to Caroline. “Miss Bingley, if I might be so bold, I seek the pleasure of a dance at the ball. It would be an honor if you would agree.”

Miss Bingley, concealing a frown, nodded her acceptance.

Bingley continued to provide instructions to his sister. He informed her that the housekeeper had begun the planning and was looking forward to it. Mr. Nicholls had determined when to start preparing the white soup, and she should send round the cards as soon as practical.

”Oh, my dear sister, I want to make a particular invitation to a certain family.”

“Charles, is a young woman involved? Yes. I see it is true. I assume she is pretty,” Caroline said without bothering to conceal the sarcasm in her voice.

“I want to call on the Bennets with a personal invitation. I would like to introduce you, Caroline.” Bingley turned to Louisa. “And you, as well.”

“Bennets? I have never heard of them. Do they venture to London at all?” Caroline asked.

“No. I do not believe they go to town at all. Their estate is called Longbourn, and they live but three miles from here.”

She did not smile, her shoulders drooped, and she did not hold her head so high. Her face held no emotions as she turned to listen to her brother.

“Longbourn?” Lord Blake asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. “Are you to visit? I will join you if you would like, Bingley.”

“Yes, count me in as well,” Rawlings said as he sipped his wine. “It would give me much pleasure to visit with Mr. Bennet’s young daughters. They are such remarkable ladies.”

“Young ladies? Dare I ask how many there are?” Caroline asked.

“Five.”

“Five? Are they all out?”

“Yes, they are all out, and quite pretty,” Kent said.

“The eldest is the most handsome, is that not correct Mr. Bingley?” Rawlings asked.

“It is not just my opinion, Rawlings. We previously established that Miss Jane Bennet is the most handsome lady in all of Hertfordshire,” a blushing Bingley insisted.

Caroline took note of the name and her brother’s reaction.

However, her eyes grew wide when Mr. Kent stared directly at Darcy. “But, I daresay, she is not the one with the fine eyes! Do you not agree?”

Darcy responded with a deep sigh.

After the picnic, the men left to practice putting on the grass hidden behind the trees on the east side of the meadow. Caroline and Louisa chose to stay by the pond, in the shade. Unusual for November, the day had become somewhat warm, and the air was perfectly still. The servants left the wine and fruit after clearing away the remains of the picnic. Now without any gentleman or servants present, Caroline sprawled upon the blanket with a glass in her hand. Louisa poured the wine.

“Louisa, look at what Charles has done this time!”

“It cannot be helped now. I understand our brother has already made the announcement about the Harvest Feast for not only the tenants, as he said, but for all of the residents of this little parish.”

“Did Jonathon tell you this? I wonder what he means by all of the residents.”

“Charles informed him upon our arrival. I believe it was during the gentlemen’s brandy.”

“No! So, of how many families are we speaking?” Does this include all the riff raff too?” Caroline’s laugh was hollow.

“I imagine the housekeeper will be the best one to answer that question.”

“Did he learn anything else?”

As Louisa told her sister all she knew of the upcoming competitions and feast, Caroline appeared concerned. She gazed at her sister. “I may need smelling salts. Charles has so vexed me this time I do not know if I can survive.”

“Be brave. I suspect we will be very busy. Nevertheless, you need to be more cautious of your reactions, my dear. I noted Mr. Darcy’s eyes when Charles spoke of your responsibilities.”

“Yes, but how could I not react? You should have warned me.”

“I am truly sorry, but I did not remember until we were surrounded by the others.”

“By others do you mean, Lord Blake?”

Louisa nodded. “Yes, he seemed rather interested.”

“He has twenty thousand reasons to be interested!”

They both laughed before their discussion turned to the rumors floating around the various circles in London about the duke. Neither could deny that they too had passed on a few of those rumors about Blake’s father.

“I had not realized that he is such a handsome man. He is almost as fine-looking as your particular interest!” Louisa said.

“And if the marquess had been able to keep me in jewels and gowns without depleting my dowry, I might have been persuaded to change my attentions. Alas, the gossip is just too widespread to be false. Louisa, what will we to do with Charles’ latest infatuation?”

“Wait until he grows bored, I suppose. He always does.”

“But this is the first time I have ever seen our brother blush so strongly when teased about a lady. He has always either laughed back or shrugged at our taunts.”

Louisa refilled their glasses. “He was not the only one. Did you not witness Mr. Darcy when Mr. Kent mentioned the fine eyes? I am positive that remark was aimed at him.”

“What are we to make of that? And which lady owns the fine eyes, I wonder?”

“I must say, there is a charming collection of fine eyes here in Netherfield Park.”

Caroline gulped her wine and held her glass out for more. “Very attractive looking men, too. Every single one of them.”

“Yes, indeed there are. Of all the men, Lord Blake comes closest to Mr. Darcy in that regard, although his coloring is fair. I suppose Mr. Kent has a way about him, but he does not own an estate. I hear he actually thinks highly of his connection in trade.

“Mr. Rawlings may be just as tall and resembles Mr. Darcy as a brother might; I just cannot stand the man.”

“Be careful, Caroline. Mr. Rawlings seems to possess great sway with your Mr. Darcy.”

She sighed. “Perhaps. Nonetheless, I think our brother does have excellent taste in friends. Now which one has the best…”

All the servants fetching the balls could hear laughter as Caroline and Louisa tallied up each of the gentlemen’s outstanding attributes.

This chapter is for my father. Although he passed away nine years ago, I miss him greatly. So, Happy Father’s Day (a day early) Dad. Here is the golf game just for you.

Chapter 18

Posted on Saturday, 14 June 2008

The golfers appeared at the Black Bull Tavern at precisely eight in the morning to pay their shilling to the proprietor. Mr. Staunton had invited many of his regular patrons to witness the traditional payment made to the hosting establishment for the meal after the game. The men from Netherfield had bestowed on him this honor.

Shouts of encouragement rang in the building for each of the men, although Mr. Bingley received the loudest roar when he placed his coin on the bar. Instead of leaving straight away to the golf course, as tradition demanded, the men shared ale, toasted one another, and spoke to the attendees. The air sizzled with electricity. This fifth and final game would decide the winner of the stallion.

The men remained for a short period until the time came to begin the match. The servants had earlier brought the clubs and balls to the place set aside for the golf game. Spectators surrounded the entire first hole, having made their way to the course early in the morning. Arguments arose over the most advantageous spot to stand.

The Bennets arrived in full force. The elder daughters came to witness the game, whilst the younger girls came to flirt with the militia scattered amongst the crowd of shopkeepers, tenants, and gentry.

Bingley’s footmen had pushed the mob back, waving pitchforks to discourage them from stepping on the playing field.

“Hey, we are not greased up rams, fella,” one person from the crowd yelled out. The others laughed and snorted, and some spectators even placed one index finger on each side of their head and grunted. The footman just pointed the pitchfork directly at them shouting, “Back off, you simpletons.”

The spectators quieted; not for fear of the pitchforks, but because Bingley waved his hands with open palms downward at them. Returning to his friends, he shrugged his shoulders, and indicated the time had arrived to determine the playing order.

Whitson held the straws as each man drew. Rawlings would tee off first, followed by Kent, Darcy, Bingley, and finally Blake. The throng of people cheered; they knew this signaled the beginning of the game.

Rawlings placed his ball on the spot Bingley identified as the tee. The other four men stepped back, giving him room for his swing. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation of his friends’ eyes observing his every movement, Rawlings looked straight down the fairway, lined up, and swung his club back as far as possible.

“That was interesting, Rawlings.” Darcy pointed to the ball that had not left the tee. The crowd snickered. Bingley held his hands up again to admonish them.

“Wait until you must perform in front of these strangers, Darcy.” Rawlings glared at him before turning his hard, cold eyes to Bingley. “You said I would not sense the crowd. You are wrong! They are looming large in my line of sight. I fear I will hear their laughter in my sleep!”

By the fourth shot, Rawlings’s club connected, causing the stubborn ball to fly at least one hundred eighty yards, much to the surprise of everyone.

“We are fortunate you did not hit so well on the first try, old man,” Kent said as he approached the tee.

The spectators hushed as Kent swung his club.

Whosh.

Cheers sprinkled throughout the crowd as their eyes followed the flight of the ball, which fell short of Rawlings’ effort.

“Good shot.” Darcy wasted no time teeing up. He shook his head as his stroke landed close to Kent’s ball.

“Excellent.” Mr. Bingley casually approached his friend. After preparing for his turn, he rewarded the wildly cheering crowd with a deep bow. Bingley lined his club up with the ball. His shot landed the farthest away, but not as far as he had wished.

Sighing, Lord Blake stepped up to the tee, amidst scattered cheers from the townspeople. With his hands on his hips, he stared down the fairway with a tenaciously focused gaze until he abruptly turned back towards the other competitors. He flashed a smile his friends would later describe as wicked. He grabbed the club from the servant and swung with confidence.

“Ohhhhh,” the crowd cried out in unison.

Blake chuckled when his ball traveled over two hundred yards, well beyond Bingley’s attempt. Spinning backwards in order to witness the stunned expressions, he winked at his friends. “Do not look so shocked. I am an avid player. I have been playing golf since I was a lad of ten and have, of late, played at St. Andrews every year.”

Shaking his head, Bingley sighed. “I suppose my advantage was just thrown to the wind.”

“That, my friend, depends upon your skills as a player.” Smiling, Blake patted Bingley on the back. “May the best golfer win?”

Bingley nodded.

“Shall we all advance?” Rawlings said. “I believe your shot is next, Darcy. Your ball is the furthest from the hole.

As they walked ahead, the judges followed, chuckling at the unexpected turn of events.

Each man’s next shot arrived successfully near the area surrounding the hole. Bingley reminded his friends to use the correct club.

“Putting separates the novice from the champions.” Bingley studied Blake. He had no insight into how well Blake could putt, but he realized his own shots had to be sharper than he planned for on this day.

Bingley and Blake sized each other up. Neither man had any problem as they sank their long putts in one shot. Today, two excellent players would entertain the crowd.

Even though their shots were closer to the hole than the two experienced golfers had been, Rawlings and Kent had to putt three times before sinking their shots.

Mr. Darcy cursed quietly until his fourth try finally descended into the hole. Turning, he glared at Bingley. Bingley’s eyebrows shot up when Darcy’s did not drop his stare. Bingley, you had better win. This is your game, remember. It is your turn to win the five points. Still scowling, Darcy walked to his assigned servant-caddie and handed him the putter.

Rawlings approached his discouraged friend. “I may never overcome those three missed shots off the tee.”

“And I may never learn to putt.” Darcy shrugged. “If Bingley does not win, I will be in trouble. Blake kept his secret yesterday, did he not?”

“I was surprised, since he missed as many shots as we did at practice. Well now, if you wish to be philosophical, Bingley must feeling a wee bit of the shock I felt when he nearly beat me at my race.”

“Ah. I shall hope the same result applies here. As long as Bingley wins, I am in the running for the stallion. I will only need to place third. If Blake wins, I fear my putting will sink my hopes… unless… I can bribe you into losing.” Darcy was laughing at his own jest when Mr. Bennet joined them.

“Fear not, sirs. By my calculations, a five-way tie for the stallion is possible. Of course, for such a situation, I am sorry to say…” Mr. Bennet pointed his head at Darcy. “You sir, would finish in last place.” As the two men stared at him with puzzled expressions, he allowed them time to ponder the probabilities. Smirking, he left to rejoin the other judges. He suddenly turned back and yelled, “Remember all hope is not lost. Many possibilities exist.”

The murmuring of the crowd indicated they too were calculating every way their chosen man would win. Nevertheless, once they realized the players had begun to walk towards the next hole, the throng of people took off in a run. Some went to the tee area, others to the putting hole. The rest just filled in the fairway.

As soon as the competitors reached the second tee, Sir William announced, “The number of strokes after the first hole is as follows: Lord Blake and Mr. Bingley each have three; Mr. Kent has five; Mr. Darcy has seven, and Mr. Rawlings finished with eight.”

The second hole proved more difficult for the novices. While Blake and Bingley played the same number of shots, taking no more strokes than the minimum expected for a long hole, the others discovered why practice is critical to success.

Mr. Darcy’s first shot fell into a deep rut alongside the fairway. Rawlings attempt to reach the putting green failed when his ball sliced right into the trees. Kent’s ball dropped well short of its intended destination. While the men struggled, Blake and Bingley leaned on their clubs; smiling at their own memories. They had faced the same dilemmas many times before: ruts, trees, and lost balls.

Kent was able to finish the hole with six strokes. He handed his putter to his servant-caddie. “Blake, I am surprised to see you so adept at the game.”

“No more than I,” Bingley chuckled. “I never thought to discover if any of my friends had played before. I assumed they did not. Where do you play, Lord Blake?”

“At my father’s estate.”

“Excuse me. Do you have a golf course at your home?” an astonished Kent asked.

“Yes. I do truly enjoy the game as does my father and two uncles. We had one created after playing at St. Andrews years ago; although it is limited to eight holes.”

“Is the course difficult?” Bingley asked.

“Dreadfully so,” Blake answered. “You are most welcome to come and visit. You play brilliantly. In some ways, golf is similar to billiards. You excel at that game too, which explains your ability to putt successfully.” Hearing Kent cough, Blake turned around. “Oh, excuse me, Kent. You are invited, as well. I did not mean to leave you out. The course is excellent to learn on as well.”

They watched Darcy and Rawlings finish the second hole. Mr. Rawlings was pleased to tie with Mr. Darcy. His eight strokes closed the gap for fourth place since Darcy ended with nine.

Sir William shouted the scores: “Lord Blake and Mr. Bingley are tied with seven strokes after two holes; Mr. Kent is next with thirteen; Mr. Darcy and Mr. Rawlings have a total of sixteen.”

Frustrated, Darcy whispered to Bingley, “Vengeance is mine says the Lord. Hebrews 10:30. Vengeance is mine. Pemberley awaits you, my former friend. I shall serve mutton every night.”

Grinning, Bingley exaggerated a shudder.

While their audience made haste to the next hole, the five competitors discussed their play so far. The townspeople argued amongst themselves, and bets between the men were flying furiously. This time, no one wagered on who would come in second; they bet on who would come in first. Even the judges joined in. Sir William and Mr. Long both chose Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bennet and Mr. Goulding preferred Lord Blake. Mr. Phillips surprised them all and favored them both. He believed it would remain a tie. As they walked to the next hole, the judges discussed a resolution for a tie.

It was the third hole where the action resulted in the most excitement. Blake and Bingley did not end it with the same number of strokes. Blake’s first putt missed. Bingley found himself in the lead. Kent remained in third place, but Rawlings moved decidedly into fourth, leaving Darcy to face his worse fears. Three strokes now separated them after Darcy sliced the ball into the trees with his shot off the tee. Since it was not found within the five minute timeframe allowed under the rules, he was penalized a stroke in addition to the penalty for having to use another ball. He glared at the townspeople mulling around the area.

With only two more holes to play, the crowd grew restless. Those who had not bet on Blake or Bingley became rowdy. They shouted encouraging words as the men trudged to the fourth hole. Concerned, Bingley tried his best to quiet them, and in desperation, he asked his footmen to stay alert. The number of spectators had swelled with each hole causing pushing and shoving everywhere. Angry voices rose above the laughter of the men more apt to win.

Looking around at the growing size of the crowd, he wondered if anyone at all remained in Meryton, or if there was a single man drinking and sitting comfortably at the Black Bull.

Bingley was not far from the mark. Mr. Staunton stood alone at his tavern. With the bar set up, the tables ready to go, and extra chairs placed everywhere, he waited by the entrance. He noticed the quietness. On every door, Closed signs appeared—every door but his. So many people came to witness this strange game of golf. Each family in the area sent at least one representative. There were no rooms available in the inns. The gentry and townspeople alike filled their extra space with friends and acquaintances.

Standing by the door, watching for anyone to return with news from the game, a large carriage arrived in town.

“Kind sir, can you tell us . . .”

“Two miles down that road.” Mr. Staunton was growing tired of dandies arriving from London. He had counted five carriages since early this morning and even more men on horseback.

A minute after the carriage proceeded towards the game, one gentleman arrived in town on a spirited spotted brown and white mare. Dismounting at the Black Bull, he walked toward Roger Staunton.

“Is everyone at Netherfield Park? The town seems a bit deserted.”

“Yes, they have been there since early this morning. If you are interested in the game, you had best hurry. I have heard they just finished the third hole. It will not take much longer now.”

“I would prefer to wait here. Is your establishment open?”

Mr. Staunton opened the door for the gentleman. The stranger had the walk of a man who had seen much of the world; he seemed confident, yet relaxed. Mr. Staunton grew cautious as the customer surveyed the empty room in the tavern. Once he settled on a chair next to the bar, Mr. Staunton poured him a drink and answered his questions about the game. The stranger just smiled. He was dressed in well-made clothing, but even Mr. Staunton could tell it was not of the latest fashion. He was very gentleman-like and possessed a charming manner. He had a twinkle in his eye at the mention of the five friends involved in the games. In fact, almost all of his questions pertained to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Staunton fidgeted with the glasses at the bar as he answered as best he could without revealing anything important.

“I suggest you best find a seat closer to the action.” Mr. Staunton pointed to the table nearest to the one reserved for the Netherfield party.

“Thank you, no. I prefer to just watch from the back here.”

Mr. Staunton said nothing. He wiped the bar several times more, cleaned the glasses twice, and kept a sharp eye on the man. He refilled his glass.

“Are you here for the games?”

“No, I am here on business.”

“With the gentlemen playing golf?” Mr. Staunton asked, hopeful to gain some information.

The stranger paused before saying, “No, not with them. I read about the games in the papers, which they mentioned they were here involved in a competition for a horse.”

“London papers?”

“Yes. It is all the talk in town. Many wagers have been made,” the stranger said as he sipped his drink. “The stories were replete of Mr. Kent’s tavern games, Mr. Rawlings’ chariot race, and most humorously retelling of Mr. Darcy’s tup running.”

“Which of the gentlemen is most favored in London?”

“It is tied between Lord Blake and Mr. Darcy.”

“Lord Blake and Mr. Rawlings are tied here. The book is open. Would you care to place a wager?” Mr. Staunton asked as he reached for the betting book.

“Credit sufficient?”

“Yes, sir. Now which gentleman shall you bet on?”

“Why Mr. Darcy, of course. I always bet on the leader.”

As Mr. Staunton recorded the bet, he studied the stranger carefully. “Your name?”

He whispered his name. Mr. Staunton thought that was a little odd since they were the only ones in the place. Still, he wrote it down, and as he was closing the book, a swarm of men entered the tavern.

“Finished? They are finished?” an astonished Mr. Staunton asked.

One of Mr. Staunton’s regular patrons answered, “No, we were commanded to leave once the men reached the final hole. Blast. It was exciting; I had no wish to leave.”

Another patron interrupted. “Mr. Bingley did not want the men distracted. Some folks were talking too loudly and cheering excessively, and Mr. Bingley said that was not allowed.”

“You’d best be prepared, Roger. The lot of them will be here soon. There will not be a drink left before this night is through. Is the book open? I want to wager on Lord Blake. I believe he will come in second and lose the horse. Everyone will want to bet on this one.”

There had been many bets made for the golf game, but nothing like the bets for the victor for the stallion. For this was the day for naming the overall winner. Not even the gambling fever raging in London could compare to that which had overtaken Mr. Staunton’s little establishment.

Lord Blake was heavily favored. Mr. Rawlings was second, and Kent was third. Since many people did not like Mr. Darcy, he was last in the betting pool. Bingley was the most admired by everyone, but anyone with a bit of sense understood that after the last game, Bingley could not win without all of the competitors in a tie with each other.

The Black Bull filled quickly. Mr. Staunton spent his time filling drinks and recording bets. Having allowed his workers to attend the game, he was relieved when they finally arrived to handle the crowd. They informed him of the fourth hole played.

“Our Mr. Bingley hit the ball in the rut. Lord Blake kept smiling at him as they walked down the fairway. You could tell Mr. Bingley was none to happy. He did well though. Lord Blake only beat him by the one stroke so now they are tied for the last hole.

“Well, how about Mr. Darcy?” the stranger asked. The regular patrons viewed the man with puzzled faces. Mr. Staunton nodded for them to continue.

“He is in a mess of trouble. I do not see how he can even finish fourth now.”

“He does fine going down the fairway, but when it comes to hitting the ball in the hole, he can not get it done.”

“He will come in last for sure. He was down ten strokes from Mr. Rawlings. He can not make that up on the last hole.”

“Does that mean there may be a four-way tie?”

“Yes, sir, it does. That is why everyone is testy. No one bet on that Mr. Darcy anyway, well, no one important that is.” The patron said as he smirked to the man standing next to him.

“If Mr. Bingley wins the match, Mr. Darcy would be tied for the stallion with Lord Blake. I stand by my wager until the final hole is played.”

“Have a drink, boys. We will soon know who won, or if they all tied,” Mr. Staunton said.

As they waited, everyone could feel the excitement at The Black Bull. The crowd lingered impatiently as the men finished the game. When they believed enough time passed for the round to end, the talk grew louder, and the men became rowdy. They expected the gentlemen from Netherfield Park any minute. Soon, everyone would know who the victor of the golf game was, and which man would be the proud owner of Heracles. Even more importantly, the winners would collect their bets.

At last, as the door opened, the gentlemen entered with a few of their London friends. Mr. Staunton noted that the stranger remained in the back and appeared to slink down in his seat.

He definitely does not wish these men to see him, Mr. Staunton thought to himself.

By the faces or actions of the competitors, the assembly of men at the Black Bull could not discern which gentleman had won. When asked about the game, they refused to respond until the five judges arrived.

Finally, when they entered the tavern, the entire room grew quiet.

Sir William surveyed the now hushed crowd. “Ah, it is so good to see all my fine friends and neighbors. I suppose you would like to hear the results?”

“Yes, speak up man! Tell us who won the stallion.”

“Not I. We will let Mr. Bingley share the story while eating dinner.”

It did not take long for the conversations to pick up. They patrons queried Mr. Staunton if they could continue to wager. When he shook his head, they bought drinks, and thus, the drinking added to the merriment of the crowd. It did not calm down again until all were seated for dinner and someone shouted–

“Tell us, Mr. Bingley, tell us how it went.”

Bingley toasted the competitors. “All in all, my good friends’ attempts at their first time was impressive. My introduction exceeded fifty points for the initial five holes. I had been fortunate that my father was a very patient man.” Smiling, Bingley recollected the day his papa had introduced the game to a gangly thirteen year-old. He loved golf because it was the last undertaking they did together.

All four friends nodded their heads in acknowledgement of the toast.

“Please, Mr. Bingley, who won?”

“On the fifth hole, all of us had a chance to win, perhaps not the golf game, but certainly the stallion. Unfortunately, Mr. Darcy discovered why short putts are not easy. Nonetheless, I believe he enjoyed the game.” Bingley looked to his friend.

“It is not a game, Bingley. It is a torture.” Everyone laughed, including Darcy.

“Please continue, Mr. Bingley,” someone shouted.

“The fifth hole was five hundred yards long. I hit first off the tee. My ball flew straight, and I knew I only needed to repeat it to be on the green. This was a long hole, so I surmised it would take a total of four strokes.” As Bingley spoke, all the men followed the story. They had spent two days learning the rules and understanding how to play golf.

“The other men’s strokes were not as straight as mine. Now, Mr. Kent, who at this time was fives strokes behind the leaders, landed on the green in three shots. His chances of winning the golf game were now exceedingly slim. Nevertheless, he did a remarkable job for his first effort.”

Kent nodded then raised his glass at the compliment.

“Mr. Rawlings’s ball landed in a deep ditch. I can attest to the fact that it will take sometimes three whacks just to get your ball back on the course. And, that is exactly what it took Mr. Rawlings—three strokes. He was now down by seven.”

“What happened to Lord Blake.”

“We both reached the putting area in just two strokes. We both had very long shots. Many golfers will tell you the game is won or lost with the putts.”

Canvassing the room, Bingley noticed every single man was leaning forward with his eyes fixed on him. No one moved; the time had come to tell them the winner.

“Mr. Darcy arrived on the green, and he did admirably to finish five holes with thirty five strokes. Mr. Rawlings ended the game in fourth, and Mr. Kent finished third.”

“Bingley, do not be such a rump-fed dewberry. We played horribly. Just say it!” Rawlings said. Everyone laughed.

Bingley, ignoring his friend’s interruption, waited for the crowd to quiet down.

“Lord Blake putted within two inches of the hole. I was not so successful, but I was close ... perhaps five inches away. As is the rule, I went first, since my ball was the farthest from the hole. I smacked the ball with a firm stroke, which rolled towards the hole and …” the patrons leaned forward as Mr. Bingley completed his sentence—

“Straight out again. Missed. Now, Lord Blake understood if he sunk his next putt, he would win the game. The pressure was on him. He cleaned away some debris between the ball and the hole. Squatting down, he studied the pathway until he was ready to take his shot.”

“Do not keep it too yourself, man. Tell us what happened.”

“He made the putt. Lord Blake won the game.”

A few men cheered.

“And the stallion? Did he win the stallion?”

“No. Mr. Kent is tied with Lord Blake. Is that not right, Mr. Bingley?” another patron shouted.

“Yes, they both ended the five games with a total of sixteen points. There is a tie. Mr. Darcy finished with fifteen, Mr. Rawlings and I had fourteen. You can see how close the competition turned out to be.”

“What happens now? Who will get the stallion?”

“The two men who tied will compete in a game of the judges choosing at my Harvest Feast. They promise the game will end with a clear winner. I shall have the Andalusian available on that day for anyone desiring a look.”

All the men murmured amongst themselves. No one had given much credit to Kent. Now they would have to consider his apparent skill at many things in determining who to bet on for the final contest. Blake was still preferred, but with money on the line, they decided this time not to overlook Kent.

“Lest you think hitting a golf ball is easy, I invite all of Meryton to come to Netherfield Park to try the game at the Harvest Feast. You will quickly learn that Mr. Darcy spoke the truth. I will have the holes preserved especially for the occasion.”

The men packing the tavern cheered when Bingley made the invitation. The Meryton families looked forward to the Harvest Feast. They did not want to miss the opportunity of playing golf, and besides, they now had a competition comprised of darts, archery and target shooting to win.

As they supped, Mr. Staunton spoke quietly to Bingley. The stranger noticed the two men staring at him and quickly left the tavern. Bingley turned to Darcy and whispered to him who in turn shook his head, shrugged, and quietly asked the others. All five friends stood to catch sight of the man. With his quickness in rising, Darcy was the only one able to see the man clearly, as he slipped out the door. They all returned to their seats with questioning glances to each other.

The visiting Londoners planned to spread the stories about the contest in every parlor, ballroom, club, and assembly once they returned home. Much of London envied the five men at Netherfield Park, and all of London sought ways to be acquainted with this most entertaining young man who was hosting the event.

Dinner continued, and everyone heard about the missed hits, the balls that flew off to the right or left. The four gentlemen even complained that Mr. Bingley had created ruts purposely just to make them use those blasted iron clubs. They talked and laughed long into the night.

Chapter 19

Posted on Tuesday, 17 June 2008

The next morning found Blake unable to leave for his solitary sunrise ride. Darcy stood alongside his saddled horse and appeared to be waiting when his friend arrived. Blake concealed his frown when he entered the stable.

Darcy patted Bouchain. “Care to race? I fear I must race you now for I suspect I will be eating your dust if you win Heracles later!”

“If? Bah! When, Darcy, when!” Blake summoned the young stable hand to fetch Chesterfield.

As the two friends headed for the open meadow in a slow trot, the sun was just beginning to rise. They agreed upon the spot to race, the moment when to start, and the number of coins to pay the winner. As they made their way to the field, Blake fidgeted in his saddle, and his eyes darted between Darcy and the path in front of them.

Darcy turned to Blake. “Do not concern yourself over my loss in the competition. Once Bingley announced golf, I realized the difficulty that lay ahead. I enjoyed all the games. I did not win the horse, but I do prize the experience.”

Blake glanced at his friend. “I must tell you, I was surprised. I always believed you were my biggest challenge, and here Kent turned out to be my toughest adversary. I had not given him a moment’s thought.”

“I suppose I did not either. I admit I focused all my attention on beating you. Nevertheless, Kent earned the privilege. I am not distressed over the outcome.” Darcy chuckled. “He did manage to slip into the tie without anyone noticing. In fact, I thought you had won the horse when you sank that final putt.”

“I had hoped so as well. I am exceedingly saddened you are not the one I must best in this last game. I will never let the tradesman’s son win the stallion.”

“Well, at least you now know not to overlook him. He is a fierce competitor, although he was exceedingly quiet about his strategy. I believe he relished our reactions to the tie.”

Rolling his eyes, Blake allowed the smallest of smiles to appear. “Nonetheless, I will continue to push ahead, and, as I explained many times, Heracles will be mine! I shall not be denied.”

Darcy looked over the open field that lay in front of them and the wooded area beyond. “As Bingley has stated, the competition was just for a horse. I concede to you this time, but I will strive to triumph in the more important and decidedly more significant goals in life. You have proven to be a fierce competition, which I will never underestimate again.”

The two men reached the spot for the start of their race. On the pre-arranged signal, they bolted straight across the meadow, towards the wooded area. Darcy had no difficulty arriving first.

“Enjoy your breakfast?”

Blake brushed the dirt from his jacket and wiped his face. “You shall discover what dust tastes like soon, my friend. I demand a sunrise race following the harvest feast.”

“Agreed, but I insist we race for double the wager. You will not beat the young upstart entrepreneur as effortlessly as you proclaim.”

Blake placed his hand upon his chest. “You wound me, for surely you jest. I shall be atop the Andalusian for our race. The coin is already heavy in my pocket.”

The two continued to banter and discuss the judge’s possible choices for the final games, while Blake’s eyes continually drifted to the woods. From time to time, and with his head facing the trees, he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. Darcy urged his friend to return for breakfast after the conversation lulled. Shrugging, Blake agreed, but first he checked the wooded area one last time. They did gallop, although this time they did not race.

The moment the time considered proper for calling arrived, the residents of Netherfield sighted carriages venturing up the drive. To the Bingley sisters all of Meryton appeared to have turned up on their doorstep. With the addition of a hostess for Netherfield Park, the local ladies had immediately made plans to visit. Many wanted to convey their best regards to Mr. Bingley’s family and to express their appreciation for the exciting games. Men from the families attended too, but they came to get a glimpse of the stallion, Heracles. The matron’s intent was to meet them and view the fashions, but, in actuality, they came with the sole purpose of gaining a marital connection with any of the men and their daughters through friendship with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hursts. Mrs. Bennet was the prime example of this tactic.

Everyone was in the parlor when Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth arrived. Introductions and the usual civilities were carried out.

“You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease,” Mrs. Bennet said a little too sweetly.

“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” he replied, “and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes.”

“Yes, that does describe you, Mr. Bingley, always scurrying off on one path or another.” Lord Blake smiled to Miss Elizabeth.

“At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here." Bingley turned his smile on Miss Jane.

“That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,” Elizabeth said.

“You begin to comprehend me, do you?”

“Oh! Yes. I understand you perfectly.”

Bingley glanced with a woeful expression to Jane. “I wish I might take this for a compliment, but to be so easily seen through, I am afraid, is pitiful.”

Jane blushed at her sister’s impertinence. “I am sure she means it as a compliment, sir.”

"I do, as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours," Elizabeth said.

Replacing her sweet countenance with a stern one, Mrs. Bennet glared at her second daughter. “Lizzy, remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”

“I did not know before,” Lord Blake said, “that you were a studier of character. It must be amusing, but I would have imagined you more a studier of, umm, flowers.”

Elizabeth arched her eyebrow. “Yes; but intricate characters are the most inconspicuous ones of all, similar to wildflowers.” Rawlings and Kent were quick to notice.

Darcy stood closer to Elizabeth. “The country can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighborhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”

“But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever,” Elizabeth said.

“Unlike those people that deliberately offer a well tended appearance for all to see and admire, much as, say, a garden rose?” Blake tilted his head slightly towards Elizabeth and raised his right brow with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Yes, indeed.” Mrs. Bennet, offended by Darcy’s manner of mentioning a country neighborhood, was pleased by Lord Blake’s comment. “I assure you there is quite as much of intricate characters in the country as there are in town.”

Everybody was surprised, and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete victory over him, continued her triumph.

“I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is not it?”

“And in town there are no forest paths where you can enjoy nature’s entertainment or even admire its decorations,” Lord Blake said, bowing to Mrs. Bennet before returning his gaze on Elizabeth.

Bingley chuckled. “When I am in the country, I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town, it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.”

“Ay -- that is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,” she said, looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”

“Indeed, Mama, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. “You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there were not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in town, which you must acknowledge to be true.”

“Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many people in this neighborhood, I believe there are few neighborhoods larger. I know we dine with four and twenty families.”

Nothing but concern for Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth could enable the gentlemen to keep their countenance. Miss Bingley was less delicate, and directed her eyes towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive smile.

“I am sure, madam, that the families you dine with are all most unique and provide an interesting study for your daughter,” Mr. Rawlings said, tilting his head slightly towards Elizabeth. “Nevertheless, Mrs. Bennet, unlike Mr. Darcy I do not think the people in town are decidedly more intriguing. I find them to be too similar with one another.” “In public, they all think the same and act the same. I have discovered that many in Hertfordshire are, as you say, pleasanter people.”

“Mr. Rawlings, would you not say that Sir William is an agreeable man? So much the man of fashion! So genteel and so easy! He has always something to say to everybody. That is my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter.”

When no one spoke, Mrs. Bennet continued. “The Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain, but then she is our particular friend.”

“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” Kent said.

“Oh! dear, yes, but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman so much in love with her that we were sure he would make her an offer. However, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.”

“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”

“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Darcy.

“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”

Darcy only smiled.

“You believe a sonnet expressing great love will not open up a heart. Do you then think poetry of great humor may have worked on a fifteen year-old girl?” Rawlings asked.

“No, sir, not even that. If there is not the inclination in the beginning, I do not believe there is anything that can cause the type of change of heart desired by the gentleman. But I concede, an amusing poem will stand a better chance.”

Rawlings raised his brows. “Since you believe it is possible for one to fall out of love, might there be also the possibility for a change of heart? Cannot one fall in the other direction as well? Especially with one so young, whose heart can not yet be so decided?”

“Of course, but that would take something other than a love sonnet when there is no inclination. Perhaps the best way to change one’s heart is to show the steadfastness of his feelings.”

“So flowers and other gifts would not work?” Kent eyed Blake.

“I believe the inclination still must be there as well.” Elizabeth passed Lord Blake a small nod of the head. Lord Blake sent a satisfied smirked to Mr. Kent.

“Even if the lady is seeking to improve her situation in life?” Darcy asked.

“We were not speaking of deceit, Mr. Darcy, but of one’s heart. A love sonnet, as with any form of attention, would work on any lady so mercenary.” Elizabeth glanced at Caroline when she said this. It did not take many minutes in the same room with her before Elizabeth was able to discern Caroline’s character. She was saddened that neither of Mr. Bingley’s sisters owned the same disposition as he.

Fearing Caroline’s sharp wit could be targeted upon those he wished to remain steadfast in their opinion of him, Mr. Bingley forced his younger sister to be civil, and say what the occasion required. She performed her part indeed without much graciousness.

Mrs. Bennet soon afterwards ordered her carriage and she and her daughters then departed.

After morning calls, Caroline left the others to discuss the Harvest Feast and ball with the housekeeper. Mrs. Nicholls proved her worth; only minutes had passed when Caroline found she had nothing to occupy her. She ventured to the garden to think.

Mr. Kent came upon her sitting on a bench. After they exchanged polite civilities, he asked, “How is the Harvest Feast plan going?”

“Quite well. I must say the timing of my arrival was fortunate, for I do not think the locals would have been able to handle such an affair successfully.”

“Oh. I had thought highly of Mrs. Nicholls. She seems to be a most competent housekeeper.”

Caroline took note of Kent’s scoff and decided not to contradict him. “Yes, she is. I was speaking of the others that must be involved.”

“I can help with the preparations if you like.”

“You can aid in the removal of the ballroom decorations. I am tempted to leave the room decorated in such a manner! What would Meryton say to a ball in a tavern? Oh, I forgot. That experience is not unusual for them.”

“Now, Miss Bingley. That was too cruel. I will ensure the room is restored to its original grandeur as soon as may be.” Mr. Kent sat down next to her.

“How do you find Meryton society? Is it to your liking?”

Kent sighed. “I prefer London. The fashions, the manners, the etiquette and the wonderful gossip is far superior to here.”

“I can find no fault with what you say. Nonetheless, have you discovered any enjoyment here?”

“You brother has seen to my every comfort. And he found a perfect way to avoid boredom, would you not say?”

“Yes. The games were quite the topic in town. I suppose you, too, want to win the stallion.”

“Yes, most decidedly so. Heracles is a mighty fine horse and a symbol of wealth and power.”

“I am surprised we have never met before.”

“I travel extensively, and I spend extensive good portion of my time at my home in Leicester.”

“And do you travel for pleasure, Mr. Kent?” Caroline asked, even though she already knew the reason he traveled. All the newspapers mentioned Mr. Kent was the son of a tradesman. Before she left London, she uncovered all she could about each of the gentlemen’s backgrounds.

“Come now, Miss Bingley. We both know I travel on business.” He narrowed his eyes. “We are the same, you and I.”

“Excuse me? I think not.” Caroline’s eyes turned cold as she cast him a fierce stare.

Kent chuckled. “Yes, you are the daughter of a tradesman as I am a son of one. Does that not make us the same?”

Caroline remained silent as she turned her head towards the house.

Kent leaned in, speaking in a whisper. “I appreciate what it is like, being viewed as a lesser mortal. I never forget how the gentlemen in the best circles find ways to hold their status above me.”

“But Lord Blake, Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Darcy—are they not your friends? They belong to those best circles.”

“I possess something they want. I am not foolish enough to think I am wanted for anything more than that. I do like them, for they are pleasant enough chaps, but they still maintain their status. Keep an eye on them tonight when we go into dinner. Examine how they walk about the room, demanding everyone's attention. These are little things, but I grant you they reveal much of the men’s true feelings. Do not ignore how they address each other, and then listen when they speak to Mr. Bingley and me. You will detect the subtle condescension; you do experience much the same from Mr. Darcy.”

“You are trying to put your prejudice in my eyes and mind, Mr. Kent. I have never witnessed Mr. Darcy as anything but gracious.”

“Mr. Darcy is an honorable man, but he is excessively proud. Mr. Rawlings is less condescending than the other two, although he has his moments as well. Lord Blake, as the son of a duke, no doubt learned to be ostentatious from the moment of his birth. How could they not act so pompous when one is constantly treated as if they are above everyone?”

Caroline cast her darkened eyes into his. “What do you want from them, Mr. Kent? Surely, you would never allow the men to treat you this way unless you wanted something.”

“True. Again, I repeat, what I want makes us the same. I, too, wish to be elevated into higher society.” Kent studied Caroline’s reaction and was satisfied she too wanted the same result.

Turning to look Caroline in her eyes, he lowered his voice and said, “We can help each other. I will be continually in Mr. Darcy’s company for a time, and I will be your champion. Let me help you, Miss Bingley. I will ensure that he does not leave you out, nor forget your charms.” Mr. Kent darted his eyes around the garden and towards the house as he spoke.

“What do you want from me? You are the not the type of person that does any favor without your own gain in return. Am I correct?”

“Yes, I am as you surmise. I wish you to champion me as well. I have my own plans for the future, and I want to succeed. And I, too, do not wish to be left out when others are around Mr. Darcy. I need him to lean on me for friendship and advice.”

“You think he leaves you out.”

“Yes, I do. Miss Bingley, you and I are aware the members of their circle do belong to a secret club. Perhaps not an explicit one, but they shut out those not born into their world. I wish to be included, and I suspect so do you. You understand marriage is the key to the locked door.”

Caroline looked away.

Kent stood. “I promise you that who rules the social order will one day change, Miss Bingley. Families from trade will reign over the likes of them. Our grandchildren will be the ones with the secret society, and they will long for entry. Alas, it will take too long for us. We must find a way into theirs.”

Caroline clasped her locket and lowered her head. “Marriage.”

“You know it is true. Please consider my plea. I wish to be your friend.” He stared at her. “We are the same, Miss Bingley. We are the same.”

After he left to find the other men, Caroline sat for a while and thought about secret clubs as she released her hold on the jewel around her neck. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head as she heard her brother’s laughter inside the house. Letting go of the gem, she immediately rose and went to find the butler. “Whitson, I need to send a letter.”

“Very good ma’am.” Bowing first, he then led Miss Bingley to the desk in the study. Caroline wrote her message, sealed it, and handed it to Whitson.

“See that this is delivered immediately.”

Bingley suggested a game of twenty points and the gentlemen all happily agreed, for at least there was something to do. Caroline was working on the Harvest feast and the Hursts had chosen to rest in their bedchamber. The men quickly left for the ballroom tavern where Bingley directed the doorman to be tenacious in guarding the entrance against the others.

They had played for a while when the men were surprised by Bingley ringing for Whitson.

Whitson entered. “At your service, Mr. Bingley.”

“Please fetch the package from my study. Do you know which one?” Nodding, Whitson left, and as they waited for his return, Bingley grinned to himself.

“With such a grin, I suspect your mind is on your Miss Bennet,” Kent said.

“Well, no, I was not thinking of Miss Jane, and she is not my Miss Bennet.”

Being careful not to drop the package, Whitson placed it on the table. Bingley pulled back the covering, revealing the contents to the surprise of everyone. Inside there were three of his modified Baker rifles—one firearm each for Rawlings, Kent, and Darcy. Blake had received his earlier.

“I want to thank you for your participation in my little Olympics. It was great fun, and I appreciate your effort. However, I do have one stipulation.”

“What? Are we not allowed to fire them?” Rawlings asked.

“You must not tell Hurst about it. I am giving him one for his birthday, and I do not wish to present it early. I can think of no other gift suitable for him.”

They all agreed willingly and carefully picked up their rifles.

Blake watched Darcy admire the firearm. “I was surprised you did not choose fencing.”

“The game was intended to score me the most points and you the fewest. As for fencing, you and Rawlings are much too good for me to take such a chance, and anything could have happened. If my sword slipped just a hair I would easily lose.”

“Were you not afraid of me?” Kent asked.

“I did not say you were not a good fencer. You and I have never fenced. Now was not the time to discover your unknown abilities. So, you see, that was one more reason for me not to choose it. I did recognize, however, I could lose to Rawlings or Blake.”

“You excluded me, Darcy,” Bingley said, chuckling.

“I will be kind and remain silent.”

“Do tell, Darcy. We all want to understand,” Kent said.

Darcy looked to Bingley, who simply shrugged and answered directly.

“Every time we fence, he wins in record time. I am no match for him, not even good practice material,” Bingley exclaimed.

Darcy turned his attention to Blake. “I was not taken by surprise at either yours or Rawlings chosen games. I was alarmed at the ones selected by Kent and Bingley though.”

“I was disturbed by Kent’s but relieved by Bingley’s.”

“Blake, I wish you had not been so relieved!” Bingley exclaimed.

Blake chuckled before turning to Kent. “You are the king of the pub games. Did you play and drink, or just play? Did you skip your studies at school to master them?”

“My family sells them all over England. I tested them before they were delivered. Think back. During our university days, when you all were studying, I could not be found. Well, I admit finally, I was in the local taverns beating the locals. I played for money. Did you not wonder how I had all those extra funds?”

“I would have liked to join you,” Blake said, and then added, “I was seeking something to do, since I swiftly completed my assignments.”

“Would it have been from a desire to be in my company, or just boredom?

“A little of both.” Blake sent Kent a mischievous smile. “I do so like to compete, and I do so like to win.”

Kent nodded.

“Bingley, I understand you and Kent raced each other when you were growing up?” Rawlings asked.

“Ah, so you know the truth. Yes, I would occasionally spend school breaks with Kent’s family, especially after my mother passed. My father was so busy and Caroline was away at her ladies’ seminary or staying with friends. Louisa married young.” Bingley looked over to Kent. “It was kind of Kent to invite me. He comes from a large family, and there was always something exciting to do.”

“But racing, Bingley? How were you allowed to race carriages?” Blake asked.

“Kent’s family makes them, were you not aware of this?” Rawlings asked.

“Oh. I thought they made ships?” Blake was growing more interested in Kent’s background.

“Building ships is just one of our endeavors, Blake. We dabble in many things,” Kent replied.

“I want to thank you, Bingley, for the entire competition. It has been the most entertaining activity I have enjoyed in many a year,” Rawlings said.

“Hear, hear” rang a chorus of voices, for this was one thing they all agreed upon. With their drinks held high, they sang loudly—

For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow and so say all of us

And so say all of us, and so say all of us

For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow and so say all of us

Bingley watched the men pay him this compliment. He discovered truthfully that he was content in his home, providing hospitality to his friends, who were enjoying his wine and talking about enjoying their stay on his estate. He may lease Netherfield Park, but this was how he envisioned life. He had found his dream of a good home, good friends, good drink, and good sport. Best of all, the most handsome woman of his acquaintance lived only three miles away.

Continued in Next Section