Beginning, Previous Section, Section V

Chapter 20

Posted on Tuesday, 24 June 2008

The morning welcomed another glorious autumn sunrise, a reddish orange halo illuminating the hills, which presented the perfect sunrise to help one forget about uneasiness with the way things were. The leaves were beginning to fall and pile up along the pathways, reds, oranges, and browns carpeted the ground. The air was crisp, causing one to gasp upon their first taste.

Having risen a half hour earlier, Blake was able to ride without unwanted company as he headed to a place the locals called Oakham Mount. He wanted to travel quickly in order to reach the top before the sky’s colors faded from view. But the truth was, he raced to arrive first to the place he and Elizabeth had only recently had come upon one another. He no longer deemed going to the open meadow viable, and this spot was unknown to anyone at Netherfield.

A pattern had developed slowly over the fortnight. Elizabeth had walked towards the forest path, as was her normal path until out of sight. She then would scurry over to the mount. Blake rode his horse in different directions each day, but he, too, headed for this destination once he believed the way was safe. Autumn sunrises created the brilliant colors the two had come to discuss and savor.

They never planned their meetings. In fact, several days happened where one or both had to remain indoors. The weather did not always cooperate and the competition had gotten in the way. Some mornings, Mr. Bennet woke early, desiring to talk to his beloved daughter. And lately, Darcy was waiting for him at the stables. Since they had not agreed to meet, the missed opportunities were sad, but not heartbreaking.

This morning, Blake rode faster than his horse wanted. The filly complied reluctantly, sensing her rider was angry; angrier than he had been in years. Chesterfield pushed forward towards the now familiar resting spot.

An express messenger had arrived late last night, and the letter he brought did not contain good news. He was hoping Miss Elizabeth would come soon, for today he needed a diversion.

Tying his horse to a tree, Blake sat down on the ledge, which had somehow become theirs. Even after the sky turned into its solid monotonous daytime blue, the view was spectacular. He surveyed all of Nertherfield Park. The scent of burning leaves was instantly recognizable. He found the comings and goings interesting as the workers tended the fields. He located several men and boys on the field to the left, who were keeping the blaze in check. For the first time in his existence, he wondered what life was like for them.

Miss Elizabeth approached him quietly. She realized some activity below occupied his mind, and stood on her tiptoes to spy what held his interest.

“Lord Blake,” she whispered, trying to wake him gently from his thoughts.

“Miss Elizabeth.” Blake rose to greet her with a smile, which produced wrinkles around his sparkling blue eyes, “I am pleased of your presence this morning. I had hoped I would happen upon you today.” Lord Blake offered his hand to help Elizabeth to the ledge.

“And why is that?”

“So you can cheer me and make me pleased to be in this place overlooking someone else’s estate.”

“Oh, and what do you wish for me to discuss? Surely nothing as mundane as the latest play or music or even a book will do?” Elizabeth raised her right brow and presented him with her most mischievous smile.

“I assure you, any subject will suffice.”

“I wish to help you, Lord Blake.” Elizabeth perceived his forlorn demeanor. “How shall I help remove your reason for needing cheering?”

“No person can help.” Blake looked away.

“It cannot be as horrible as all that! Oh! Excuse me; this is not of my concern… I will discuss any topic you like.”

“My father.” Blake turned his dispirited eyes back to her.

“Your father? Is he to be the subject?” Elizabeth asked curious about his situation.

“Yes. I know not how to start.”

Elizabeth gracefully sat upon the ledge, waiting silently for him to join her. He found a place not too close to be improper, but near enough to revel in her scent. They both had a habit of swinging their legs over the ledge, and they laughed previously about the child-like action, but did not stop from doing so. Grabbing a handful of pebbles, Blake poured them from one hand to the other.

“He is a mathematician, the same as I am. We both have this ability to do things with numbers only a small percentage of people can match.”

“I did not know math was a talent of yours.”

“Yes, I was awarded Senior Wranglers Honors at Cambridge. Are you aware of the program?”

“No, my lord. If you would be so kind as to explain, I am willing to learn.” Elizabeth tilted her head to the side and gave him an encouraging smile.

“The only way to be distinguished intellectually at Cambridge is by taking an examination called Mathematical Tripos. The Senior Wrangler is the candidate with the most marks. Each mark is a correct answer.” Blake flung a pebble towards the valley below.

“Does the exam take long?”

“Ha! My tests lasted five and a half hours a day for eight days, but time is only part of the problem.”

“How so?”

“They hold the Tripos in January, in a building without chimneys or stoves or fires of any kind.” Blake stopped speaking, closed his eyes and shuddered. “The air is so cold the ink one uses to answer the questions may well freeze. No warmth exists in the room at all. The marble floor is like ice on your feet; everyone wears every pair of stockings they own.”

Blake raised his legs from the swinging position to stare at his feet. He sought Elizabeth’s eyes, and once he caught them he shuddered in an exaggerated motion. Laughing with him, she encouraged him to continue.

“The ceilings are so high; the heat seeping from all the gentlemen in the room would not help. You understand heat rises?”

Elizabeth nodded her head. After a moment of silence, she tapped his arm gently. “Thank you for telling me. Being the best is quite the honor. You should be proud of your accomplishment.”

“Well, yes, I am. My father was a second wrangler.”

“Did he put pressure on you?”

“No; I am happiest when I am involved in math, and I found mathematical formulas are the one constant in my life. Everything else is uncertain, which brings my story back to my father.” Blake’s expression returned to the disheartened one he wore before.

“How so?”

“I received an express from him last night.”

“I hope the message did not contain bad news.”

“Word from my father is always dreadful, particularly when he sends his demands by messenger. He wants me to return to London. I have no choice. I must obey.”

Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Oh. Will you be leaving soon?”

“No. I will not go—at least not until after the ball. I cannot share all that I know.” Blake looked at the small pebbles still in his hand. He waited for just a second before flinging them to the sky.

Elizabeth silently watched the tenant farmers below working to mind the bonfire. Blake observed her intently, and when she turned to face him, he received her smile with great satisfaction. He knew at that moment no one would ever touch his heart the way she did when Elizabeth gazed at him with the softest expression and said –

“Let us think then of only the things in our lives that give us pleasure. Your story today about the wranglers is a pleasant one of mine. Surely, my amusement will lighten your frame of mind.”

“Yes, your delight definitely does. Now what pleasantry shall we discuss?” Blake thought for a moment before adding, “Chess—a perfectly pleasing topic to me. Have you ever played?”

“No sir. While I have tried backgammon and dabbled at cribbage, even my father refused to teach me the game.”

“Would you like to learn? I can instruct you.” He leaned in closer, his head nearly touching hers. “You have a quick mind, and I believe you might do well. You are an observer and studier of people, correct?”

Elizabeth nodded before casting her dark eyes into his blue ones.

“Well then, think of the chess pieces as intricate characters. Pawns are the least complex, and the Queen is the most. Wait,” Leaning back, Blake paused, screwing up his face. “I guess you would have to call the King as one of the uncomplicated ones, too.”

“Unlike our own King!”

Blake laughed.

“But what are you, Lord Blake, which piece, that is. A pawn, a King, or a Queen?”

“I am a knight. For I shall always protect my queen. Even at the risk of being captured.”

“And who would dare capture you?”

“It is not possible for any enemy to imprison me, my lady. But my heart could be locked up by the queen.” Blake’s eyes caught hold of hers. “Of course, the queen knows there are two types of knights; one black and one white. The black knight is a rascal, and he would not always appear righteous in his actions. In fact, he is a scoundrel at heart.”

She gasped. Blake leaned back.

“I suppose that is where the term blackguard came from.”

“And the white knight?”

“He is all gentleman-like; all his actions are principled. He never allows himself a dishonorable word or deed.”

“And are not black knights noble too?”

“It is hard to fight and kill the dragons whilst being polite and on your best behavior. A black knight feels free to take what he wants without regard to rules.”

“Oh?”

Glancing around first, Blake leaned in close to her neck, and in a soft whisper in her ear, said, “Now there are queens that do not mind a rascally black knight.” Blake held his breath.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows rose, and her body tensed.

Shrugging, he sat upright. “But most queens prefer the white knight, at least they claim publicly.”

Blake and Elizabeth continued to speak of chess and strategies. Elizabeth proved to own a quick mind. Impressed with the questions she asked, he promised to teach her how to play. She departed soon afterwards. Blake stayed and watched the world at work. He wondered at his feelings for Elizabeth.

Ah, thought Lord Blake. I had no idea that Hertfordshire would be the place I found a queen named Elizabeth. How did this happen? She has the intelligence, the wit, the grace, and the most beautiful, welcoming eyes.

Blake looked around to see if anyone could see him. Although he did not see the two eyes staring at him through the wooded area, he was cautious not to say anything aloud until he felt secure in his solitude.

“Now I must plan the day for declaring my love. In just a short time, there will be a ball. What better place to speak to her than at Netherfield that very night! Why, I will dress my best, and she will look divine, of that, I am sure. I shall dance the last dance with her, and I shall lead her out to the balcony, and there, yes, there I shall reveal my feelings. I must tell her I love her, and more importantly, how much I want her.”

Blake conjured up an image of Elizabeth challenging him with her expressive eyes and the crisp breeze fluttering through her curls. I will calmly explain my situation with her. I must make her understand. She must accept. How can she not? I am a marquess.

As Blake practiced the words to use, he tried to remember what she had said about poetry killing a romance. He tried humor, immediately feeling that was inappropriate. In the end, he knew he would hand her a gift, a special gift only she would understand.

“Blake, you left early this morning. I had hoped to race out in the meadow again.” Darcy looked up from his breakfast plate.

“I received an express before dawn. I needed a ride to calm me down.”

“Oh. Is there anything I could do?”

“No. My father wants me to return home. He demands I return. I have no doubt he has planned yet another introduction to another wealthy lady needing a husband. I have become his product for market. It seems the aristocracy is nothing more than tradesmen at heart! Nevertheless, I must leave soon.”

“Not before the race?”

“No. I shall leave a few days after the ball. I… have something to complete before then.”

“Oh. Beat me at a race in the meadow?”

“What? Sorry, I was not attending. But no. I need to finish something much more important than a race. Well, if you will excuse me. I must answer the express.”

Darcy rose from the table as Blake left the room. My God. What plans? He strode over to the window. From there he watched the birds fly in formation to the south. I know. Think about what you are doing, man. Think. She is from such a family. You are titled; she is not. You have responsibilities. You have a duty to your family. You will fly away soon and leave all this behind. Do not do something that would be unwise, my friend.

Continuing to stare out the widow, he clasped his hands behind his back. What can I do? Why do I care? She is just a passing fancy. Umm… for him. A passing fancy for him. She is just another one of his flirtations to pass his time here. He and Bingley should learn to control their urges.

Within clear view of the window, a couple of servants walked away from the house: a footman and a young woman he had seen cleaning the library. They stole a moment to touch their fingers. It was brief and obviously intentional, but the way they gazed at each indicated this was more than just a secret flirtation or liaison happening. Images of Blake and Elizabeth sharpened in his mind. They had that same shared expression.

She is from a small country estate, and her father is no more than minor gentry. Her family is, well, without style or discipline. They show no sense of propriety. Well, the eldest do, but their family. Think man. They would become your family. You know how unsupportable such a connection would be. She is not of your sphere.

Darcy watched the couple part, sighing as they waved goodbye. I do not believe you will connect yourself to persons so far beneath you, so what is it you need to finish. What Blake, what?

When the young girl stopped to watch the footman leave, her pretty face and pleasant figure was visible to him. Closing his eyes, the picture of a different pretty girl with fine eyes completely invaded his thoughts. Blake, I do agree with you. She does present the most beautiful expression in a pair of penetrating dark eyes, all lively and carefree. As his eyes roamed the image of her body, he thought, Yes, her figure is light and pleasing; and her manners may not be fashionable, but indeed they are full of easy playfulness. How could I have been so blind to her? Why did I think of her as just tolerable? My God, she is more than tolerable. Why did Blake have to become infatuated so quickly? Why did she respond to his charming ways? Why did I not dance with her?

Darcy returned to the table with a refilled cup of coffee. As he sipped, he thought of his family and how, just like Blake’s father, they wanted to select his future marriage partner. He wondered if the young poor couple outside faced their own parental dictates, or if security drove their decisions. Security. Well that is what drives the ladies of the world. They want my wealth, my home, my name and all in the name of security. And what, pray tell, do they bring me? He sighed deeply.

The idea crossed his mind of Blake taking on a mistress, which caused him to wince sharply. No, no. I will not let him propose such an arrangement. I will not. I brought him here for business, not to trifle or toy with any of the maidens. It will be my fault if it happens and besides...”

“Ahh. You are up early. Good morning, Darcy.” Kent began to fill his plate. “I have received some information from my uncle you may be interested in, all about exporting linens to Russia.”

Darcy nodded, and then he spoke of business for the next hour, although the words barely registered on his mind. He could not rid his thoughts of the image of a young lady, twirling a garden rose in her hand, smiling sweetly to his friend.

On her walk back to Longbourn, Elizabeth mulled over this morning’s conversation with Lord Blake. She considered him to be the most charming of men and appreciated every attention he paid to her.

“So little bird, dare I hope for more?” she sighed. “Is this flirtation all that it will ever be? Is it possible for a man of such great rank to be considering me? Bah.”

She grabbed hold of the large oak tree marking her place to turn.

“I know not what to think. He pays me great attention, has he not? But yet he barely shows that same attentiveness when others are around. Why is that? It is always just politeness then.”

Elizabeth kicked a few stones away as she moved further along the path to her home. Stopping to pick up an orange colored leaf, she looked around before she spoke aloud again.

“Well, I must think and be practical! Does he wish something more, something honorable or…” She found her favorite fallen tree trunk to sit on. With her foot, she cleared away the fallen leaves in front of the trunk for several minutes. “I wonder what was he trying to say when he talked about the knights? Blackguard indeed.”

After sitting a few minutes lost in reflection, she tossed the leaf away, rose and headed towards her home.

She arrived back at Longbourn just in time for breakfast, where her entire family was indulged in the morning meal. Only Jane and her father noticed her coming in from the wrong door.

“Did you have a pleasant walk this morning?” Jane asked

“Yes, only a few days are left to enjoy the scenes before winter sets in. I must walk when I can.”

The entrance of a footman with a note for Miss Bennet interrupted breakfast; it had come from Netherfield, and a servant was waiting for an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerly calling out, while her daughter read—

"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love."

"It is from Miss Bingley," Jane said, and then read it aloud.

"My dear Friend, -- If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers. -- Yours ever,

"CAROLINE BINGLEY."

After much discussion about availability of horses and carriages, Mr. Bennet relented and allowed Jane to ride on horseback to Netherfield Park, even though the fast moving gray clouds in the sky warned of rain headed their way. Elizabeth, disturbed by this decision, followed her father into his study.

“Papa, you were unusually quiet at breakfast.” Elizabeth sat in the chair next to his desk. Elizabeth was the one person in the house that did not need permission to sit down. The relationship between the father and this daughter was of a supportive kind.

Mr. Bennet sighed. “Yes, my child. Today is not a day of grand levity.”

“Why so? You usually find humor in all the situations surrounding us.”

"I have received a letter this morning, which has saddened me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its contents. There is no chance this will change.”

“Change? I do not understand.”

Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Bennet stared straight ahead with steepled fingers against his lips. To Elizabeth’s surprise, she caught sight of the wetness in his eyes. She grew alarmed, but waited patiently for her father to speak. Abruptly, he turned to his daughter and announced—

“It is all gone.”

“Gone? What is gone?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and her mouth was agape.

“Your dowries. Yours and your sisters’.”

“Does mama know?” Elizabeth asked. As she heard her mother laughing with Lydia, she quickly added, “No, I suspect she does not.”

“I have not shared this sad state of affairs with anyone. Here is brother Gardiner’s final letter about this entire misfortune. You may read the vile words if you wish.” Sighing, he handed her the message.

“Once this news spreads, we will become the latest entertainment in a place seemingly overflowing with amusements. For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?"

Elizabeth opened the letter, reading as quickly as possible.

“Gas Light Company? You gambled all of our inheritance in this gas light company?”

“Yes, my brother Gardiner warned me not to invest all of our funds in this one venture, but I did not conceive as to how this company would fail. I only saw the world lit up bright. I envisioned reading a book at night in light as strong as the day. Bah! Progress they say. It is best to keep everything the way it stands now.”

“Is all the dowry money gone?”

“No, my child. Your mother’s five thousand is still intact,” Mr. Bennet said shaking his head. “I will have to inform her soon.”

“Yes, I suppose she must be told. But Papa, this man uncle Gardiner attributes for this turn of events is evil. Mr. Cuffage is to blame, not you.”

"Evil? Human nature is so prone to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have been at fault. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough."

“Shall I tell Jane?”

“Tomorrow you may inform your sister, and I will enlighten your mother. Then everything will become a parade," he cried, "which does one good; it gives such an elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same: I will sit in my library, in my nightcap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble as I can.”

Elizabeth patted his shoulder and then kissed the top of his head. “It will be fine, dear father.”

They spoke no more, for they understood each other very well.

Chapter 21

Posted on July 1, 2008

The darkened clouds seen earlier on the horizon hugged Netherfield Park, releasing its pelting rain without regard for the unlucky souls below. The refreshing crisp November air had transformed into a bone chilling dampness. The birds huddled in their nests, and the squirrels sought refuge in the nearest tree. However, not all creatures were fortunate enough to reach shelter before the storm began.

The drawing room at Netherfield had grown dark enough to require the lighting of candles. even though it was afternoon. The dripping on the windows and the crackling of the blaze were the only sounds inhabiting the formal room where Caroline Bingley rested on the sofa with her head held high, hands folded loosely in her lap, and without the smallest hint of a slump in her posture. Her furrowed brow and frown marred the lady-like picture as she stared at the gold threads running through the royal blue carpet. The light from the fire caused the amber hued rose, hanging from her neck, to send similar golden sparkles throughout the room.

Mr. Kent was correct.

Long ago, Caroline conceded the inconsequential existence awaiting those not born into the upper echelons of society, or otherwise intimately connected to one from that class. Her awakening to this unwritten, but unquestioned fact of life occurred when she attended the first private ladies’ seminary in London alongside girls from some of the most well-placed families. Her education did not end with instruction in music, language, literature, or even in how to dress, move or behave in a polished or fashionable way. If the lessons had stopped there, then the particular gentleman she sought might have favored her with his attentions. She was the most diligent student, excelling in all her endeavors.

Once her father enrolled her into the private school, her affable spirit had changed irrevocably. Her initiation into the world of class distinctions began within the walls where lessons of substance held sway, and where she first encountered true prejudice. Every girl—even the personal servants of the girls—sneered at her. She was the only tradesman’s child in a school for daughters and nieces of dukes, earls, and barons. No one spoke to her, preferring to cut her at every opportunity. In her fourteenth year, the sweet and engaging little girl her beloved father called Caro ceased to exist.

Lady Julia and her haughty friends formed the Primroses, a ladies’ club, and only a tap from another member allowed other schoolgirls to enter. While Julia kept its existence from the teachers and the head mistress, she did not intend to keep the club hush-hush from the girls left out. Caroline was one of several never invited.

Every day during breaks, the Primroses scurried to the garden, holding secret meetings, discussing everything the teachers deemed unladylike, but soon their normal habit developed into sneering and snickering at all the girls excluded from the group. They mistreated the outsiders by demanding they clean up, do homework, mend clothes, and fetch shawls for them.

Refusing these commands, Caroline would retreat to her bedchambers. She had begged her father to let her return home; but he told her to stand straight and tall, and keep her chin held high. She had more money than most of the other pupils, and was never to forget her worth. She stayed, but grew to hate reading, as books were the only entertainment available to her.

With the rain striking against the Netherfield window, Caroline gently touched the jewel at her neck, remembering the moment she began her singular quest in life.

One day after a particularly emotional visit from her father, the news of the secret club reached the headmistress of the school. The headmistress ordered the leaders to her office.

“Lady Julia, I understand you started a club called the Primroses.”

All four girls stared at the floor.

“Did you, or did you not, start a club?” the head mistress demanded.

“Yes, madam,” Julia said, defiantly. “We wanted to share confidences without the presence of those beneath us.”

“Who are the girls in your club?”

As she revealed names, the headmistress gasped, startled by the list, which included all the daughters of the most influential members of society. Tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk while she weighed the choices facing her, the headmistress cleared her voice. “The… policy…well, is explicit. No clubs unless they are open to all the girls wanting to join. Either the excluded young ladies are invited to join or no one joins.” She gave them one week to change their ways.

Julia motioned for her friends to join her as they were leaving. After several hours, she sent word to the headmistress asking permission to use the ballroom. They agreed to the ultimatum, and agreed to extend an invitation to all the girls.

Caroline, along with Sylvia and ten others, entered the room. Julia and her closest friends sat in a row with all the other members standing behind them.

“I called you here to invite you to join the Primroses. The rules are simple. You must undergo a test for a fortnight, after which we will vote on your acceptance. We will initiate only those young ladies demonstrating success in proper deportment. Any infraction detected by any member will result in a negative vote and will overturn your membership.” Julia eyed the smiling headmistress who nodded agreement.

Caroline straightened her body to its full height, lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and raised her hand. “Lady Julia, might I ask a question?”

“Yes, Miss Bingley.”

“Will you permit challenges to a claim of improper behavior?”

“The vote is conducted in secret. Neither the young lady nor any of the other members will know who voted against her.”

Caroline scoffed. “I, then, decline this pretense of an invitation.” She turned and left for the library.

Not ten minutes had passed before Julia sent Sylvia to find her. She was a sweet girl; however, easily led. Sylvia did like the tradesman’s daughter. She found her to be funny, charming, and engaging, nevertheless deep down, she understood this lack of connections necessitated Caroline’s separation from the others.

“Please, we are asking you to join the club.”

Caroline shook her head. Without looking up from the book, she hid the tears falling on her cheeks. She took several deep breaths while Sylvia continued to badger her.

“But why? I cannot understand why you would not want to be included?”

Sitting upright, Caroline glared at her. “For how long would they allow it? Perhaps the other girls believe Julia and her wooden marionettes will allow them to remain, but I am not… not so dim-witted. Today is the last time they will offend me in such a way.”

Sylvia sighed. “What you say is untrue. You have a chance. Do you not want to try? Your future would be secure, if they could hold sway over you. I understand the importance of their help when I come out, and so should you.”

“Tell this to the pack of wolves in the ballroom. I refuse to join, because I know they will delight in voting me out in two weeks. I will not join the club, even if they begged or paid me. I am not stupid, and I no longer care for their society. I am not at anyone’s disposal, and every single one of them will need to beg permission to speak to me. One day I will belong to the highest of circles, and when that day arrives… I will peer down on all of them!”

With a flourish, Caroline opened her book, and returned to her reading.

Ashamed, Sylvia left the room knowing that, unlike this tradesman’s daughter, she did not possess the strength of character to challenge Julia and the others. However, she did relish speaking the words when giving a thorough recitation of what Caroline had stated. Every young lady was stunned. No one moved for a quarter of an hour.

Interrupting the silence, Julia announced, “So it shall be. She will never be accepted.”

Whether the disbandment of the club was due to guilt or boredom, no one ever revealed; but the Primroses ceased to exist within a fortnight, with some of the girls blaming Caroline, and others pointing fingers at Julia. From that day forward, two camps formed, which would remain throughout their debuts into society.

Caroline’s father, however, rewarded her with an expensive amber colored topaz, sculptured in the shape of a perfect garden rose. She was stronger than any of the silly girls forming the club were, and he was proud of her. She remembered he whispered to her, “One day they will bow to you, my sweet Caroline. You are their superior, as the garden rose is a cut above the primrose flowers.” From that day to this, she wore this reminder faithfully around her neck, unless a ball necessitated a different form of jewelry.

Years later, as Caroline was introduced to her brother's friend, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, the means for her revenge against Julia and her coterie materialized in her mind. As Mrs. Darcy, she could achieve her greatest desire—acceptance by all. No one dared to reject a Darcy. Every townhouse door would open to her. Of course, underneath their friendly expressions, they would despise her envious position. She knew this to be true; she did not care. Her triumph would be behind the smile on her face. She would smile, and smile, and smile.

Unfortunately, as Caroline sat waiting for a woman of no fortune and no connections, all she could envision was the laughter and whispers in every London ballroom when Charles and his country wife entered. Either she or her brother needed to marry a Darcy. Any dreams she had of acceptance by the ton, or revenge upon Lady Julia, could not withstand such a low connection. Today she had to learn everything about this country miss and her family before she could attempt to undermine any connection between them. She vowed to take any action, even if it meant she had to befriend this girl and pretend to find her worthy.

Thinking only of her only own future, Caroline continued to stare at the gold threads running through the blue carpet until Whitson showed Miss Jane Bennet into the parlor.

The gentlemen returned from their engagement with the officers in high spirits. They savored Colonel Forster and Captain Carter’s tales of military exploits against the French with good food and overflowing steins of ale. The boisterous laughter heard throughout dinner merely covered up the hideous side of the casualties of war. Although the battles were depicted in exciting words, the officers never spoke of the horrors they endured, preferring instead to mention some of the most comedic incidences: a horse giving birth in the middle of a battle, literally catching the enemy with his breeches down, and the many pranks played by a mysterious soldier whose identity was never discovered.

“I do not remember when I enjoyed dining in a room full of just men.” Bingley said, teasing his friends as his man took his coat. He chuckled at their exaggerated expressions of surprise and hurt. “Do not look at me in such a way. I jest. You have been great company, nonetheless I admit I thoroughly enjoyed tonight.”

Darcy chuckled. “I am sure you did. If I recall, what you said previously was that while I liked the philosophy, your Greek favorites were the sports and the wars. Tonight was all about war!”

“Yes, it is true. I find tales of action very exciting.”

As the servant removed his coat, Rawlings winked. “I must say then, that lately we have been providing you more than enough action here at the Netherfield Park Olympics.” “We have been your sport!”

“I still am.” Kent looked to Blake.

“As am I. Let us hope, however, our efforts do not resort to a war,” Blake said. He laughed, and patted Kent on the back.

“Excuse me, sir.” Whitson bowed, and announced, “A Miss Bennet took ill while dining with your sisters. Miss Bingley provided her with a place to rest until your return.”

“Miss Bennet is here?” Bingley asked, and without expecting an answer continued, “Has my sister retired for the night?”

Confirming she had not, Whitson directed Mr. Bingley and his guests to the parlor where the sisters were waiting.

“Caroline, what is this about Miss Bennet being here in my house?”

“Louisa and I invited her to dinner. We wanted to be better acquainted with her in a less public situation. We knew we would not have her attention if you were flitting around,” Caroline said as she glanced at her sister.

“It is true, Charles.” Louisa shook her head.

“And I am correct in saying she is not well?” Bingley’s hand trembled at his side before he clenched it into a fist. “What did you feed her?”

“Her slight chill is due to the wet clothing she wore. Why, she came on horseback during a downpour!” Caroline smirked to her brother’s friends.

The gentlemen exchanged glances, wondering why any lady would not take a carriage in the rain. Their thoughts drifted to Mrs. Bennet.

Bingley furrowed his brow. “Should we call the doctor?”

“She has a trifling cold, Charles, and she is resting now. I am sure her ride home will be dryer now that you have returned with the carriage.”

“Ride home? Nonsense. You are to arrange for her to stay the night. I will not risk, nor be responsible for, any worsening of her condition.” Bingley jerked the cord to summon a servant.

Darcy was surprised by Bingley's reaction. His agitated tone seemed out of character for a man who usually possessed such easygoing ways. Wishing to support his friend, he did not hesitate to point out that sending the coachman and groom back out in such weather would only cause them to catch cold themselves.

When the maid entered, Caroline directed her to inform Miss Bennet of the situation.

“Now that her well-being has been settled, may I ask your opinion of Miss Bennet?” Bingley asked in a calmer tone as he slid into his favorite chair.

The other gentlemen followed their host, and all found seats. Blake and Kent positioned themselves next to Miss Bingley. Darcy chose to sit apart from the rest, and Rawlings, pouring some wine, parked himself down next to Mr. Hurst.

“I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

“Their uncle is an attorney in Meryton,” Louisa said in a half whisper to her brother.

“We have met Mr. Phillips,” Blake replied, bluntly.

“They have another uncle too, who lives somewhere near Cheapside,” Caroline said.

“That is capital,” added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.

Rawlings wondered whether they had met the Lucas family. He noted the two sisters’ disapproval twisting their faces into a parody of pleasantry. As she belittled her new neighbors, Miss Bingley tried her best to appear haughty and aloof; so like one gentleman in this room. Does she not know Darcy is not one who likes looking at himself in the mirror?

“If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,” Bingley said emphatically, “it would not make them one jot less agreeable.”

“But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,” replied Darcy.

Rawlings glared at his friend. “Why is that, Darcy? Are you suggesting that a wedding is inconceivable for such a woman? Or do you believe gentlemen of our stature are unable to see their value? Your implication is that their obvious charms cannot prevail over low connections.”

“I am saying lower status will make a marriage difficult and highly unlikely, but not impossible.”

“So, you believe a gentleman of high standing can surmount society's conventions and marry one beneath him?” Blake asked coolly. Moving across the room to help himself to a drink, he stared at the painting of an unknown family above the sideboard. “Or do you hold to the common opinion of another option? ”

Staring directly at Blake, who now was returning to his seat with a glass of wine, Darcy glanced over to the two ladies in the room. Blake understood the admonition and tipped his head in acknowledgement.

Darcy shrugged. “If the man does not seek connections or fortune then he will be free to marry where he chooses. Of course, he must still consider his family obligations.”

Blake shrugged. “You did not answer my question fully, but no bother. Yes, some men must consider what their dear fathers and uncles want! I need no discussion with His Grace because I am well acquainted with my father’s aspirations.”

Kent smiled at Caroline first, and then looked to Darcy before he asked, “But if there is no need for, as you say, connections and money, how can a gentleman’s family object. On what grounds would they do so?”

“Why, being acceptable is more than just fortune and connections,” Darcy answered. “Such circumstances are easily overlooked if one does not need such things. A lady must come from good stock, show proper decorum in her behavior, and be capable of managing the running of large household. Those qualities are rarely found in women outside certain levels of society.”

Caroline whispered to her sister, “Well, at least our Mr. Darcy thinks accomplishments overrule fine eyes.” Louisa nodded agreement.

Bingley, tired of the conversation, and wanting something to soothe him, asked, “Please Caroline, would you entertain us tonight? Everyone would enjoy some music, I think.”

Smiling at her brother for his excellent timing, even though it was unintentional, Caroline chose to play a most difficult sonata. She may not possess upper echelon connections; however, she was an accomplished lady with a considerable dowry.

After an evening of piano recitals and light conversations, the ladies and Mr. Hurst retired for the night. Bingley and Kent chose to continue their nightly game of billiards. Blake removed himself to the library to look for a book to read. Rawlings and Darcy remained in the parlor.

“Darcy, do you truly believe in all that gibberish about marriage?”

“Yes, one can not be too careful. Marriage should enhance one’s life not detract from it.”

“Enhance? You speak as if wedlock is nothing more than an alliance between families. Should there not be more?”

“Yes. A man should respect his partner, and I suppose it would be helpful if he enjoys her company, as well.”

Rawlings scoffed. “There is more to a marriage than that. Respect is necessary, I grant you, and enjoying one’s company is helpful, but there needs to be a. . . connection of a different sort.”

“Oh, are you speaking of love? That is for the novelist. You and I both know marriages happen for reasons other than love. All I seek is respect and good company. Over time, our feelings will deepen for one another.”

“Be careful. You may be unfortunate enough to marry someone exactly like that.”

“And you? What do you seek?”

“Love, lust, laughter, gaiety, and fun just to name a few. I, too, would like to respect my partner, except good company is more important to me now. I could overlook much silliness and impropriety if the rest of my days are filled with lightness and fun.”

With one brow raised, Darcy asked, “Are you not afraid such things will fade with the passage of time?”

“Perhaps, but that is a chance I am willing to take. I did experience a union of different sorts. Now, I yearn for a silly girl looking up to me laughing and teasing the night away, although it must be true affection. I will excuse much for love: in fact, I would forgive anything if a woman freely chose me.”

Darcy waited as his friend stared into his drink with a seriousness not often seen.

“Am I so evil when I admit I am glad I am no longer married to Margaret, even if it meant she had to die to bring about my freedom?” Rawlings rested his head on his right hand and closed his eyes.

“No. I understand. Perhaps I would feel the way you do had I married her.” Darcy rose from his chair patted his shoulder before moving to get coffee.

“I doubt it. You would just accept your lot and continue on as you are.” Rawlings noticed Darcy pouring a cup for him.

“Oh? What is it you see about me?”

“A man focused on your estate business, our business, and I assume other avenues of increasing one’s wealth.”

“Yes, I admit I am too attentive in that regard.” Darcy took his seat, stirred his coffee, and leaned forward. “However, lately, I have been perplexed on a matter of a different nature.” Sighing, Darcy slumped back in his chair. “I need your advice. This issue deals more with my reactions to a certain la—”

“Pardon me, is this a private conversation?” Blake interrupted as he entered the room with William Cowper’s The Morning Walk in his hand.

“Not at all. Come join us in a nightcap.” Rawlings said, successfully concealing the disappointment in his voice.

The next morning Mr. Bennet received a message explaining the situation with Jane.

It did not take long before Elizabeth arrived upon the doorstep, all muddy and frazzled from the three-mile long walk. She wanted to see her sister, and hoped she was well enough to hear the news about the dowries. She needed Jane’s calming perspective.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Whitson announced as she entered the breakfast room. The table was long, and permitted the Hursts and Darcy to sit on one side with the remaining three gentlemen sitting across from them. Bingley sat at the head with Caroline at the other end. She and Lord Blake were sharing a humorous story.

“Miss Bennet, it is so good of you to come. How did you arrive? I did not hear a carriage,” Caroline inquired.

“I walked. The distance is not far.”

“It is nearly three miles,” Caroline said tartly.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Please pardon the interruption. I have come to see my sister.”

Bingley approached her. “Miss Bennet is resting. She would take pleasure in your visit, Miss Elizabeth. I understand she is still feverish. If she does not improve, I will send for the doctor.”

“Mr. Jones is our apothecary. May I see her? Perhaps I could determine if he is needed.”

“Yes, certainly. You will be taken there directly.” He called for a servant before returning to his seat, where he fiddled with his food for a moment, more worried than he cared to show his guests. He was barely attending to the conversation until he heard his sister say—

“I shall never forget her appearance. She really looked almost wild.”

“She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so untidy, so blowsy!”

“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,” Kent, in a half-whisper, said, “that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”

“Not at all,” he replied; “they were brightened by the exercise.”

Caroline, overhearing their exchange, determined to speak more forthrightly. “She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker.”

“Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it, not doing its office.”

“Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,” Bingley said; “but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.”

“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum,” Caroline said, emphatically.

“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Bingley.

“Or affection of a different sort.” Caroline said as she glanced at the men. “I suspect it is not a different kind of action than that of riding horseback in the rain. The results are the same.”

“I, for one, agree with Bingley,” Blake said. “I have noticed she is very close to her sister. I would not object to someone walking even one mile to care for me. Miss Bennet is fortunate to have such a sister.”

“I, too, agree. These are the only sisters in my acquaintance that show such affection to one another. It has been my experience that most sisterly love is all pretenses.” Rawlings took another bite of food, but not before showing a slight smile.

Mr. Darcy said very little more, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.

The apothecary came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must endeavor to get the better of it. He had advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. Pressure by her brother, Caroline invited Elizabeth to stay, and sent a note to Longbourn. Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and Elizabeth stayed with Jane for the entire afternoon.

The gentlemen spent their day indulging in sport, and did not meet up again until dinner at half-past six. Elizabeth sat between Mr. Hurst and Mr. Rawlings.

The men showered Miss Elizabeth with questions regarding her sister’s health as she entered the dining room. She informed them that Miss Bennet had not improved, but the draughts would need time to take effect. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill themselves; and then thought no more of the matter. Their indifference towards Jane when not immediately before them, restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.

Taking the seat next to Lord Blake, Elizabeth noted Miss Bingley sat the end of the table with him at Caroline’s left and Mr. Darcy to her right. As she settled into her chair, she sensed the latter gentleman’s dark eyes bore into hers from across the table.

Darcy sipped his wine. “Do you like to read, Miss Bennet?”

“Yes, I like it almost as much as a walk to see the view of the surrounding area.”

Noting Darcy’s attention to Elizabeth, Lord Blake swiftly captured her eyes as he spoke softly to her.. “Speaking of walking, have you read Cowper, Miss Bennet? I have just finished book five, The Morning Walk. ”

“Yes, my father does have several of Mr. Cowper's books. However, I prefer William Wordsworth. He writes so beautifully about nature.

“I must agree with Miss Elizabeth, Wordsworth is the better author.”

“I did not say better, Mr. Darcy, I merely stated I preferred his subject matter.”

Before Darcy could inject himself further in the conversation, Blake continued the discussion of poetry, careful not to select words of love. “Miss Elizabeth, Cowper touches on the natural world as well, but I grant you with a different meaning. He wrote,

“I appreciated the book, and how Cowper used nature to describe many ideals.”

“Lord Blake, I was not aware you enjoyed poetry,” Caroline said quickly. She smiled sweetly to the men before adding, “I brought with me a copy of Lord Bryon’s Hours of Idleness and Sir Walter Raleigh’s Lady of the Lake as well. I will make them available to you, if you would like.”

Lord Blake merely nodded, and turned his attention back to Elizabeth.

“Why, Miss Bingley, I was not aware you were so well-read,” Kent said as he took a sip of wine. “Darcy, have you read those books?”

Conversations continued thusly during all courses. Darcy would begin a topic, and then Blake would disagree. Miss Elizabeth would begin to give her thoughts when Kent moved the conversation onto Miss Bingley’s own merit, and challenged Darcy to object. Rawlings ate his meal wordlessly; content to watch the tradesmen’s offspring maneuver the discussions.

When dinner was over, Elizabeth returned to Jane’s bedside, and Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty.

All the men listened politely; none of them choosing to respond, excepting Kent, that is. He continued to highlight many comparisons of Caroline’s favorable accomplishments.

Chapter 22

Posted on July 8, 2008

The day after her arrival, Elizabeth, along with the Bingley sisters, spent much of the day upstairs tending to Jane's needs. The gentlemen pitted their wits and their Baker rifles against the well-stocked covey until it began to rain. Returning to the house, they settled into the billiards room and attempted to teach Hurst how to play Twenty Points.

As daylight gave way to dusk, Caroline and Louise left to prepare for dinner. Still concerned for her sister’s state, Elizabeth requested a dinner tray. However, once Jane had fallen into a restful sleep, she felt sufficiently at ease to join the others.

Entering the parlor, she found Lord Blake reading on the sofa, Mr. Darcy at the writing table with Miss Bingley flitting about him, Mr. Rawlings resting in a comfortable chair by the fireplace, and the other four members playing loo. She declined an immediate invitation to join them; suspecting them to be playing high, and made her sister the excuse. She replied that she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below with a book.

Rawlings sympathized with Miss Elizabeth as she deflected various volleys aimed at belittling her. Caroline Bingley would have been an adept adversary for most country misses. He had known many women like her: elegant, with a contrived, sophisticated air, a wit as sharp as a tack, clothes befitting a queen, and enough intelligence to tell a wickedly good story. She, however, was the exact type of woman he despised. Anyone paying the slightest attention to the sparring between the two ladies could easily recognize Miss Bingley did not impress Miss Elizabeth.

As Elizabeth made her way towards the books lying on the table, Rawlings spotted two of his friends closely following her movements: Blake and Darcy.

Mr. Bingley lifted his eyes from his cards and offered to fetch her other books—all that his library afforded. “I wish my collection were larger, for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into.”

“Do not be too harsh on yourself, Bingley. I have had success.” Blake held up a book for all to distinguish. He showed it to Elizabeth with a polite little nod.

“I am astonished,” Caroline said in her most haughty voice, “that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!” Holding her body erect, and with a sway of her hips, she walked around the desk where Darcy seemed focused on the letter he was writing. She kept her chin high, showing off her sparkling amber rose necklace.

Mr. Rawlings kept his eyes on Elizabeth as she sat down on the sofa to read. Before turning two pages, she set the book aside, and joined the card players, standing between Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Ahhh, and here comes Blake, thought Rawlings. This should be interesting.

Blake positioned himself alongside Mr. Hurst and next to Mr. Kent. Elizabeth and Blake continued to alternate between watching the game and stealing glances at each other.

Rawlings shifted his attention away from them when Caroline changed the topic.

“Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring? Will she be as tall as I am?”

“I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller.” Darcy glanced at Elizabeth with a playful look in his eyes.

Upon hearing Darcy speak Elizabeth’s name, Rawlings sat upright; his curiosity was piqued. Well now, what is this? I am astonished Darcy brought Miss Elizabeth into conversation, and in front of Miss Bingley and Blake! To think he warned us about toying with the ladies. He continued to focus on Darcy, fascinated by his response. Tonight is proving to be as entertaining as Logan had anticipated.

“It amazes me,” Bingley said, “how young ladies can have patience to be as accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished? My dear Charles, what do you mean?” Caroline asked as she stared directly at Elizabeth.

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.” Bingley played his card with a flourish as his opponents sighed.

Surely you jest, Bingley. These are not grand undertakings. Rawlings scoffed loud enough to cause the letter writer to turn around.

Darcy cleared his throat. “Your list of the common accomplishments has much truth. The word is applied to many women who have done nothing more to deserve the epithet than by netting a purse or covering a screen. I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

Yes, Darcy, you have made yourself clear on that point more than once during our stay, and declared the ton the place to find such remarkable ladies. Rawlings leant forward as he scrutinized him with greater interest.

Tilting her head to conceal a smirk, Elizabeth raised her brow. “Then, you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

Caroline moved to stand closer to the writing desk. “Oh, certainly! What Mr. Darcy says is accurate. No one can be really be considered accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually presented as esteem. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions.” She glared at Elizabeth. “Or the word will be but half deserved.”

“You seem to fit the particulars of your description, Miss Bingley.” Kent gazed up from his cards, and shared a conspiratorial smile with her.

Oh my, what is Kent up to tonight? Rawlings thought as Caroline nodded her head. Shall we have a repeat of last night’s spectacle over dinner? What is his purpose in championing Caroline? Thank goodness, I am out of their line of fire.

“All this she must possess.” Darcy leaned to the right to direct his gaze upon Miss Elizabeth. “And yet to all this she must add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Oh, I may be wrong, but I think Darcy has entered the race. Rawlings smiled.

“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any,” Elizabeth said.

“Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?” Caroline squealed.

“I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united.”

Shaking his head, Rawlings released a deep breath through puffed cheeks. Oh no, Miss Elizabeth. He is complimenting you. Even Blake recognizes his admiration, and, now, he is wearing his calculating face he uses when processing new information. Darcy, my dear friend, the marquess will not be so oblivious from now on.

Blake moved to join Miss Elizabeth while maintaining his hard stare at Darcy’s back. After glancing around the room, Rawlings felt confident no one else was aware of the growing tension between the two.

Caroline and Louisa continued their discussion of the attributes of an accomplished woman, and then began naming women they knew who fit their description. Mr. Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of his wife’s inattention to what was going forward with the hand of cards.

The card players returned to their game; freeing Caroline to her pursuit of Darcy. He concentrated on his letter as she continued to glide about the room, trying to engage him in conversation.

Rawlings enjoyed witnessing this little game of cat and mouse. Caroline deviously set out a piece of cheese and a skillful Darcy avoided the mousetrap by either providing short answers or nothing at all. Compliment after compliment she tossed his way—admiration of his quickness of writing, skill at mending pens, and the evenness of his lines—until she gave him an admiring comment that would not go unchallenged—

“It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write ill.”

Bingley chuckled. “That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline. He does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables!”

“Humph. I believe how I seek the best word or phrase, even if it means a four syllable word is used, is an established fact. My style of writing is decidedly different from yours,” Darcy quipped.

When Elizabeth began defending Bingley, Rawlings leaned forward in his chair. My goodness. She is again challenging Darcy. Rawlings caught sight of a smirking Blake. He is rather enjoying this too.

Darcy sat erect with his eyes glued on Elizabeth. “Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.” He smiled at Bingley. “I remember you stating recently if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes. You meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself -- and yet. . .”

All eyes were trained on Darcy.

He cleared his throat, diverted his eyes away from Bingley, and rested them back on Elizabeth. “What is there so very laudable in a hurriedness which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself, Bingley, or… to anyone else?"

And where would that leave our sweet Miss Bennet? Watching Elizabeth intently, Rawlings was disappointed she did not catch Darcy’s warning.

“And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?” Bingley challenged his friend.

“The indirect boast; for you are proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance,” Darcy explained.

We all know you never act quickly unless forced to do so. You mull things over and over forever. Did you not tell us you thought about the alliance for six months before acting upon it? Nevertheless, if you are not careful, my friend, your lack of rapidity of action will cause you to lose something you secretly want, Rawlings thought as he turned to catch Miss Elizabeth’s reaction.

She raised her brow. “You have only proved by this that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself.”

“I am exceedingly gratified,” Bingley said, “by your turning what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think the better of me if, under such a circumstance, I were to give a friend that asks me to stay a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could.”

“Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?”

Touché, Elizabeth. Now, Darcy, you must answer her. Once your mind is set, will you be able to change later? Rawlings leaned forward in his chair towards his friend as he listened to his reply

“You expect me to account for opinions which you chose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged.” Darcy’s brow shot up. “Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favor of its propriety.”

“To yield readily -- easily -- to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you,” Elizabeth shot back.

Whoa. Is that not what this alliance is all about? Darcy, are we to yield to your plans based on your powers of persuasion? Rawlings wondered.

“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either.” Darcy glared at Blake. “But to accept due solely to the other’s higher status is equally repugnant.”

So, are we then allowed to challenge you? What if all we have are just our instincts? I wonder, will we be allowed to say no to a business proposition without a rational argument? Rawlings asked himself but his mind took a sharp turn when he noticed the interplay of cold stares between Darcy and Blake. But is he merely trying to warn Miss Elizabeth not to succumb to his friends’ charms? Is he calling Blake’s actions repugnant. Oh my God, he is.

“You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. In general, and ordinary cases, between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?”

Blake moved to stand beside Elizabeth. “I might add, there may not be a need to argue with a friend.” He turned his gaze on her. “The desires may be mutual; therefore, there is no reason to defend one’s request. The higher ranked person need only ask, as is his right, or shall we say entitlement, for the person to agree with his request. Perhaps the friends are close intimates, which would also make a difference.”

Rawlings noticed everyone turned their attention on Darcy. Answer carefully, man. All your partners are listening intently to your answer and they assume this conversation is all about business, but, I daresay, Blake is speaking of another purpose.

Darcy grabbed the arms of his chair so tightly his hand veins enlarged. “Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to determine the degree of importance, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties? Should the demands of one be given an acceptance without thought or the opportunity to reject the request by the other, regardless of rank?”

Good job, Darcy. However, I do not believe Miss Elizabeth understood the hidden meanings to the conversation between the two men. What does Blake wish to demand? Is there much intimacy subsisting between her and Blake? I am positive Darcy is concerned.

Before anyone could answer, Darcy turned back to his letter. “Bingley, I know you dislike an argument, and suspect you want to silence this.”

“Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.”

“What you ask," Elizabeth said, "is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”

Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did do so.

Rawlings was disappointed when the conversation ended. He had not been quite so entertained before. Miss Elizabeth clearly indicated she was not impressed with Darcy either. She spoke with subtle sarcasm, and yet Darcy did not understand. Regardless, this young miss from a minor country estate appeared to be the one person in all of England capable of challenging Mr. Darcy—other than Bingley, that is, but he never went beyond an unimportant tease.

When Bingley applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for the indulgence of some music, Rawlings chuckled at how rapidly Miss Bingley moved to the pianoforte. Elizabeth politely, and more earnestly, declined to play first. Miss Elizabeth is a woman of exceptional worth, and I hope my friend overcomes his prejudices to seek her out before it is too late. Although, I doubt she wants his attentions. He must do more than peer at her with that damn hard stare. Admit it, my friend, you want her. What is stopping you? Must you mull everything over and over. Do not be so conflicted. Now on the other hand, Blake would be immensely advantaged if he should win her hand. Of course, that is, if it is her hand he is seeking.

Rawlings continued to monitor the actions of all the members in the room, He was not surprised to see Darcy staring at Elizabeth; however, her reaction to his stares troubled him. Please, Miss Elizabeth, try to understand the purpose behind his looks. Not all men speak of their feelings with pretty words and flirtatious ways. Look deeply into his eyes, Miss Elizabeth, for there is something important for you to grasp.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm with a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards, Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her --

“Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?”

Blake was close enough to overhear the question. His hands balled into fists, and his eyes narrowed.

I daresay, he does not have a single good thought for his friend at this moment, Rawlings reflected.

Smiling, she made no answer, preferring instead to turn and smile at Blake who relaxed at once. Darcy with some surprise at her silence repeated the question.

“Oh!” I heard you before. I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say yes, that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste. I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all -- and now despise me if you dare.”

Darcy replied, “Indeed, I do not dare.”

Rawlings watched her reaction to his gallantry. Having thought she would affront him, her expression clearly showed her surprise. Her manner has a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner, which made it difficult for her to cause offense to anybody, and as Rawlings watched Darcy he knew his friend had never been as bewitched by any woman as he was by her. If he were to ignore the inferiority of her connections, his friend would be in some danger of falling for her. However, with the glare he cast Blake’s way it was obvious Darcy only wants to shield her, and keep her from harm. For now.

When Blake offered his arm, suggesting they discuss his book from the comfort of the sofa, neither felt the cold, intense stare aimed at their backs.

Even though Miss Bingley was busy at the pianoforte, she saw, or suspected enough to be jealous; and her great anxiety for the recovery of Jane now coupled with her desire to rid the house of Elizabeth. She was doubly troubled when Mr. Kent, who was turning the pages for her, leaned in and whispered, “Did you notice her fine eyes, Miss Bingley. It seems that Mr. Darcy has. Fortunate for you she did not understand; but I cannot promise you that she never will.”

Rawlings’ interest in the intimacies between Blake and Elizabeth increased when the marquess leant close to her to share something private. She laughed, which Rawlings realized was not her way with Darcy. Blake handed her a book with a flower bookmark sticking out. Blushing, she glanced at the others in the room, and in particular, darted her eyes towards Darcy. Nodding her head to Blake in just the tiniest motion, she caressed the book. Thereafter, she stood, and expressed her desire to return to her sister. As all other conversation was at an end, Elizabeth left the room, keeping his book with her.

As she moved to the door, Rawlings caught a glimpse of the title on the book, A Morning Walk, and imagined what was happening on Blake’s early morning gallops. I wonder which passage is it that he wants Miss Elizabeth to read. Are they planning to meet somewhere? I must keep a close eye on Blake. He glanced at Darcy, and noticed he, too, had witnessed the entire scene as well. I must ask Logan to see if Blake rides out in the morning as is his normal habit, or does he forgo riding now that Miss Elizabeth is here. And I want a copy of his book.

“Eliza Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, when the door was closed on her, “is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. In my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.”

“Undoubtedly,” Darcy replied, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, “there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.”

Good show. Rawlings was surprised when Caroline continued the subject. As she spoke he caught sight of Blake flitting from one place to another. First, he sat on the sofa, next he stood by the window, and lastly he spent an unnecessary amount of time stirring the burning wood in the fireplace. All the while, Caroline was unleashing her cruel wit about Miss Elizabeth, her family, and the whole of Hertfordshire. Darcy, however, never removed his darkened eyes from Blake.

Slap her, Blake, I dare you. Rawlings chuckled. I know you want to. Does your unease exist because of Caroline? Or because you have realized you are not the only one sorry for Miss Elizabeth’s departure? Ahhh, Caroline, it is fortunate for you we are all gentlemen, for I too grow tired of your talk. Someone, please, change the subject.

Bingley, with his uncanny ability to respond to any uncomfortable situation, observed that the hour was late. All the men concurred, causing Caroline and the Hursts to retire to their bedchambers. Once his family had left the room, a grinning Bingley turned to his friends and suggested a game of Twenty Points, which they agreed to with alacrity.

“Not too late for a little sport, I take it,” Rawlings said. “Although there was plenty going on this evening. He laughed when two of his friends turned and glared meanly at him. “Come, come, and let us work out our aggressions on the billiard table.”

The men played several games of Twenty Points before calling it a night; however, before Darcy could leave, Blake motioned him to stay. “Shall we have a go at a different game? This time though, we must choose one pocket, and only shots that fall into it will count.”

“Do we both select a different pocket or do we shoot for the same one?”

Blake raised his brow. “Do you wish to chase after mine?”

Darcy crossed his arms. “Since neither one of us has chosen yet, it would be hard for me to answer at this time.”

“Not true. I have already chosen.” Blake pointed to the right end pocket. “I have selected this one to be my goal.” He caressed the end pocket. “You see, I choose quickly and decisively!”

“Humph. Unlike you, I consider all the ramifications before selecting my choice. It is the better way.”

“Ramifications such as?”

“For one, the location of the pocket is a significant concern. If you chose a pocket on the outskirts,” Darcy pointed to one of the outer pockets at the end of the table, “then you must consider the difficulties in following through. It is too far from the center of everything.”

“Perhaps the location is an obstacle, but not to one who is willing to overcome such trifling things as that. The outer pocket is not beyond my reach. I have enough of what is takes.”

“Would not the center pockets make life easier for you. Banking is much easier when aiming for a pocket in the center. All the easiest shots are there for the taking.”

“Well, banking is not the only consideration. I grant you it can be important, nevertheless, anyone with a straight approach can achieve success. I suspect the outer pocket is, shall we say, satisfied with the quickly moving ball coming toward her and taking possession of the desired territory.”

“You may be correct. However, location of the pocket is not your only concern. The location of the other balls on the table must be considered, Blake. Where do they stand? Would not those located in the center impede your long shots to the outer pocket? They can be quite formidable, I believe.”

“Phew. I would just blast right past them. I no longer find them restrictive in any way, even if they are somehow connected to me. I seek only the pocket. It is all that really matters.”

“I find the true game goes beyond one pocket. The entire table must be studied before one can advance in the proper direction.”

“Advance? Let me inform you my friend, I have already advanced forward, and with great success, I might add.”

“Are there not balls surrounding the outer pocket, too? Would not those balls follow your rolling ball wherever it went?”

“Hah! I would leave those other balls behind. Only when I chose to allow them to follow will it be permitted. I have no need for them, nor does my pocket. We could be happy just by ourselves.”

“I think you are not considering all the implications. Are you not fearful that the pocket is open to anyone wishing to come to the table armed with plenty of shots? Or at least, being pushed in that direction from elsewhere.”

“That is not possible with my pocket.”

The two men stared at each other before Blake narrowed his eyes, and spoke with conviction. “Once I choose, I do not relent, and as I said, I have chosen. I fear no rival coming to the game armed with, as you say, plenty of shots of his own. Any competitor may have a better game than I have, but I do not cower from him.” Blake leaned closer to Darcy, and in a half whisper added, “He comes too late.”

“Perhaps you should consider why the pocket is so enticing to you.”

“Pockets do not like the shooters that merely stare and never take their shot. You ignore the pocket while you mull everything over. I, on the other hand, offer quickly.”

“Offer what? Do you offer a quick victory, and then, you are off to play another game with another pocket?”

Blake grabbed hold tightly to his cue stick. “How I place my shots, and with which pocket is none of your concern.”

Sighing, Darcy bowed slightly.

The two men spent the next half hour making shots and glancing repeatedly at each other. In the end, Darcy won game. Blake, losing the desire for any more sport, retired for the evening.

The smell of cooked ham was in the air when Elizabeth entered the empty dining room. She spied the table filled with eggs, ham, breads, and some pastries she had eaten all her life. Bingley’s cook had sold these to Meryton’s locals for years. As she moved to the buffet, she turned when she heard footsteps behind her. Her ready smile receded once she realized it was Mr. Darcy entering the room.

“Miss Bennet, good morning. May I ask how your sister is faring?”

“She is… still ill with a slight fever but hopefully it will pass today. I thank you for asking.”

“Should we call the doctor?” Darcy moved closer to her, inhaling the lavender scent. “Mr. Bingley would not hesitate to summon one from London. He could be here tonight. Just let either of us know. I do not know if the apothecary’s skill is sufficient.” He wished to share with her how Bingley’s father caught pneumonia from a cold, which caused his death; however, he did not want to reveal private information of another, nor unduly raise her concern.

“Thank you, no. I suspect once her fever breaks, she will be on the mend, and rather quickly. Mr. Jones has treated all our colds successfully in the past. I have no doubt this time will be no different.”

Darcy bowed his head.

The two continued to the buffet table. Darcy was amused at the amount of food she added to her plate. In addition to the heaping amount of ham and eggs, she supplemented her breakfast meal with three of the sweet lemon pastries. Elizabeth glanced up at his chuckles.

“Mr. Rawlings may need to stand guard over his pastries.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon.” A red-faced Elizabeth reached to return the sweet treats.

“No, no, help yourself; there are plenty. Nonetheless, my friend cannot go a morning without such a pleasant indulgence. He vows no other pastry in town is as agreeable.”

“All of Meryton is familiar with them. In fact, all of my sisters and I grew up on them. My father would use them as a reward.”

Apparently, sweets did not work with the youngest two. Darcy filled his plate with equal amounts of food.

They sat across from each other. As Elizabeth ate her breakfast, he admired her elegance in all her actions. She patted her lips with the napkin after each bite, kept her elbows off the table, remained in an upright position, and tilted her head slightly as she often glanced at the door. Neither spoke, she preferred to concentrate on the consumption of the meal; he chose to gaze with admiration at her gracefulness. A few times, he caught himself all but attempting to reach over and pat her hand.

Pushing away his empty plate, Darcy motioned for the servant to refill his coffee. “When you have finished, would you care for a walk in the garden? The morning is accommodating. You could continue to defend Mr. Bingley.”

“And you, sir, would you continue to provide insight into his character?”

Darcy leaned forward, and in a solemn tone said, “Or perhaps insight into another friend would serve you better.”

With her eyes glowering, Elizabeth stood abruptly. “Thank you for the offer; however, I must return to my sister now. I will let Mr. Bingley know if a doctor is needed.” With that, Elizabeth curtseyed, and left the room, leaving her pastries on the plate.

With slumped shoulders, he watched her retreat to the hallway where he spotted Blake standing with a cold hard stare aimed at him. Blake quickly offered to escort her back to her sister. Once out of sight, Darcy spoke to the servant to prepare a plate of pastries to be sent to Miss Bennet’s room. As the plate of food, along with a pot of coffee, was leaving the room in the hands of a young maid, Bingley walked in.

“Good morning, Darcy. I trust you slept well.”

“Thank you, yes. You have risen early this morning.”

“I admit I tossed and turned all night. Should I send for a doctor? I have thought of nothing else except the health of Miss Bennet. Even last night, I could not concentrate on the card game.”

“You were playing high last night. Perhaps it would be wise not to set up the table tonight.” Darcy did not elaborate on his reasons, nor did his friend ask it. When everyone had convened in the drawing room the night before, he had caught sight of Elizabeth’s startled expression at the amount of money wagered on the game. “I will not be playing tonight. I also believe Miss Elizabeth may be more comfortable with other entertainment. Some quiet time to read might prove soothing to her. The ladies will have spent their day caring for Miss Bennet.”

“Good, very good. We shall have no card table tonight.”

The two men took advantage of their time alone by discussing business arrangements, and finalizing plans for several trips up north. The words were spoken, but neither man listened with any serious attention.

Chapter 23

Posted on July 15, 2008

The inclusion of a sixth opponent at the men’s daily bird shoot and billiards games proved costly. Mr. Hurst had confirmed himself as an excellent shot, when given a Baker rifle, and victorious at Twenty Points. A laughing Kent and Rawlings often cried fowl to Bingley for allowing his brother-in-law to join the fray. “Keeping the spoils in the family,” they would jest.

Blake and Darcy had other thoughts occupying their minds. Neither man shot a bullet or a cue ball particularly well, as they spent the entire afternoon exchanging displeased glances at one another.

Mr. Bingley appeared to be in a happier mood when all the guests convened in the evening—Miss Bennet had overcome the worst of her cold, and joined the group in the drawing room. He fretted around her the entire time; sharing not a single word with any other person. He placed her close to the fireplace, ensuring the logs remained lit by taking charge of the responsibility. He had hot chocolate prepared for her, a treat she seemed to enjoy. He directed servants to bring in blankets and a hot brick for her feet. He offered tea when she declined a second cup of the chocolate. He ran to fetch a glass of wine as soon as the request escaped her lips. Worried about her continued recovery, he decided nothing was beneath him this night.

However, unlike the previous evening, everyone did retire earlier. Miss Bennet only needed to indicate she had grown tired before the entire assembly made the appropriate excuses and left for their rooms. Mr. Bingley was quick to escort Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. All day he had appeared unaware of the tension between Blake and Darcy, but his action showed his concern, even though he did not make any particular mention of it. The others had also detected the tension between the two men; but, as true gentlemen do, they imparted an impression of ignorance, which proved helpful in lessening the friction. As the sun began to set, so did most of the ill feeling as they returned to the more relaxed association they had merged over this past month. The verbal jousting in the drawing room that evening shifted the attention from Blake’s intention onto Darcy’s temperament and disposition.

When Rawlings entered his bedchambers, he found Logan sitting in his usual comfortable chair, having accomplished his nightly tasks. He had stroked the fire, placed the brandy and cigars near his master’s seat and prepared the bedclothes. Rawlings spied A Morning Walk on the table.

“Thank you, Mr. Logan. I cannot be nonchalant at your resourcefulness.” Rawlings settled back and lit his cigar. He leafed through the book to the vicinity where the flower bookmark stuck out. Unable to identify the passage that had piqued his curiosity, he tossed the volume on the table.

Without providing an explanation of his methods, Logan nodded his head at the compliment. “Was the entertainment tonight as enjoyable as yesterday?” He poured Rawlings his evening brandy.

“Most decidedly so. Miss Elizabeth is unquestionably Darcy’s equal. Well, perhaps not in fortune or connections, but in wit and cleverness, I should say so. There is only one failure on her part.”

“And what, perchance, is that?”

“Her inability to understand Darcy’s true feelings toward her. I find this remarkable since she is a most perceptive person.”

“I suspect he requires a good kick in the breeches. He must do more than just stare and engage her in verbal challenges.” Logan relaxed in his chair, swirling his brandy in the glass.

“Yes, but I have never been so delighted with watching two people converse.” Rawlings drained his glass and poured himself another drink.

“And Blake. Did he do anything?”

“Blake did not say a word while they wrangled. He does hold back on his attentions to her when others are around, but I am unaware of any improper behavior. I have witnessed a casualness between them when they believe they are alone, indicating some sort of relationship exists. Tonight, he held back because I suspect he believed Miss Elizabeth was bettering Darcy.

“So, she was triumphant in her thrusts and he with his parries?”*

“Taking up fencing now? There were many Counter-Ripostes* and he engaged in a magnificent Counter-Parry*. In the end, she did retreat, I suspect in order to fight another day. Darcy is still the king of the argument. Surprisingly, he does allow Miss Elizabeth much liberty in her opinions. Poor Miss Bingley.” Rawlings closed his eyes and shook his head. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink.

“I assume you mean she is poor in other kinds of treasures.” Logan said, smirking as he took another sip.

“She, like Blake, was forced to the role of spectator. When Darcy and Miss Elizabeth are sparring, no one dares to interrupt.”

“How did the conversation go? I mean, what was their topic tonight.”

“Him,” Rawlings said, chuckling at Logan’s stunned expression. Rawlings took another puff on his cigar. He blew the smoke towards the ceiling.

“You mean Blake, or was Darcy himself the topic?”

“Darcy! I relied on all my self control not to lose my countenance when Miss Elizabeth suggested Miss Bingley tease the man.”

“Tease him? She asked Miss Bingley to do this? Impossible! I wager such a suggestion shocked her.”

“I do believe we all were. ‘Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind’ was Miss Bingley’s answer. She said she could not do so. Darcy proved her correct. He remained calm even when Miss Elizabeth attacked his vanity and pride.”

Rawlings poured himself a third brandy, even as Logan gave him a menacing glare.

“She called Darcy vain? Proud he is, but vain?” Logan shook his head when Rawlings offered to pour him a second drink.

“Oh, he muttered something about vanity being a weakness, but where there is a real superiority of mind, pride was not to be laughed at. Miss Elizabeth had to turn away to hide her smiles over that pronouncement. I had to drink my wine slowly. I was fearful I would spit the stuff out.”

“You do not drink slowly. I am always suggesting you should imbibe less, as well as at a leisurely rate.” Logan gave a pointed glance at Rawlings’ finished brandy.

Shrugging, Rawlings placed the glass on the table without refilling it. “I am a big man. I can drink more than you small framed ninnies can. Nevertheless, let me finish. That cheeky girl had the nerve to proclaim Darcy without defect. She looked straight in his eyes when she made her declaration. Can you picture him after such a challenge?”

“Well? Did Darcy agree?”

“He most assuredly did not. He said he was not deficient in understanding – imagine calling yourself clever after having stated he was not vain; however, he did own that he had a resentful temper. Remind me never to lose his esteem. Do you know why?”

Logan shook his head.

“He admitted once his good opinion is lost, it is lost forever. Now his declaration correlates to his conversation yesterday, do you not agree?” Rawlings leaned forward with both eyebrows raised and hands on his knees.

“How so?”

“He said ‘To yield readily -- easily -- to the persuasion of a friend is no merit’. Do you understand now? He has not only a temper, but immovable opinions as well.” Rawlings settled back into the chair, took a few deep breaths and added, “This may cause problems for the alliance, and that is my utmost worry. Oh, let us hope Blake does not lose Darcy’s good opinion.”

“I understood you to say yesterday if the details were well explained, found reasonable and the parties were honorable, than his judgment could be swayed.”

“Yes, true. Someone he respects can change his regard with rationalization, I suppose; but he must respect them without doubt.”

Logan nodded.

Rawlings abruptly leaned forward, his brow raised. “There was one final verbal thrust by our duelists. Miss Elizabeth then reversed her taunting jab by charging him with having a defect after all. Can you guess?”

“I am thinking it was not his arrogance. I do not believe Miss Elizabeth would be so bold.”

“No, she did not call him arrogant. She said he had a propensity to hate everybody. Just what Bingley accused Darcy of when we went hunting! Again, Darcy did not let this comment pass. He retaliated by accusing Miss Elizabeth of her own defect – a willingness to misunderstand them. I do not think Darcy knows how correct he is.”

“Ahh, the blindness of love.”

“Unfortunately, the ladies return to Longbourn tomorrow, and my entertainment will be lost.” Rawlings exhaled a deep breath, puffing his cheeks out. Relaxing in his seat, he finished his cigar, blowing rings of smoke while contemplating the loss.

“Will they be gone early?” Logan asked.

“Yes, by ten. Their father insisted upon it. With his recent misfortunes, he should be pushing his daughters towards us. I do not believe Mrs. Bennet knows the truth, otherwise both the Bennets ladies would remain here until an offer was made, the settlements signed, and the new dresses ordered.” Rawlings recollected his own wedding arrangements. “I do respect Mr. Bennet for not forcing his girls on us. Still, he wants them home, and I shall be sorry to see them leave.”

“Do the other gentlemen know of their misfortune?

“No. I have not even discussed the situation with Darcy. None of the others has dropped any hints either. I cannot imagine what impact the loss will have, and on Blake in particular. Once he finds out, I suspect his attentions might be diverted to another.”

“Ah. To the fortunes of Miss Bingley.”

“I doubt she would interest him! Blake is a discriminating fellow. More likely, the lady he chooses will reside in London with the right connections and wealth.”

“Any lady in particular?”

“Last season he appeared to be courting someone. I cannot recall whom, although he had spent all his time wooing her. It was the talk of the gossips and old dowagers!”

Mr. Bennet did indeed miss his two eldest daughters. The ratio of men to women concerned him, even though the Hursts provided proper chaperonage. At eight and forty, he could still remember what men constantly thought about when such beauty was in so close a proximity, and no father present. Mr. Jones had provided him with a thorough report on Jane’s condition, allowing him to send a note requiring them to return home. The carriage would arrive at ten the next morning. Uncharacteristically, he even wrote that he would brook no argument.

Elizabeth, concerned with the growing intensity between her and Mr. Darcy, feared Lord Blake would speak uncivilly to his friend regarding his distain for her. Lord Blake had hinted at his displeasure the day before. She reasoned if she were absent, there would be less tension between them, and no harm would come to their friendship.

At this moment, however, she was more concerned about her mother. She believed her father would wait to reveal their recent misfortune until they had returned home. She had told Jane everything before breakfast this morning. Both sisters dreaded the uproar and silliness soon to descend upon Longbourn. Sighing, they wished to delay the news by remaining at Netherfield for another day or two. At least, that was what they told each other.

While Jane finished overseeing the packing of her things, Elizabeth decided to wait in the library for the carriage to arrive. Surprised by Mr. Darcy’s presence, she lowered her eyes and curtseyed. “Excuse me. I did not mean to interrupt your privacy.”

“Please stay. I was just seeking a book, and then I will be on my way,” He waved her in without turning her way, and continued to peruse the books. Miss Elizabeth was amused as he reached for a book, mumbled, and then replaced it in its slot. He repeated this several times before she laughed aloud.

“What amuses you, Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy gazed at her with a bemused expression.

“Your diligence in trying to find a book. I daresay it should not be hard here.” Her eyes roamed the empty shelves, noting the sparseness of reading material. “Perhaps my father may have what you seek. I will inquire about it when I return home.”

“Thank you.” Darcy bowed his head. “I would not be surprised at all. I was looking for a book on gas lighting,” As Darcy spoke he presented her with a smile that unfortunately had not been seen by her before.

“I have no doubt, as you apparently well know.” Mistaking his smile for a smirk, she spoke curtly with her dark eyes boring into his. She curtsied abruptly, and quickly turned to leave the room.

Darcy was left with a very confused reaction.

Blake stood in the doorway with a chilling glare aimed at Darcy. He offered to escort Elizabeth to her waiting carriage, but not before sending a sideways glance of warning back towards him.

The daughters were not welcomed home with any affection by their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at the quickness of their return, and was sure Jane would have catch cold again. Their father, though very brief in his expressions of pleasure, was pleased to see them; he had felt their importance in the family circle by their absence.

In addition, Mr. Bennet, just as Elizabeth assumed, needed his two eldest daughters at home when he informed their mother of the loss of all her children’s dowries. So it was, within the hour after their arrival, he sent for his wife. Jane and Elizabeth roamed the hallway, preparing for the inevitable eruption. As the moments slipped away, they were surprised how subdued it was inside their father’s study, and they repeatedly sent questioning glances to one another. They heard only a muffled voice or two.

Bolting from the room, Mrs. Bennet did not speak to her daughters, although she almost knocked them down rushing to her bedchambers. She did not call for Hill. She did not shriek. She did not ask for her smelling salts. She entered her room, deposited herself in the chair by the window, and stared at the garden below. After three quiet hours of uncommon stillness, Mrs. Bennet insisted Hill fetch Jane and Lizzy.

After knocking on the opened door, the two eldest girls stood guardedly in the doorway, waiting for her to respond. She was pacing around the room, but when she heard the knock, she surprised them with a smile, and waved them inside.

“Jane, Lizzy. I would like a moment to speak with you; here in my chambers. It is private here, and we need to talk.”

“Yes, mama,” the two said in unison as they entered.

Mrs. Bennet closed the door behind them. She invited them to sit as she continued to pace. Glancing at each other, they sat motionless while waiting for their mother to speak. When she did, it was with the calmest voice they ever heard from her.

“It is a sad state of affairs, this business about the dowries. It is not the end of the world. We have a little time. You, Jane, will secure Mr. Bingley, of that I am sure. I do not believe your beauty was for naught.” She held her eldest’s face in her hands. “He is quite smitten with you.”

Mrs. Bennet turned towards Lizzy with an expression of concern not often shared with her least favorite daughter. “You, too, have an admirer in Lord Blake. I do not know why, but we must work diligently to secure an offer from him as well.”

Mrs. Bennet paced a little more until she stopped in front of her daughters with a calculating stare. “We have no other choice but to pursue these men. We must succeed quickly before all of Meryton finds out. We must take drastic steps. The harvest feast and ball is a good place to start.”

Jane and Lizzy remained perfectly still, except for their expressions. As they heard their mother enlighten them with her campaign, their brows rose gradually, and their eyes grew wider and wider. They glanced from their mother to each other. After a time, Jane sent a silent plea to her sister to stop her. Shrugging in response, Lizzy smiled mischievously. This was the first time, she had ever considered allowing her mother to go on so without so much as a clever retort.

It appeared to both sisters that Mrs. Bennet had decided it was time to concentrate on helping her second born. Turning all her energy towards Lizzy, she leaned in close to her daughter’s face. “Now, you need to be less, well, independent. You must learn to flatter him, and tell him how well he looks in his coat. Look down when you say this.”

“At my feet?” Lizzy shook her head in wonder.

“No, my dear. Do not vex me.” Mrs. Bennet narrowed her eyes, and stared directly at Elizabeth. Raising her right eyebrow, she continued. “You know exactly where to cast your eyes. And when you do, you must not smirk, which would take away any chance you would ever have. Do you hear me, missy?”

“You mean like this?” Elizabeth presented an exaggerated smirk to her mother as she stared into her eyes.

“Yes. Now practice showing a proper smile.”

Lizzy copied Jane’s smile.

Her mother nodded her approval, but continued with the lesson. “And the next issue, do not go on with your teasing ways. You must tell him how handsome he is, how smart, how kind, and most of all you need to tell him how strong his arms are, and how big his hands are. Compliments of such a nature always work. Men imagine they must have strapping arms, and they seem to smile most assuredly when you tell them about their enormous big hands.”

“But mama. What if his arms are not strong? What if Lord Blake has tiny hands? Should I lie?”

“No, he would know what you say is a lie.” Mrs. Bennet shook her head. “You must phrase your words as such: if his hands are tiny, then mention how you think they are the most wonderful size. They are neither too big nor too small to hold your heart.”

It took great effort for Lizzy not to laugh aloud. Jane stared at the floor to hide the blush she could feel burning her cheeks.

“Is that all?” Lizzy practiced her non-smirking smile. When Jane's eyes pleaded with her to stop, she rewarded her with another exaggerated smirk.

“No. You must also tell the man he is the smartest, cleverest man you have met. Say, if the whole world was as smart as he, then there would be no wars, no poverty, and no unhappiness.”

Lizzy shook her head. “I have seen such a ploy used by another; I assure you, mother, it does not work. Men are not that vain.”

“Yes, Lizzy, believe me, they are. Oh, I have one more thought. If Lord Blake wins that horse, you must be the first one to congratulate him. Quickly walk to wherever he is at the end of the game.” Mrs. Bennet gasped. “Good Heavens! We need to work on your walk.”

“My walk? Do you mean I am missing that certain something in my manner of walking, and a certain air about me? Someone has already been hinted my failings of this nature to me.”

“What are you gibbering about? No, I mean you walk like a boy. Now Jane, show her how to walk.” Mrs. Bennet took Jane’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “Yes, get up and walk around the room.”

Jane did as she was told, walking from one end of the room to the other.

“Look, Lizzy. Watch her. Do not turn away; now watch Jane’s backside. See how her hips move; they tend to sway ever so slightly. Not much, mind you, but just so. Yours, I daresay, do not.

“What do mine do?” Elizabeth asked with her eyebrows raised.

“They just sit there on top of your legs as you move about. Now try it. Sway your hips.”

Mrs. Bennet placed both hands on Elizabeth’s hips. She pushed them to the right and then the left. Turning her head to walk away, Jane bit her lip and closed her eyes. Tears were falling uncontrollably.

“No, do not sway so much. Here use this fan.”

“Fan? Am I supposed to fan my hips?”

“No, silly girl. You are to use the fan to hide that hideous smirk. You have pleasing eyes; the fan will highlight them.”

“So I sway and fan?”

“And tilt your head. To the right. To the right. Oh my, your hair. What are we ever to do with your hair?”

“Cut it short?” Lizzy used her fingers as scissors in her hair.

“I will ensure Sarah spends at least one hour each morning fixing that hair. You realize what that means?”

Lizzy shook her head. This time she was dumbfounded.

“You cannot go walking about in the woods. Your hair is so wild looking when you get back. No more walking for you.”

“But what if Lord Blake likes to walk? Especially in the woods.”

“Well, that is a good point.” Mrs. Bennet placed her fist on her chin while she thought of a solution. Answering, she shook her finger at Elizabeth. “You may walk with him, but do not go off in the woods alone. I fear that would send the wrong signal.”

“Signal?”

“That you are a wanton woman. In order to catch this man, you must make him chase you.”

“Oh, so I am to run instead of walk?”

“Do not speak so. Lizzy, I told you to use that your fan to hide that smirk you are wearing. Of course, you are not to run. Ladies do not run. They walk slowly, fluttering their fans, tilting their heads and swaying their hips. Now practice.”

With both hands, Mrs. Bennet pulled Elizabeth from the chair she had just sat down on. As Elizabeth walked, Mrs. Bennet stared at her. “Blink your eyes. No, no, no, not so quickly. That looks like you have something caught in your eyes. That only works when you are alone on a balcony at a ball. He will stand ever so close to try to remove something from your eyes. Wear your best toilet water for that kind of occasion, and place it on your lower neck. Oh, and we must lift your womanly charms.”

“With my hands? Like so?” Lizzy pushed them upwards and inwards. “Do I do this while he is removing the imaginary dust from my eyes?”

Jane had to look out the window. She had no self-control left and was no longer able to hide her own toothy smiles.

“Silly goose. We need to get you a better corset, one that lifts your assets much higher.”

“If they were any higher, I could place my fan there as a resting spot.”

“And we need to have a few of your dresses cut down further.” Mrs. Bennet stared at Lizzy’s chest.

“You have chosen low cut dresses as it is. Will not my, well, you know, show?”

Of course not. I am not suggesting you reveal anything other than what propriety allows. I did raise you girls to be ladies. You will reveal just the hint of what lies there and that will increase his excitement. He will think it is a glimpse of heaven and may be just the push he needs. We are in desperate straits.”

Lizzy looked over to Jane. “So Jane, I see that little glimpse of heaven sneaking out of your dress.” She chuckled when a blushing Jane covered her exposed neckline with her scarf. “Is that why all the men favor you so? In the future, I shall watch Mr. Bingley to see where he aims his eyes.”

“We need to keep Lord Blake’s eyes aimed up high, away from your boyish hips. You have beautiful eyes and wonderful, um, womanly charms. These are your best assets my dear. The rest is just horrid.”

Mrs. Bennet grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, pulling her to the door.

“Let us go to your room and find all the dresses that require fixing. Hill! Hill!”

Thrust An attack made by moving the sword parallel to its length and landing with the point.

Parry A simple defensive action designed to deflect an attack, performed with the forte of the blade.

Counter-Riposte A second, third, or further riposte in a fencing 'phrase' or encounter. A counter-riposte is the offensive action following the parry of any riposte.

Counter-Parry also circular parry. A parry that moves in a circle to end up in the same position in which it started. A counter-parry usually traps an attack coming in a different line, but in the same high/low line

Chapter 24

Posted on July 22, 2008

Mr. Bennet sat at the breakfast table, letter in his hand, informing his family of the impending arrival of a visitor. After the habitual silliness had settled, he revealed the name of the caller as a Mr. Collins. Once Mrs. Bennet realized this man was the heir of Longbourn, her shrill cries flooded the room. Not long thereafter, her venom transformed into peals of laughter and shrieks of happiness; but only after her husband, reading the letter aloud, announced his intention of finding a wife from amongst her girls.

As promised, at precisely four o’clock, Mr. Collins came to Longbourn. Although none of the daughters had contemplated escaping the visitor, the misty day had forced everyone to remain indoors. A tall, heavy looking young man of five and twenty entered the house with a grave and stately air about him, and with the most contrived manners.

Mr. Bennet delighted in the man’s ramble through the rooms. When he evaluated the furniture and all of the household items, he offered exaggerated comparisons to similar objects found at Rosings. As he talked, he interspersed minutiae about the generosity of his patroness, the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin turned out to be as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment, maintaining at the same time, the most resolute composure of countenance. However, he did not hide his displeasure when he caught his guest repeatedly gawking at his two oldest daughters, although Mrs. Bennet showed no concern over the direction of his stares.

Unfortunately, even his daughters’ charms did not keep this ridiculous man from occupying many hours in his study during the first several days of his stay. Long before this self-important estate grabber had arrived, Mr. Bennet informed Elizabeth that folly and conceit displayed in every other room of his house was acceptable; but he demanded freedom from such performances in his sanctuary. For days, he had listened to Mr. Collins speak a great deal: of his house and garden at Hunsford, his two weekly dinners with his patroness, and her promise to revisit his humble abode upon the installation of his wife. At the exact moment the sunlight streaked through his window, he hurriedly invited his cousin to join his daughters in their walk to Meryton. Without delay, Mrs. Bennet agreed with the plan, pushing Mary towards the guest.

Even though they left as a group, Mr. Collins lagged behind the youngest Bennets, whom had skipped ahead as fast as possible, giggling as they went. In deference to the man’s future position, Jane and Elizabeth walked a bit slower, although they too attempted to walk apart from him. With only pompous nothings on his side and civil assents on theirs, the not so subtle clergyman devised a new strategy.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, did you not wish to stop to admire this…peculiar little rock?” Mr. Collins spoke only loud enough for the eldest girls to discern. His eyes did not part from Elizabeth's figure, and his breathing grew heavier, making the end of the sentence difficult to discern.

When he received no reply, excepting the two ladies moving forward, he called out “Please I beg of you. I have a cramp in my leg and must stop. Will you be so kind as to wait a moment?” Leaning down, he rubbed his right calf, taking many deep breaths. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted they had stopped just ahead, whispering to each other and, in his mind, sending him sly looks. The youngest daughters had quickened their pace. He blotted the sweat from his brow with his already soaked handkerchief. Regaining his strength, he hobbled to catch up with the eldest Miss Bennets.

“It was most kind of you to wait. I rarely get cramps in my legs as I am so used to walking.”

“I am sorry for your pain.” Elizabeth dropped her eyes to his left leg. “Why, Mr. Collins, you must be suffering excessively, for I see you are now hobbling on the other leg. Perhaps you should rest there?” She pointed her eyes to a fallen tree just off the road.

“Yes, that would be acceptable.” Reaching the tree, he patted the lower end of the trunk, signaling the ladies to sit with him, and smiled in anticipation of the pleasant view to come. He glimpsed up, just in time to realize they had ignored his request and proceeded towards town.

“Wait! The cramp has passed. As you see I can walk now.” He hurried to reach them by taking long strides.

They turned onto the main avenue, catching up to the younger sisters who were gaping at several men across the street. They recognized Mr. Denny, a favorite officer of their acquaintance, but they did not recognize the handsome gentleman with him. The stranger's air impressed the eldest Bennets, and even they wondered who he could be. Kitty and Lydia, determined to find out, led the way across the street, exclaiming a desire for something in a shop across the road, and fortunately had just stepped on the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, reached the same spot.

Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and obtained permission to introduce Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him from town. He announced that his friend had accepted a commission in their regiment. The youngest girls admired his appearance, believing it was greatly in his favor; he had all the best part of beauty and stateliness—a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. In their eyes, the soon to be addition of regimentals would make him uniformly charming.

When the rest of the Bennet party joined them, they shared a most civil and proper conversation that kept all but Jane engaged. Miss Bennet searched every horseback rider coming into town for a familiar face, finding disappointment at every glance. Soon the group parted company, after Mr. Wickham indicated he had an urgent matter that needed his attention. What business awaited him, he did not reveal; but as soon as the Bennets had moved out of sight, Wickham nudged his friend for a small loan to use inside the Black Bull Tavern.

Blake longed to visit Oakham Mount, but assumed the rainy weather would keep Miss Elizabeth home. There was no point in riding if all he would find was a view of wet grounds surrounding Netherfield Park. Sighing, he paced the library floor until he grew bored with walking. He sat quietly for a short period before he picked up a book and stared unseeing at the pages. Setting it aside, he sipped his drink before striking up a conversation with one of his friends; falling silent again when he realized he was responding absently to questions that he had not even heard. He fidgeted in his seat and twiddled his thumbs, and when that did not appease him, he tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. In the end, he gravitated towards the window and silently cursed the rainfall. After a while Blake began the pattern again.

“Worried about Heracles? I will take good care of him, Blake,” Kent said teasingly.

“That will be difficult with him living in my stables.” Blake returned to the window and released a long sigh.

“Does anyone wish to bet on the game the judges will come up with?” Rawlings asked. “I am personally hoping for a boxing match.”

“Surely, not boxing. But I admit that not knowing is maddening. I cannot conceive of which game they will choose.” Blake smiled at Bingley and said, “I was very fortunate when you chose golf.”

“I do not think my strategy of coming in third will work this time!” Kent laughed as he held the cards up for Bingley to see. He nodded his agreement, and the two began a game of Picquet.

Blake returned to his pattern of pacing, reading, sipping and looking through the window.

Darcy watched Blake, although he attempted to keep his scrutiny hidden from the man. He, too, had reread the same page over many times. Miss Bingley pretended to search for a book while eyeing Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Hurst simply sat and played with her bracelets and occasionally joined her sister in some outlandish discussions. Rawlings and Hurst talked about the finest wines and brandies they had enjoyed before. They even tried a bit of Bingley’s scotch, neither man finding it to his liking.

Just when it seemed the tediousness of the day would continue into the night, the clouds gave way and the sun appeared. Blake jumped up from his chair and announced, “I need some fresh air.”

Darcy quickly fell in behind Blake before he could escape. “I will join you. Shall we ride our horses to town? We could visit the Black Bull, now that our private club has been dismantled and returned to a ballroom.”

“Yes, that is an excellent suggestion. I shall come as well.” Bingley leapt from his seat. Kent nodded. He, too, found the confines of the house boring. Upon hearing the destination was not a nearby estate, Rawlings waved the others off. He preferred to remain in the comfort of this dry room with Hurst, and the many carafes of warmth the library offered.

Losing their reason for lingering in the room and with the harvest feast and ball beginning in just three days, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst left to check on the preparations underway.

The four men rode into Meryton and, each man remained quiet, lost in their own thoughts. The rain had kept the men captive in a house with little to do except think. Without the excitement of the games, they yearned for a gentlemen’s activity, even mingling with the locals would do. So when they unexpectedly entered the Black Bull, there was a clammor from the patrons and they were not disappointed.

“To Lord Blake and Mr. Kent. May the best man win the stallion,” one of the patrons yelled out. Both men bowed. Another patron ordered ale for them.

Before entering the tavern, Bingley noticed Darcy had stopped abruptly inside the doorway, glaring darkly at a man sitting with an officer at a table along the back wall. The man stared back at first, but then jerked his reddened face to the wall.

“Where are you going?” Bingley asked as Darcy turned to leave the tavern.

“I have no desire to drink in this place,” he answered with cold contempt in his voice. His countenance appeared so bleak that his friend took a step back.

Bingley struggled with what he should do. He wanted to remain with the others and have a few drinks and yet he did not wish to leave Darcy alone. He decided to follow his agitated friend.

Unfortunately for Darcy, several patrons overheard his remark and shared it with all the others in the tavern. What little respect he had earned during the games was soon completely lost.

Darcy and Bingley rode back to Netherfield Park in silence. Every time Bingley tried to broach the subject, Darcy only scowled at him until Bingley closed his mouth. Finally, as soon as they reached the drive, Darcy proclaimed the man at the table was no means a respectable young man. Mr. Wickham had been very imprudent and had lost any regard he might have previously held. Darcy refused to elaborate any further; and Bingley allowed the discussion to end there.

When they entered the house, Darcy stormed up the stairs, informing Bingley he did not wish to be disturbed until dinner. Shrugging, Bingley left to find the other men.

Mr. Kent headed back to the Netherfield Park after a few drinks and pocketing a few coins obtained from several undefeated games of skittles. He also returned with information, and desired to share it with Mr. Rawlings as soon as possible. When he entered the library at Netherfield, he found Rawlings, Hurst and Bingley discussing the accuracy of the Baker rifle. With questioning eyes, he glanced around the room. Bingley informed him that Darcy had gone to his chambers. Kent signaled Rawlings to meet with him in the billiards room.

Once they were alone, Kent explained what had happened in the tavern. “I was shocked to hear what that man was saying.”

“Exactly what was said?” Rawlings asked calmly. He had heard many unkind remarks about their friend over the years, finding most to be without cause.

“Darcy had cheated him out of a living. The idea of Darcy cheating anyone is unbelievable to me.”

“I agree.” Rawlings sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Who is this man?

“He said his father was the steward of old Mr. Darcy.”

“Which gives his story more veracity. It is true that Darcy came home in a state. I heard him stomping up the stairs and slamming his bedchamber door from where I sat in the library.”

“Should we do anything?”

Rawlings shook his head. “No, let us follow his lead.” Unbeknown to Kent, he planned to send Logan to the Tavern, seeking any news that may have an impact on the alliance. No man in these parts knew his valet; therefore, he would be the best man to investigate Wickham.

“Where is Blake?” Rawlings froze on the spot, his body tensed as he waited for Kent's reply.

“I suppose he is still at the Black Bull. I must apologize to him. I was so focused on the story, I neglected to let him know I was leaving.” Kent did not notice his companion's changed countenance.

Rawlings sighed again as he shook his head. “I doubt he would be bothered by your defection.” I rather suspect he was pleased. I would wager Logan that he went to see the lovely Miss Elizabeth. Blake was like a caged animal and it was not because he worried about the competition with Kent.

Meanwhile, Blake, oblivious to the gossip surrounding him, had been sitting in the tavern plotting ways to sneak off for the short ride to Longbourn when he realized Kent had left. He did not see either Bingley or Darcy. Paying for his drink, he smoothed his clothes, nodded to the patrons, and nearly ran out the door. Arriving at Longbourn, he was delighted to find a certain lady at home.

Miss Elizabeth wore one of her newly designed dresses, which pleased her mother immensely.

Mrs. Bennet watched Lord Blake struggle to look somewhere other than at her daughter’s womanly charms. He is no different from any other man. Yes indeed. He will have much to think about before the feast and ball,. She smiled knowingly to Lizzy. See, Missy, my plan is working. She nodded with a tight lipped smile towards her daughter.

Seeing her mother's gloating expression, Elizabeth was mortified, as her face burned.

“Miss Elizabeth, are you feeling well? You look a little flushed. Do you need some fresh air?” Blake asked, his voice full of concern.

“Yes, Lord Blake. A walk in the garden would do her much good. She has been confined in this house for days,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted.

Elizabeth turned back to glare at her mother as Lord Blake led her out the door.

“Are you feeling better now?” Blake whispered as he leaned in and inhaled her perfume.

“Yes, thank you.” Through the corner of her eye, Elizabeth caught sight of her mother standing by the window tilting her head to the right, blinking her eyes and swaying her hips. Elizabeth gasped; not at her mother, but at where Blake had focused his eyes.

Flushed, Blake lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Have you found Wordsworth’s book? I remember you said he was your favorite and you would reread it as soon as you returned.”

“Yes, I did.” Elizabeth steered Blake towards the part of the garden unseen from any window.

“You do look especially lovely today.” Lord Blake kept his head turned away to avoid taking another glance at Elizabeth’s plunging neckline as he swept his hand across the bench to make sure it was dry.

“You have done very well in the competition. I believe you fared much better than you expected before Mr. Bingley’s game. I did not know you played golf.”

Lord Blake’s eyes sparkled. “Neither did Mr. Bingley. I was quite shocked when he announced his game. And I suspect it was quite a shock to him when he discovered my skill at the game.” Blake grabbed her hand as she slipped on the wet grass when taking her seat.

“Mr. Kent did well to tie for the stallion.”

“Yes, it seems strange that my opponent in this final competition is Mr. Kent, particularly after he fared so poorly in his own game. I would have liked Mr. Darcy to be my opponent. I did so want to best him one on one.” Blake lowered his head as he admitted, “Mr. Darcy is my fiercest rival.”

“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked tersely. “I do not think many townspeople wagered any money on him.”

“We were always battling each other at Cambridge.” Blake paused and then added in a mumble, “And I fear we will be battling each other again.” He sighed, “Kent has picked up a few skills since school.”

“Miss Bingley has one to cheer for, then? Mr. Kent seemed to champion her while I stayed at Netherfield.”

“I suppose, however, I am convinced she would have wished to cheer another.” He turned his body towards Elizabeth causing his knee to touch hers. He had a vivid memory of that moment before, and longed to recreate it again. He could not think of a single proper way to caress her arm. He fought against looking down at her neckline.

“Perhaps.” Elizabeth blushed when she noticed Blake dropping his eyes again. She quickly raised her hand and placed it over the enticing spot. She had noticed Jane doing this very thing when Mr. Bingley spent too long fixated on her glimpse of heaven. “Have you discovered the final competition yet?”

Lord Blake lifted his chin. “No. I understand the judges are making that decision. Perhaps you father might have dropped a hint?”

“He would never tell if he knows.”

“Yes, he does seem able to keep the competition games to himself.”

“Yes, he is good at keeping secrets and confidences, my lord,” Elizabeth said wistfully. “You would not wish otherwise.”

“No, you are correct. But, I do have a request of you.”

Elizabeth silently raised her brows and signaled for Blake to continue.

“If you would honor me with the first two dances at the ball.”

“I am afraid I must decline.” She watched Blake’s shoulders slump. With a mischievous smile she quickly added, “I am engaged for those dances.”

“Mr. Darcy?”

“No.” She leaned back and with a shocked voice exclaimed, “I daresay he would not desire such a thing.”

“Oh.” He waited patiently for Elizabeth to continue.

“My cousin, who is visiting us, has claimed the first two dances.” She leaned in and whispered, “I am not engaged for any other.”

“Excellent. Then I request not only the second set but the last one as well.”

“I accept.” Elizabeth looked away to hide her blush.

For a while, the two spoke of the harvest feast, the competition, the ball and Heracles. Blake assured Miss Elizabeth that the horse was very gentle, even though his size was great. They continued speaking in this manner until they saw several Militia officers and a well-dressed gentleman entering the house.

As he was about to depart, he was surprised to overhear the man telling Mrs Bennet he was from Derbyshire and knew Mr. Darcy quite well. After a quick introduction revealed his name was Mr. Wickham, Blake took his leave and returned to Netherfield Park. He was curious to know whether Darcy was aware this man was in the area.

When dinnertime arrived, Darcy reappeared from his self-imposed seclusion. Both he and Blake ate their dinner quietly and remained lost in thought. Blake's mood had lifted, having seen Elizabeth again, while Darcy attempted to control his anger at the thought of Wickham in Meryton.

The three other men all noticed their inattention. They allowed the two men to remain unsociable, and instead spoke about the upcoming events with Miss Bingley. She regaled them with stories about all the humorous difficulties the staff had encountered—from the rams running loose in the stable yard to the struggles they had had removing a bar that was too large for the ballroom door— and everyone shared a laugh or two. She tried her best to elicit a response from Mr. Darcy but to no avail.

After the ladies departed for the drawing room to plan the evening’s entertainment, the men continued to speak of the upcoming ball. However, all conversation stopped when Blake cleared his voice.

“Darcy, there was a gentleman vi