“Miss Elizabeth sang prettily.” Richard’s expression was bland.
“She has a skill for melodrama and the ability to tap out very simple tunes, but she shall never be as accomplished as Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley said. “There are much more sophisticated pieces, more lovely than a simple country ballad, that a young woman ought to learn to play.”
“Such as?” Richard asked.
“Show him how a truly accomplished lady plays, Caroline,” Mrs. Hurst commanded.
“I certainly will.”
Miss Bingley angled her nose a notch higher into the air and stalked across the room as Miss Mary began to play. Dragging Mr. Hurst along, Mrs. Hurst followed after. Bingley, Darcy noted, already wended his way toward where Miss Bennet and Elizabeth stood. If only Collins were with them, Darcy would have a reason to join him.
“You’re mean,” Georgiana whispered to Richard, who stood on the other side of her from Darcy.
“I was saving us,” Richard replied in an equally low tone.
“Miss Mary plays perfectly well,” Georgiana said.
“I wasn’t saving us from Miss Mary.”
Georgiana giggled.
Miss Mary did play adequately. By Darcy’s thinking, it wasn’t the quality of her skill so much as how laborious she made that skill appear. She frowned, eyes riveted on the sheets before her. No emotion, let alone passion, sparked in her voice, so different from Miss Elizabeth’s poignant contralto. Finally, Miss Mary’s piece ended, and Miss Bingley stepped forward.
“Play something for dancing,” Miss Lydia called.
Miss Bingley shot her an annoyed look, though at the heckling or because she wished to try her hand at making the women of the room teary-eyed, Darcy couldn’t say.
“No,” John Lucas said. “We can dance anytime. Let’s fence. Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy are both here. They should give us a match.”
Miss Bingley leveled a venomous look on John Lucas, but everyone else turned about, seeking Darcy and Richard. A wave of affirmation went through the room. Sir William Lucas pressed his way through the gathering. Darcy caught Mr. Bennet’s amused look, where the other man sat far across the room. Darcy was pleased to see Elizabeth’s father appeared healthier, though still thinner than when first they’d met.
“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Fitzwilliam.” Sir William stopped before them. “What say you, lads? We’ve yet to see you square off. We’ve only Mr. Collins’ recounting of your skill, Mr. Darcy.”
“Darcy would probably like to keep it that way,” Richard said, grin touched with taunting.
Darcy felt an unexpected surge of humor, which he tamped down as inappropriate. “There is no need for a bout. Mr. Fitzwilliam is the better fencer.”
About the room, some of the enthusiasm died down at his refusal.
“They want to see for themselves,” Georgiana said. “It’s not so much to ask.”
“Five shillings on Mr. Darcy,” someone called from the back of the room, the voice suspiciously like Mr. Bennet’s.
“Ten on Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Mr. Hurst countered, evoking a scowl from Mrs. Hurst, beside him.
This set up a bit of a ruckus, under the cover of which Georgiana elbowed Darcy and whispered, “Fence with Richard. Everyone will enjoy it.”
Darcy nodded, seeing no harm. According to Richard, fencing had, in the days since Mr. Wickham’s challenge to Mr. Collins, become something of a local pastime. “I would be pleased to test myself against Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
Good natured cheers answered that. Everyone headed outside. Chairs were brought for the ladies, along with tables, punch and cakes. Several practice fields were already marked off, the trampled earth showing the daily dedication of the Lucas sons and their companions. Darcy stripped off his coat, which he handed to Georgiana, then accepted fencing gear.
He had no delusions of his skill compared to Richard’s and so was quite pleased to end the match with four of the ten hits. As an added boon, the young men at the event, including Mr. Collins, all mobbed Richard after the bout. Darcy counted his loss as a victory, for he was free to step off to the side and not fight again.
“Are you sulking?” a familiar, amused voice said as Darcy shrugged back into his jacket.
He turned to find Elizabeth beside his sister. Georgiana offered a mischievous look and disappeared before Darcy could halt her. He frowned, then turned to Elizabeth. Had she sought him for the purpose of teasing? If she had, he found he didn’t mind.
“Actually, I am pleased,” he said, adjusting his cuffs. “Most days, Mr. Fitzwilliam can beat me eight or nine times out of ten.” Seeing her raised eyebrows, Darcy added, “He was a soldier for most of his adult life. He’s had plenty of practice.”
“Yes, Charlotte mentioned that,” Elizabeth replied.
“He is also a better shot.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I suggest you don’t get into a duel with him.”
“There is no danger of that.”
“He is truly so skilled as to cow the formidable Mr. Darcy?” She turned to study Richard where he instructed Mr. Collins and a row of young men.
Darcy nodded. “More than that, he is unflappable. He spent more than a year in Spain, and often faced enemy fire.”
“Well then, we are lucky he is here with us now,” Elizabeth said. “He came back because he inherited? Charlotte said something about an estate in Kent.”
Darcy hid his surprise. Where had Miss Lucas learned that? Richard had instructed them not to bandy about his wealth. Mr. Hurst, Bingley and Darcy were all men of their word, and Darcy couldn’t imagine Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst letting that information out. Not when Miss Bingley had designs on Richard. He looked to where his sister had disappeared. That left only Georgiana.
“That would be logical, but no. He was wounded and returned to England. After he recovered, his father ensured he had plenty of duties here. He may be a third son, but that did not mean the earl was above using his influence to ensure Richard spent no more time on the frontline.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up again. “He’s also the son of an earl?”
Her pleased smile sent an odd stab of emotion through Darcy. He cleared his throat. “He is.” Did she fancy pursuing his cousin? Visions of the two chatting amiably filled his head.
“Did Mr. Fitzwilliam resent his father’s interference or was he grateful for it?”
Darcy gave his head a shake to dispel the images. “Both, I believe. He was not eager to go back, but thought it was his duty.”
“Speaking of duty, I’m surprised no one has taken on the duty of reporting that a duel is contemplated.”
“I am not.”
Elizabeth turned a slight frown on him. “Dueling is illegal.”
“Yes, but it serves a purpose,” he replied, surprised she disapproved. Didn’t young ladies romanticize dueling?
Her frown deepened. “What purpose? Getting someone killed?”
“Upholding a code of conduct that is an important cornerstone of society.”
“Being the better shot or more accomplished swordsman does not mean a man is more right than another,” she said angrily. “Such skill is certainly not a qualification to judge and execute people.”
Darcy turned to face her fully, undeterred by her ire. “In the first place, few duels end with a death. In the second, if a man insults someone, he should be willing to risk his life to defend that insult.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Suppose a great wrong is done, but the only people who know about it are poor fighters. They may conceal that wrong in fear of their lives. What justice is there in that?”
“True. Dueling is not perfect, but the possibility of a duel has a containing effect on society.” Darcy held up a hand when she made to speak. “Even if you don’t agree with the overt premise, consider this: Imagine Mr. Wickham killed Mr. Collins, but not in a duel. Your father might feel the need to retaliate. If he proved successful in killing Mr. Wickham, Wickham’s fellow officers might kill your father. Sco
tland is full of such feuds, some lasting for generations. People accept duels and are less likely to retaliate, because dueling is seen as fair.”
“But it isn’t fair. Right does not belong to the best swordsman.” Her gaze left him to take in Mr. Collins, then shifted to her sister.
“Perhaps not, but a formal challenge also allows a cooling off period. Sometimes it allows people to settle their differences without a duel. As your father realizes, duels are often delayed long enough for people to calm down and think better of it.” Darcy understood her dismay. Mr. Collins stood in the right, yet Mr. Wickham might kill him, and deprive Miss Kitty of a husband.
“I would still prefer the code of law to the code duello.” She turned back to Darcy, eyes keen. “I am surprised at you, Mr. Darcy. I would have thought you would frown on any infraction in the law.”
He shook his head. “There is the rule of law, and yes, I abide by it, but there is also an agreed-on code of conduct between men. A social construct. Maintaining that is just as important to the function of society, to staving off chaos and preserving our way of life.”
“I will have to tell Charlotte that Mr. Fitzwilliam is the son of an earl,” Elizabeth said.
Darcy blinked, taken off guard by the change in subject. “Why?”
She gave him a secretive smile. “We women have a code of conduct as well.” Leaving Darcy flummoxed, she turned and headed around the practice area.
Startled as he was, Darcy simply watched her walk away.
Chapter Eighteen
The following morning, encountering Richard heading out for his ride, Darcy dutifully repeated his conversation with Elizabeth. He didn’t wish to, but felt it his duty, as he did not wish to gossip behind his cousin’s back. When he admitted to his inadvertent mention of Richard’s father, his cousin grimaced, but didn’t interrupt.
When Darcy fell silent, Richard let out a sigh. “She was bound to find out eventually.”
Darcy frowned. “You care so greatly if Miss Elizabeth knows your father is an earl?”
Richard’s startled look quickly morphed into amusement. “Do you?”
Darcy didn’t know how to reply to that. Chuckling, Richard offered a nod and walked away.
That afternoon, as they had done for the past several days, they all piled into carriages to visit neighbors. Trying to sort out both his disquiet and Richard’s amusement, Darcy avoided Elizabeth, instead standing off to the side. He repeated his withdrawal at their next stop, and the following, and into the evening.
Thus removed, he watched her interact with Richard, but saw nothing more than their usual easy conversation. Was easy conversation enough on which to base a relationship? Certainly, she smiled more often than when she spoke with Darcy, who usually ended up arguing with her.
From his self-imposed distance and without conversation with Elizabeth to distract him, Darcy had greater leisure to study those of his party. He noted, at each stop, how Georgiana entered, frame stiff with tension, but readily relaxed after surveying those present. Darcy suspected his sister feared meeting officers and felt relief each time they weren’t in evidence. In addition to officers, they also didn’t meet with several of the local families with whom they’d grown familiar. Darcy soon realized guest lists were being carefully selected along the divide the duel had created in the community.
Who they did meet, often, were the Lucases, Longs, Gouldings and, of course, the Bennets. Georgiana showed a growing preference for the company of Miss Lydia, which disturbed Darcy. He had little idea what to do about that, since avoiding Miss Lydia meant avoiding nearly all company available to them…and Elizabeth. He spent many anxious hours watching his sister and Miss Lydia laugh together and pondering whether to remove Georgiana to Pemberley.
In addition to watching Georgiana, Darcy took in the direct line Bingley made toward Miss Bennet whenever they attended the same gathering, and how his friend always spoke with her at great length. He watched Richard converse with seemingly every woman at each event, though always with Elizabeth and Miss Lucas twice. Darcy couldn’t ascertain if this was deliberate, as the two were often side by side and Richard might count each interaction as half of their share of his time, as he spoke to both together.
Fencing marked many of their forays into the society of Hertfordshire. The community apparently couldn’t get enough of watching Richard best their local men, who readily and good naturedly turned to him for additional instruction after each bout. Richard, true to form, fell into the role of commanding and instructing others with ease. But then, Richard did everything with ease.
Miss Bingley made a show of watching Richard in the makeshift pistes, though her sister disdained the bouts. While Mrs. Hurst wore an expression of perpetual aggravation during their outings, Mr. Hurst approached them with increasing livelihood. He started taking bets on who would win each match, and by how much, and soon was flocked by eager gamblers everywhere they went.
Mr. Hurst’s gambling only increased his wife’s general prickliness. Miss Bingley, to her credit, seemed unperturbed. She wasn’t above a wager or two, especially if there were no card games to be played. She also added to their outings by entertaining on the pianoforte but declined to dance if Darcy and Richard weren’t dancing. Darcy couldn’t help but contrast her behavior with Elizabeth’s, for she danced readily with other gentleman, then studiously avoided him when there was any opportunity to dance.
Did she believe he would belittler her again? How he wished he had not. His declaration that Elizabeth Bennet held no allure for him rang hollow in his memory. His own words taunted him. She held every allure, especially as she worked so hard to avoid him. If he asked her to dance, would she refuse and ruin her evening? Perhaps fear of that outcome made her avoid him.
If so, she was right to. He had every intention of asking her to partner him, if she ever allowed the opportunity, and, undoubtedly, she would refuse. She would see his attempt to dance as a repetition of the events at the assembly. And why shouldn’t she? He’d never sought to make amends. As harm went, his unkind words at the assembly had been minor, but much as he would apologize if he accidentally bumped into someone, he should apologize for insulting her and for spoiling the assembly for her.
As he watched her each evening, usually across a room that resounded with chatter and mirth, he tried to plan the proper steps for such an apology. Should it be public or private? What could he say, other than that he was sorry?
At Lucas Lodge once more, over a sea of heads, some light, some dark, some with curled locks, others with straight, Darcy watched Elizabeth where she stood beside Miss Lucas. The two chatted with obvious amiability. Richard approached, bowed, and was readily welcomed. Darcy couldn’t hear what they said, but he observed all three laugh. A wistful smile crossed his face, though he was glad they were enjoying themselves. Richard turned to Miss Lucas and said something more. She shook her head, still laughing, and made a shooing gesture as if to send him away. Richard placed his hands over his heart in mock hurt.
The way Miss Lucas’ face glowed, her expression suffused with intelligence, made her almost acceptable to the eye. Miss Elizabeth added a look of feigned severity to the exchange. Richard regarded both with fondness. Darcy jerked back a half step.
If his offense of calling Elizabeth not beautiful enough to dance with should be apologized for, his offense against Miss Lucas necessitated an even greater apology. That he’d insulted her, he had no doubt, for she’d guessed the gist of it. Dancing with her had been the trial for losing the bet.
But if it was difficult to apologize to Elizabeth, an apology to Miss Lucas would not only be a strain on him, but on her as well. How could Darcy possibly apologize without compounding the injury. How could he admit to her that he’d thought she was the ugliest woman in the room? Even if, from what he overheard, she’d already guessed as much.
A sour feeling swelled in Darcy’s gut. He glanced about at the cheerful, smiling assemblage. He had been the ugliest person
in the room, even if it didn’t show on his face.
***
Elizabeth and her family arrived at the Gouldings’ lawn party to be informed the fencing was already underway. Jane, unmoved by the news, set out to find Mr. Bingley. Mary went inside to the parlor where the Gouldings kept their pianoforte, to ascertain if anyone lingered there in want of entertainment. Lydia and Mrs. Bennet set out in search of food. Both were bored with watching men who didn’t wear red coats fence, but Mr. Bennet headed toward the fencing. He often assessed Mr. Collins’ progress, and liked to keep tabs on Mr. Hurst’s wagers as well.
Kitty took her intended over to Mr. Fitzwilliam, beseeching the former colonel for a practice duel with Mr. Collins. Elizabeth started to follow but caught sight of Mr. Darcy where he stood off to the side, watching. She angled toward him, happy to have some lively conversation. After all, at a garden party she was at little risk of his asking her to dance and ruining her day.
She moved to stand beside him, keeping her expression bland and her face angled toward the practice area. Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Collins faced off. Across from where Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy stood, Kitty watched the two men fence with wide eyes and clasped hands. She cheered when Mr. Collins scored a hit.
Mr. Darcy frowned. “Mr. Collins looks leaner, but his clothes aren’t loose.”
“He is leaner. Kitty altered that shirt.” Kitty was cheerfully doing for Mr. Collins what she resisted doing for anyone else.
As Mr. Darcy made no reply to that, Elizabeth returned to watching her cousin and Mr. Fitzwilliam fence. She was no expert, but it seemed that Mr. Collins’ skill at dueling had increased tremendously. In no time at all, he’d won two out of four bouts.
When the fifth bout began, Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy. “He’s made considerable improvement. I never thought I would see Mr. Collins score even one hit against Mr. Fitzwilliam, let alone reach a tie breaking fifth bout.”
A Duel in Meryton Page 17