Chapter 22
22
LONG however it had appeared to Darcy as though she wanted to embrace them one and all. Such behaviour spoke of her warm-hearted nature.
After the attorney had given final instructions to the housekeeper and butler, he and Darcy joined the two ladies in the carriage. Then, with Mr Monroe’s own equipage following behind, they began the journey to London with a quick stop at the coach house so Elizabeth could bid farewell to Mr Bolton and Jimmy and leave with them a packet of comfits.
Underway, and with all the nonchalance of perfect amity, the four engaged in unreserved conversation. But it was not as chaperon, attorney, and beneficiaries. Rather, it was as four friends. Soon the gentlemen had dispensed with ‘mister’ before one another’s names, and the ladies were on first-name terms.
Good-humoured pleasantry continued and progressed to frivolity when Elizabeth, in the highest of spirits, suggested a few rounds of Short Answers.
“In this game,” said she, “you must reply to each question with a single syllable word. If your answer is too long, a penalty will be exacted for each additional syllable.” Mirthful eyes turned his way as she added, “I fear Mr Darcy will be at a disadvantage in this exercise. I have it on good authority he studies too much for words of four syllables.”
Had Miss Rigby not been looking his way, Darcy might have winked.
“To make things more difficult, neither enquiries nor replies may be repeated. Any player who does so incurs a forfeit. And because the aim is to become better acquainted with one another, your responses should be truthful. Grace, please begin by asking something of Mr Monroe.”
“At this moment, sir, what do you most like about your life?”
Darcy glanced at the attorney beside him on the rear-facing seat. Tread carefully, Monroe. There is only one possible answer to that question.
Mr Monroe replied, “You.” In turn, he asked the smiling woman across from him which colour she would recommend for a carriage’s leather interior.
“Blue.”
“Then blue the interior of our new carriage will be.”
Elizabeth’s turn was next. “In your opinion, Mr Darcy, what is the silliest word in the English language?”
Is that what you truly wish to know about me, Elizabeth? Very well. He was about to reply ‘bomboon’ but remembered the one syllable rule. Flibbertigibbet…taradiddle…widdershins. Three times he had opened and shut his mouth. By Jove, I do favour polysyllabic words. “Erf,” he blurted.
“Erf?” Elizabeth smiled at him. “Surely erf is not a word. Is it?”
“From the Dutch word for ‘inheritance’, erf means a plot of land.”
“But I clearly said in the English language, sir.”
“Yes, I know. But Cape Town was retaken by our troops in the year six,” said Darcy. “I predict one day the cape will become part of our empire. Ergo, erf will become part of our language.”
He incurred a forfeit.
Before he could ask her any sort of question, the game was abandoned in favour of further discussion of Elizabeth’s inheritance and property.
Darcy wondered and worried what she would think, feel, or do if ever she found out he had let her win the tournament. Elizabeth must never discover the truth.
But deceit was despicable. What a conundrum he had created for himself.