Chapter Eleven
The company followed Lady Hortensia from the dining room into an apartment on the south side of the house which Darcy had not yet seen.
It was a handsome room, longer than it was broad, with tall windows standing open upon the terrace to admit the cool evening air.
Chairs had been arranged in a loose semicircle about a small walnut table upon which rested a chessboard already prepared for play.
The company immediately divided. The ladies gathered near the windows in a lively knot of discussion. They talked over each other for several minutes before Darcy spoke up. "Lady Hortensia has asked us to nominate our strongest player. Is there anyone amongst us who has played seriously?"
"Sir Geoffrey," said Hadley at once. "He represented Cambridge."
Sir Geoffrey inclined his head. "Only twice," he said with sincere modesty.
"He defeated the rest of us often enough," replied Hadley cheerfully.
"Then I think our decision is made," said Darcy. "If anyone has a stronger claim, now is the moment to make it."
Mr Ashcombe, who had thus far contributed very little, glanced towards the ladies. "This may prove a remarkably short evening."
Hadley looked up. "How so?"
Ashcombe smiled and smoothed back his golden hair. "The ladies are everything charming, but they may not play chess at all. If not, Sir Geoffrey may win by default."
Darcy looked at him with distaste. He had no time for this pompous dandy. He did not make a reply and simply nodded to Sir Geoffrey.
It was only then that his attention wandered across the room.
Miss Elizabeth stood amongst the ladies with Miss Drummond upon one side and the Sitcombe sisters upon the other.
Miss Harriet was advocating with great enthusiasm for something, for she spoke with both hands moving rapidly.
Lady Frances appeared to disagree. Miss Elizabeth said very little.
Presently she asked Clara a question. Darcy could not hear the reply, but whatever passed between them caused Clara to shake her head at first, then smile despite herself before giving a reluctant nod.
Miss Elizabeth smiled in return and the discussion appeared settled.
Lord, her hair looked like fire in the candlelight and her skin glowed as though she was lit from within.
He felt a pull to go to her, to run a finger down the smooth column of her neck and...
He shook his head, trying to clear the thought.
He must get control of these unsettling urges.
He was controlled and considered, always.
He did not go around pining after unsuitable women.
And she was unsuitable, he had learned that she was from a minor country estate, no connections, no wealth.
She was not the type of match a man of his stature could afford to make.
Richard appeared beside him carrying two glasses of port. He offered one to Darcy, who accepted it absently, his attention still resting upon the group of ladies gathered by the windows.
"Miss Elizabeth has certainly captured your attention, cousin. I do believe you've spent more time watching the opposing captain than your own side. Are you still smarting that she got the better of you this afternoon?"
Darcy accepted the glass at last and took an unhurried sip before answering. "Hardly. I was observing the competition. I should have thought a soldier would understand the value of reconnaissance."
Richard let out a bark of laughter. "Reconnaissance? Is that what we're calling it? It looked remarkably like—what was the term you used earlier—mooning."
"I am not mooning. And besides, you are hardly one to talk."
"Oh?"
"You have scarcely taken your eyes off Miss Bennet since we arrived."
Richard smiled without the slightest embarrassment. "I make no apology for that. And I must say, it is nice to see the dour Fitzwilliam Darcy defeated by such a spirited young lady."
"I am not defeated… or dour!"
Richard raised his glass with a grin. "Whatever you say, cousin."
???
Clara had been selected by the ladies’ team after much deliberation.
She and Sir Geoffrey took their places at the chessboard and the room gradually settled around them.
Lady Hortensia sat in a comfortable armchair near the front, with Pritchard at her side.
Elizabeth watched for several minutes without absorbing any of it.
Her attention continued to stray towards Mr Darcy, who stood a little apart from his team with one arm resting along the mantelpiece.
When Sir Geoffrey paused to consider his next move, Elizabeth crossed the room. "Mr Darcy, might I speak with you for a moment?"
He looked surprised, but bowed at once. "Of course, Miss Elizabeth."
They passed through the broad open doors onto the terrace, where the air was cooler and the sounds of the chess match became a low murmur behind them.
The candles from the drawing room cast long squares of light across the flagstones, but beyond them the gardens lay in darkness, touched here and there by moonlight upon the pale gravel paths.
Elizabeth walked as far as the balustrade before turning to face him.
"I wished to apologise for what happened this afternoon. I know that I was not responsible for Mrs Harrington’s conduct, nor did I have any knowledge of it, but I was captain of the ladies and we accepted the victory.
I am sorry that the first day of the Challenge ended in such a dishonourable way. "
"You have nothing to apologise for on that account," Mr Darcy replied. "The deception was practised upon you as much as anyone."
"Perhaps, but that is not the only apology I owe you.
" Elizabeth clasped her hands before her, annoyed to discover that the speech she had rehearsed now seemed considerably less simple.
"You behaved very badly when we first met, Mr Darcy, and I do not withdraw that judgement.
But I also allowed my ambition today to provoke less than sporting behaviour and I spoke to you quite rudely. "
Mr Darcy was silent for a moment, and when he answered there was none of the hauteur she had expected. "Your anger towards me was understandable and the urge to win equally so. I myself have shown less than gentlemanly behaviour on the cricket field."
She laughed, but it was a small, muted sound. "Then perhaps we might agree to leave the matter here. We need not allow every contest to become a quarrel between us. I should like us to go on upon better terms, even if we remain determined to defeat one another."
"I should like that too."
Elizabeth smiled and held out her hand. "A truce, then?"
Darcy took it. His fingers closed warmly around hers, and the contact affected her with startling force.
She had expected a brief shake and an immediate release, but neither occurred.
He stood very near her, his expression no longer stern but uncertain, and she became suddenly conscious of the beating of her heart.
In a slow, tender movement, he gathered her hand to his chest.
She ought to have stepped away, but she found herself unable to move, her gaze locked with his.
Mr Darcy lifted his other hand slowly, giving her every opportunity to object, and touched his fingertips to her cheek.
His eyes searched hers for a moment before he bent towards her, and when his lips met hers there was none of the abruptness she might have expected from so astonishing an act.
The kiss was gentle, hesitant, and for one suspended instant Elizabeth could think of nothing at all other than the glorious sensation of his lips on hers.
Then his hand moved softly against her cheek and she answered him.
She rose towards him without thinking, her free hand coming to rest against the front of his coat as the kiss deepened.
There was something wonderfully warm in the way he held her, careful even in his urgency, as though she were both desired and precious.
The discovery sent a rush of feeling through her and she shivered against him.
It was Elizabeth who remembered herself first. She pulled away, her hand remaining upon his coat for one mortifying moment before she snatched it back. "What have we done?"
Mr Darcy looked as shaken as she felt. "Miss Elizabeth, I—"
"So it seems that both you and your cousin are rakes of the first order," she said bitterly, although she knew as she said the words they were untrue.
"Richard is not," he said immediately. "Whatever his feelings for Miss Bennet, they are sincere."
"And yours?" The question escaped before she could prevent it. Mr Darcy stared at her, and the look in his eyes made her heart beat harder despite her anger.
"I have no excuse for taking such a liberty," he said at last. "I… I can only apologise." He clamped both hands behind his back, schooling his features into the stern mask he so often wore.
Elizabeth turned away, pressing her fingers briefly against her lips which still seemed to hold the warmth of his.
Her anger was directed as much at herself as at him.
He had kissed her, but she had not resisted.
She had returned it with enthusiasm. Her mother would have called her a wanton, and she would not be wrong.
"We should go back inside before our absence is noticed."
Darcy offered his arm, but she pretended not to see it and walked ahead of him through the open doors.
The chess match was still underway. Elizabeth resumed her place amongst the ladies, though she could not have said what position remained upon the board or how Clara had gained the advantage.
She was conscious only of Mr Darcy’s presence on the other side of the room and the imprint of his mouth on hers.
Clara, fortunately, required no assistance from her captain.
She had allowed Sir Geoffrey to advance confidently across the board while quietly closing every path of retreat.
When he finally recognised the danger, it was already too late.
After several increasingly desperate moves, Clara shifted her queen into position and looked up.
"Checkmate."
For a moment Sir Geoffrey just stared at the board. Then, to his credit, he gave a rueful laugh and turned his king on its side. "Well played, Miss Sitcombe."
The ladies broke into applause, with Harriet cheering loudly enough for Clara to turn red.
Mr Pritchard waited for the excitement to settle before opening the great ledger and entering the result.
"Two points to the ladies," he announced.
"At the close of the first day, the score stands: Ladies, four. Gentlemen, four."
Lady Hortensia beamed. "Excellent. A dead heat. I cannot think of a more encouraging beginning."