Chapter Five #7
Elizabeth took her turn and knocked seven down with her first try.
Mary watched with affected nonchalance. Standing beside Georgiana, they watched Elizabeth move back to the starting position to bowl her second ball.
When stepping forwards to release her ball, Elizabeth tripped slightly, which threw off her roll and caused her to miss the pins entirely.
“Mary wins!” Georgiana declared, offering her friend an exuberant embrace.
“Well done, Miss Mary,” Mr. Darcy said.
The Gardiners and Mr. Barlow offered their enthusiastic congratulations.
As Mary accepted the enthusiastic support, Darcy moved behind Elizabeth.
Bending slightly and speaking in a low voice, he asked, “What was it that caused you to lose your footing, Miss Elizabeth? You seemed all but assured of the victory which would have sealed you as the winner for the day as well.”
Elizabeth turned from watching her sister’s blossoming smile at the little celebration of her triumph to face Darcy.
“It is unfortunate, but could not be helped.”
A quirk of one perfect brow alerted Elizabeth to the possibility of his being onto her. This was confirmed when he responded, “Could it not?”
“No indeed.”
He regarded her for a moment before bestowing on her the rarest of gifts, that small, crooked, full smile. If her sister’s moment of enjoying some praise was not adequate recompense for her pretence, that smile would have been wholly sufficient.
“You are a good sister, Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly before going to join the others.
As a result of Elizabeth’s loss at Skittles, intentional or not, there remained a tie between herself and Darcy for the top prize. He tried to insist it should go to her as the birthday girl.
“I cannot accept that, sir, as I had no say in the date of my birth and it is no accomplishment of mine to have been born at all.”
“I see,” he answered. “Your overdeveloped sense of fairness will not allow you to assent to be awarded the prize on the very reasonable basis of you being our guest of honour on your birthday.”
“I will concede it is a reasonable basis on which to break a stalemate, but if I am being asked for my preference, it would be to earn the prize.”
“Are you so certain you could best me on another field?”
“I would like the opportunity to do so,” she answered.
“It is consistent with your character to insist on proving yourself,” Mr. Darcy said approvingly.
“Although I concur with Fitzwilliam that it is perfectly reasonable to award the prize to you based on the tiebreaker of your birthday, if you both agree, I think I have a good idea for the final game.”
“Very well, sir,” Darcy said, “let us proceed.” After Elizabeth nodded her approval, Mr. Darcy called the others over to the side, where they proceeded to whisper among themselves.
At one point, Mr. Darcy beckoned for a nearby footman and seemed to give him some instructions before returning to the others.
“Do you know what he means to propose?” Elizabeth asked Darcy as they stood side by side, watching the others who were now speaking with their heads close together.
“No,” he answered. “I hope you do not mean to repeat your self-sacrifice. I would prefer to best you fair and square.”
Conceding the justice of the insulting implication she might not try given her actions on the last game, Elizabeth chose to focus on the more flattering inference that Darcy found her to be a worthy opponent. She intended to prove him right by beating him.
“We have decided that the final game to determine our winner will be a guessing game of sorts,” Mr. Barlow informed Darcy and Elizabeth, the latter of whom thought the group looked entirely too pleased with themselves for it to be that simple.
“Charades?” Darcy asked.
“No, no, something tailored to our players,” Mr. Gardiner said, then turning to Mr. Darcy, he added, “Perhaps, as this was your brilliant idea, you would explain?”
“Certainly,” he answered.
Just then, two footmen entered through the far doors, each carrying a chair. Mrs. Reynolds followed, directing them. They exited and returned with two additional chairs, repeating this until they had created a small seating cluster with six seats. “Let us sit.”
He led the group to the chairs, with Elizabeth and Darcy following.
“Is there a chair for Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy asked after all six chairs were taken by the rest of the party, and they were left standing.
“No, apologies, Lizzy, but you and Master Fitzwilliam will stand for this game,” Mr. Gardiner told her.
“The guessing game?” Lizzy asked.
“Yes, let us get on with it. I want to see Lizzy beat Fitzwilliam.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Georgie,” her brother said dryly. “Now, please advise us how to play this particular guessing game.”
“To put it simply, it is a guessing game about you,” Mr. Darcy answered.
“About me?” Darcy asked.
“Yes, and about Miss Elizabeth.”
“We will ask you questions about her, and Mr. Darcy or Miss Darcy will ask her questions about you,” Mrs. Gardiner explained.
“Very well,” Lizzy agreed, though she foresaw several ways this game could go poorly for her.
“I have the first question,” Georgiana said, her enthusiasm evident. “What book is Fitzwilliam reading right now?”
“I believe he is reading two books at present,” Elizabeth answered. “He is rereading the Republic and is reading Progress in Agriculture: A Detailed Account of Modern Techniques as Applied to the English Farm for the first time. I believe Mr. Darcy recommended it to him.”
“Your memory is quite precise,” Darcy responded. Turning to the others, he added, “Miss Elizabeth is correct. We spoke about this quite recently.”
“One point for Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Baxter said.
It occurred to Elizabeth that winning this game might mean revealing how very closely she paid attention to her “opponent.”
“What is Elizabeth’s favourite flower?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.
“Lilacs,” he answered with confidence.
“Is that correct, Lizzy?” Mrs. Gardiner asked. “I had thought it was daisies.”
In the interest of fairness, Elizabeth admitted Darcy was correct, but her cheeks seemed destined to get progressively pinker throughout this game. As with the other games, they were fairly evenly matched.
She knew the name of his first dog, Harold, and his favourite horse, Poseidon.
He knew her middle name, Anne, and the book she was currently reading, Thomas Hutchinson’s History of Massachusetts, which her father had gifted her before she left for the summer.
He did not know what arrangement she was working on with her music master—she could hardly blame him; she barely remembered that it was Mozart’s Sonatina in C major before Mary said it.
She did not know what two languages he spoke beyond English.
Her answer was French and Italian, the former she knew and the latter was a guess.
In reality, Darcy spoke French and German.
“Should I not be awarded partial credit?” Elizabeth pressed when Mr. Darcy revealed the answer.
“I suppose,” he conceded. “Then it would only seem fair to give Fitzwilliam a question where he could also get partial credit. That way, he has the opportunity to win outright, tie or lose with this potentially final question.” With that, their host looked to the Gardiners and Mary.
“I may have an appropriate question,” Mary offered. “Although possibly it is too obscure. It has to do with our family.”
“Family is fair game,” Mr. Darcy assured her. “Elizabeth speaks about hers more often than Fitzwilliam speaks German, so I think it should work.”
“I agree,” Darcy said, aiming Elizabeth’s favourite smile at Mary. “I am quite ready, Miss Mary. Do your worst.”
“Yes, Mary, we are on tenterhooks. Ask away,” she said, drawing Mary’s attention and snapping her out of the Darcy-induced trance. His power was considerable; it was not just her.
“Of course,” Mary said, smoothing her skirts and looking back at Darcy. “Can you name Elizabeth’s sisters from eldest to youngest?” Just when Darcy looked about to answer—with an air of confidence—she added, “And our ages.”
“I see what you are about, Mary,” Mr. Gardiner laughed.
“Yes, well, Jane is the eldest, Lydia the youngest and in between is Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary and Miss Catherine, whom I believe you call Kitty.”
“Very good, sir,” Elizabeth said. “And our ages?”
“You are fifteen as of today.”
“Of course, you know that. We are celebrating my birthday, after all.”
“And of your sisters, I know you best. I assure you, you could ask me your age any other day of the year and I would know it then too.”
His response seemed calculated to steal the air from her lungs and unbalance the ground on which she stood.
But of course, it was not. He had simply stated facts—fairly unremarkable ones at that.
His intentions notwithstanding, Elizabeth was left breathless and unsteady. Heedless of this, Darcy went on.
“Miss Bennet is seventeen. Miss Mary thirteen. I believe you will turn fourteen sometime in December.”
“That is right,” Mary said with a degree of awe in her voice. “I believe our birthdays are close to one another.”
Elizabeth did not like the sound of anything of Mary’s being close to anything of Darcy’s.
“Indeed, yours is the thirteenth and his the first,” she said, hoping she had concealed her impatience.
“Are you seeking bonus points, Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy asked with that infuriatingly adorable quirked brow. “I will leave that determination to the judges and continue with my answers which now become less certain. Miss Catherine is, I believe, twelve, and Lydia eleven.”
“Three out of five,” Mrs. Gardiner declared. “Kitty is eleven and Lydia ten.”
“Well, since three-fifths is more than one-half, does that mean Master Fitzwilliam is the winner?” Mary asked.
“It is not entirely fair, though, as I had the chance to get to five, where Miss Elizabeth only had two potential answers,” Darcy pointed out.