Chapter 3
Mr Bennet
“Come in,” Mr Bennet said, expecting either Hill—who was the only servant who dared interrupt him—or Elizabeth.
But, instead, he came in.
The man who would swoop his daughter away from home.
Granted, Elizabeth had spent much of her life with the Gardiners, in London—and although the distance from Hertfordshire to London could be traversed in just a few hours, Mr Bennet had never troubled himself to travel even four hours to visit her.
But, still, those visits were temporary. Marriage was forever. She would just be…gone!
Mr Bennet narrowed his eyes at the interloper. “Yes?” he asked. He intended his voice to sound cold, although he was not certain if he attained anything other than grumpy.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Darcy said smoothly. Too smoothly, perhaps. “I was hoping to entice you to play a game of chess. I so seldom find a worthy opponent with whom to match wits.”
Mr Bennet could not help himself; he felt a smile break out at the idea of besting this proud young man. “I would be happy to take you down a peg or two.…” Or ten, he added silently.
He saw Darcy’s eyes flit around the cluttered room, and Mr Bennet hauled himself out of his favourite chair in order to lead the way to an alcove where the chess board was already set up.
Mr Bennet took two pawns off the board and held out his hands, each with a pawn hidden in a closed fist. Darcy chose the right hand, which happened to be the black pawn, and the two men sat in their proper places.
Mr Bennet made the first move but frowned when Darcy swiftly did an asymmetrical counter-attack rather than the expected, more central, move.
He flicked a glance up at Darcy but saw that the younger man’s gaze was locked onto the board.
Realising that he had never before had to defend his flank so early in the game, Mr Bennet licked his lips.
He was nervous that, for the first time in decades, he might lose.