Chapter 4
Elizabeth stared out the window at the morning landscape as they left the field behind. Everything that happened, everything spoken, scrolled through her mind like a reel of images—the games, his apology, her rejection.
She won. Decisively. Twice. Where was the anticipated triumph? The joy of victory? Instead, an unnamed feeling churned in her stomach. She suspected he would have been a worthier competitor if he had been rested. He was…he was…what, exactly?
Looking back at her father, she wished she had not seen that peculiar expression he wore when he knew something she did not want to hear.
“Well, Lizzy,” he said finally, breaking the silence she had been hiding in. “What did you make of Mr. Darcy?”
“Justice was served, Papa.” She kept her eyes on the window, avoiding the question because even thinking of him made her uncomfortable.
“Hmm, justice,” he repeated. “Yes, I suppose it was.”
“What did you see?” She tried to keep the defensive edge from her tone but failed.
Settling back against the cushions, his fingers steepled.
“I saw a man who did not mock you when he discovered the duel would be chess rather than weapons. Not once did he question your skills or suggest that a woman could not possibly challenge him intellectually. He simply sat across from you and played.”
Elizabeth quickly pointed out, “Poorly.”
“You are correct. He did not show himself to his best advantage.” Her father’s eyes twinkled. “When do you think he began to realize he was trapped in that first game?”
“When I moved my queen.”
“Did he forfeit or claim some sort of trickery on your part?”
“He did not,” Elizabeth reluctantly said.
“Did he lose his temper, overturn the board scattering the pieces in the grass, or storm away as many men might have done?”
She folded her arms across her chest, saying nothing.
“Lizzy dear, he accepted his humiliation with remarkable grace, did he not?”
She sighed, frowning, her fingers twisted in her lap. “I…I had not thought of it that way. Of him that way.” The taste of that admission was bitter on her tongue.
“Lizzy, please consider that the man quickly learned from his mistakes. During the second game, he fought back, showing considerable skill. He did not pretend to let you win, did he?”
“No, he did not.” Elizabeth barely kept from squirming.
“You accused him of lacking a heart and brain, a cutting remark that was well-deserved, given his insult to you. Did he defend himself? Did he make excuses or argue?”
“He said he deserved my worst.”
“Do you not see, child? He allowed you to set the terms. How many men of his station would grant a female such authority over him? How many would humble themselves to that extent?”
“You approve of him?” Elizabeth shifted in her seat.
“I am surprised to find that I do,” her father said mildly.
“Underneath his pride—and he has pride, make no mistake—there is a man willing to admit fault, who chose accountability over arrogance. His apology was sincere. His conduct during the games was honorable. And his willingness to learn a lesson from the woman whom he dismissed as merely tolerable speaks to at least a measure of good in him.”
“What are you suggesting?” Elizabeth asked warily.
“Merely that beneath Mr. Darcy’s unfortunate first impression is a character that deserves…consideration.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “You cannot be serious, Papa.”
“I am rarely serious, as you well know. But in this, I think I am.” He patted her hand. “I am not suggesting you forgive him immediately, mind you. Nevertheless, if you are able to let go of your resentment, to not close the door entirely on him, you might end up with a valuable friend.”
“I do not know if that would ever be possible.”
He smiled. “Well, time will tell, I suppose.”
Elizabeth turned back to the window. Why, despite everything, could she still see his face as he had laid his king down before her—defeated, yes, but somehow still dignified?
She pushed the insignificant thought away, but her certainty wavered. Surely, her father was wrong. Surely.
Darcy’s coat lay discarded over a chair. His cravat hung loose around his neck, unknotted in his agitation. He tried to sit at his desk three times and failed, propelled to his feet by energy that had nowhere to go.
He needed a plan. He needed…
“You are going to wear a path through the carpet.” Richard stood under the lintel, arms crossed, observing his pacing with concerned amusement.
“I am thinking.” Darcy stopped by the window, gripping the frame.
“Of course, you are.” Richard smirked. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “You are wondering if she is thinking of you. Hating you. Laughing at your defeat.”
Unsurprised that his cousin could read his mind so clearly, Darcy pondered his next step.
Uncertainty clawed at him. “I have never attempted to court a woman before.” He turned, spreading his hands.
“I do not know how to begin. I cannot call on her. I cannot write to her. I cannot send gifts. Every proper avenue is closed because I have no connection to her or her family.”
“Then do nothing,” Richard suggested. “Let it go. Find another woman who does not despise you. Why, there must be hundreds in London alone who would accept a proposal with a crook of your finger and not a word spoken.”
“Never.” The word came out harsher than intended. Darcy’s hands clenched at his sides. “It must be her. Only her.”
Richard studied him with sharp eyes that missed nothing. “You have decided.”
“I have.”
“You do realize you have known her for less than a day? That your beginning was unfortunate, to say the least, and that this morning certainly could not have added to your appeal?”
“I am aware.”
Richard shook his head in wonder. “Darcy, you spent three weeks poring over bloodlines, examining conformation, and consulting with trainers before you decided between the chestnut and the bay mare. You made charts, for heaven’s sake.”
Darcy remained silent.
“And now, after a single morning in her company, without deliberation or any apparent concern for the impossibility of the task ahead of you, you decide you will marry her.” Richard’s expression was genuinely bewildered.
“What happened to careful consideration? What did you see in her that inspired this quick decision? Explain it to me, I beg you.”
Dropping into a chair, Darcy leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees.
“I saw everything I missed at the assembly. Her courage.” The word came with difficulty.
“A woman challenging a man to a duel is unheard of. Scandalous even. Despite the fact that it could have ruined her, she did it without hesitation because I had wronged her and she refused to let it stand.” He looked up, meeting his cousin’s eyes.
“How many people have you met in your life who would fiercely defend their honor? Risk everything for the sake of justice?”
Richard nodded slowly yet said nothing.
“Her intelligence.” Darcy’s voice strengthened.
“Like an utter fool, I walked into the trap she set in the first game simply because I underestimated her. I assumed she would make obvious moves to display her limited skill. The way she sees patterns and possibilities three, four, five moves ahead proves her mind is extraordinary. Brilliant even. I have played chess with some of the finest minds in England, and none have her finesse.”
“She destroyed you.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Darcy’s face. “I admire her for her strategy and courage to see it through to the end.”
He stood again, unable to remain still.
“When she skewered me with her words—that I obviously had bodily strength, but my heart and brain appeared to be missing—I deserved every syllable. Her fiery sense of justice, her refusal to be diminished or dismissed, separates her from the crowd.” He faced his cousin.
“Most ladies defer to me, whether I am right or wrong. They flatter and accommodate, never challenging my opinions. Miss Elizabeth Bennet peered beneath the name and wealth. And she was not impressed.”
Richard’s lips twitched. “Most men would find that intimidating or insulting.”
“To me, it was refreshing. Honest.” Returning to the chair, he continued.
“Even in her anger, there was grace in the quiet intensity of her concentration, in the way she granted me the dignity of silence when the outcome became clear.” He met his cousin’s gaze.
“She is not merely handsome. She is beautiful. Her mind, her spirit, her lovely face and form, her composure. And I failed to see any of these qualities at the assembly.”
“And when she commanded us to speak of it to no one?” Richard shook his head. “That was not a woman seeking revenge, Darcy. That was a woman protecting everyone involved, including you. She could have spread this story throughout Meryton by nightfall. Instead, she chose to be discreet.”
Darcy had not considered that point. Richard was correct. She protected him even in her anger. “She is remarkable,” he said to himself.
The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire.
Slapping his hands on his knees, Richard said, “So you decided to marry her without any clear plan for how to accomplish this impossible task.” He stood and moved to the sideboard. With a glass of brandy in each hand, he arched his brow. “I know you, Darcy. Once you commit, you commit absolutely.”
Darcy took the glass but set it aside on the table. “I will not waver because I have never been so certain about anything in my life. I am meant to be with her.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I cannot explain it properly. I know it here.”
“I suppose you know enough about her family then?” Richard sipped his brandy, his expression pensive.
“I know her.”
Finally, Richard said, “When a fortress is well-defended with high walls and plenty of weapons, like your Miss Bennet, I must say, a frontal assault always fails. You need to be strategic and plan multiple approaches. And you will need patience.”