Chapter 15 At the Edge of Destiny
by Diane Ferguson
Meryton, Hertfordshire
Elizabeth found herself walking at the outskirts of Meryton, dressed in a light muslin gown and half boots.
She carried a bag with her dancing slippers and a sturdy glove that seemed better suited for gardening.
Why only one glove? She frowned, wondering why she seemed prepared to dance or perhaps to garden.
And, more importantly, how had she conveyed herself to Meryton from Hunsford?
These odd disturbances were behaving strangely indeed, as though they could disarrange the very order of the world as well as shift the course of time.
Her most recent memory was of a frank discussion with Mr Darcy, during which he had promised to communicate to Mr Bingley that Jane had liked him.
And she had permitted Mr Darcy to court her, thus overcoming the disaster of his initial proposal at Hunsford and, hopefully, avoiding poor outcomes that involved compromise, elopement, or a loveless marriage.
As far as she knew, the only thing left to resolve was how to protect her family from Wickham.
Elizabeth hesitated, not knowing where in Meryton she was meant to go.
Should she go to her aunt Philips’s house?
She peeked into her bag again and thought her dancing slippers might be important to her reason for being in town.
So she headed for the assembly rooms in Meryton, where she thought she might find the dancing master who had taught her sisters and her.
He sometimes gave lessons there. However, the dancing master’s usual place at the assembly rooms now bore a small sign wholly unfamiliar to her: “Monsieur Philippe d’Orval, Ma?tre d’Armes.
Fencing Taught Within.” Nothing else seemed odd about the shops and other buildings in the town.
Elizabeth entered the building tentatively, not sure what she might find within.
Inside, however, the main room seemed little changed.
The polished wooden floor looked the same as the last time she had been there for dancing lessons, before she came out.
The main difference seemed to be the equipment hanging from pegs on the walls—she noted several types of swords, padded targets, and two metal cage-like objects roughly the shape of human heads. They looked uncomfortable.
The dancing master was not there. In his place stood a diminutive, elegant-looking man with nearly white hair, who seemed to be giving a lesson to the young Goulding brothers. And sure enough, the master and students were all wearing a single, sturdy-looking glove on their sword hand.
Again, Elizabeth hesitated. The man (she assumed he was Ma?tre d’Orval) said, “Ah, yes, Mademoiselle Bennet. Very good. S’il vous pla?t, take a foil and practice for your lesson while I finish with these gentlemen.
” Elizabeth was glad to have correctly guessed where she was expected to be, but she wondered how she would fare once the lesson began.
She sat on a bench, changed into her slippers, and donned the single glove.
The walk from Longbourn made her feel quite ready for further physical demands.
How was she to prepare? Out of what must have been habit, she walked to the rack of swords, chose one of the smallest, lightest ones with a grip that fit comfortably in her gloved right hand, and then approached one of the padded targets.
She adopted a pose like the one she saw the boys using, with her gloved hand and foil prepared to extend, and her back arm raised overhead, with the hand forming a graceful curve.
She attempted a few lunges as she observed the Goulding brothers and found the movement came naturally to her.
She even managed to hit the target where she intended to.
Elizabeth noticed a framed placard hanging on the wall, showing various drawings of fencing positions, labelled in French: prime, seconde, tierce, quarte, quinte, sixte, septime, and octave.
She studied the drawings and attempted to copy the movements.
The fourth and sixth, with the foil parallel to the floor, felt the most innate.
The boys’ lesson ended, and Ma?tre d’Orval called Elizabeth over to him. She silently prayed that her muscles’ memory of the appropriate movements would carry her through despite her lack of remembrance. It was all so disorienting, and she could not glean the purpose.
Ma?tre d’Orval began her lesson, and Elizabeth was relieved that he told her in great detail what he wanted her to do.
After correcting her en garde and lunge positions, he delivered a series of rapid instructions to attack him in various lines: “Attack quarte! Bien! Now, attack sixte! Non, c’est pas bon!
” He then had her parry, first demonstrating the less familiar movements.
He praised her, “Of all my pupils, you are ze best at executing septime and octave.”
Elizabeth wondered how long she had trained with Ma?tre d’Orval—her body seemed to remember the motions, even if her conscious mind did not.
She had only begun to enjoy the lesson when the door to the salle opened.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as Mr Darcy entered, and she hid her blush by curtsying deeply.
She had spoken so frankly during their last conversation and had agreed to a courtship.
Was their courtship to begin now, or were they to start anew?
From previous strange dreams, she felt she knew far more about him than was proper.
She must take care not to treat him with undue familiarity.
After Mr Darcy bowed, his eyes met Elizabeth’s in a way that suggested he, too, remembered other dream lives.
But Elizabeth did not dare to breach the divide between them.
She held her breath, waiting to see how he would speak to her—as his kindred spirit, as his social and intellectual equal, as chattel, as a bothersome country nobody?
Mr Darcy did not leave Elizabeth in suspense for long. “Miss Bennet, you are the last person I expected to find here.”
Elizabeth’s body tensed. This sentiment was not the least bit affectionate.
It was not a promising beginning. “Indeed, sir. Even though I live near Meryton, I never dreamt of meeting you here.” At her emphasis on the word “dreamt,” he met her eyes, and it seemed clear that he, too, remembered all they had faced together.
Ma?tre d’Orval exclaimed, “Monsieur Darcy, your arrival is most fortuitous! My excellent pupil needs an opponent to test her mettle. I am teaching her the theory of fencing, but only an opponent can teach her the practice.”
Mr Darcy opened and closed his mouth once before he could form an utterance. “Forgive me, but I have never fenced against a lady. It is not done in London. I have no wish to injure her.”
“I understand your objection, monsieur. Here, the good people of Meryton permit their daughters to indulge in this pastime. We do have proper equipment here, as you see. You will both be safe…from physical harm at any rate. I cannot speak to the consequences for anyone’s pride.”
Mr Darcy demurred. “Oh, no, I could not countenance bruising a woman’s delicate skin.”
“Sir, did you not tell me that you fenced Miss de Bourgh when you were younger?” Elizabeth inquired.
“Why, yes. But she is my cousin, and we were but children. I have certainly outpaced her since then in strength and height.”
Elizabeth, amused, raised one eyebrow but remained silent. She would wait to see what sort of hole Mr Darcy might dig for himself if she let him continue.
Ma?tre d’Orval chuckled. “Taller and stronger you may be, monsieur, but in fencing, those traits may be overcome by speed, cunning, and wiles.”
Elizabeth tired of Mr Darcy’s protestations.
He did not like her long walks. He did not like her family (as he had made painfully clear in his ludicrous proposal at Hunsford).
And, as he had demonstrated in many of her recent dreams, she simply did not meet his standards.
Despite all this, they had begun to grow closer.
Elizabeth felt a saucy urge to test their rapprochement and move from words to action.
“If you are afraid of a possible defeat, sir, then you are quite right. It would be better not to try at all. I know that what you most fear is being laughed at.”
Mr Darcy made a disapproving noise, as Elizabeth knew he would.
So she pressed the point. From previous dreams, she knew exactly how to goad him to action.
She deliberately removed her glove, one finger at a time, and playfully slapped Mr Darcy’s cheek with it.
She knew she had crossed the line and achieved her desired effect.
Ma?tre d’Orval’s face gave way to mirth.
Stunned, Mr Darcy finally allowed his annoyance to overcome his priggishness. “Very well, Miss Bennet. I will give you your wish.”
Having heard him say those exact words in her dreams but in a very different context, Elizabeth lowered her eyes as heat rose from her chest to her face.
Mr Darcy and she must resolve their differences either in the fencing salle or out of it, and perhaps the sparks flying between them would spur Elizabeth on to an extremely satisfying victory.
Ma?tre d’Orval handed her the birdcage-like face protection.
The mask was as uncomfortable as it looked.
It was unclear how much protection the wire mesh would actually provide in the event of a wayward hit to the face, but some protection was certainly better than none.
Ma?tre d’Orval provided Elizabeth with a jacket, padded in the front, that buttoned near her left side.
It was comically large on her, but at least Elizabeth could put on the jacket without removing any clothing.
Mr Darcy seemed quite uncomfortable about removing his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat; he turned his back to put on his own fencing jacket and change his shoes.
His jacket fit properly and made him look, Elizabeth thought, unfairly handsome.