How Not to Lose to Mr Darcy (Pride and Prejudice Happily Ever Afters #3)

PROLOGUE

"Don't you dare let him catch you, Miss Goldsmith!"

Lady Hortensia Settle sprang to her feet so suddenly that the little white Pomeranian asleep upon her lap tumbled unceremoniously onto the velvet cushion beside her with a startled yelp.

She waved her opera glasses wildly above her head, the plume of yellow feathers that topped her tall coiffure shaking violently.

"To your left!" she cried. "Not through the rose garden. He'll expect that!"

Across the lawns of Chaffley Hall, Miss Goldsmith gathered up her skirts and changed direction at once.

Her elaborately dressed hair, which had begun the afternoon as a masterpiece of ribbons and pearls, now listed alarmingly to one side, while the gentleman pursuing her was scarcely in better condition.

Lord Sitcombe's blue coat was streaked with grass stains and one silk stocking had slipped towards his ankle, revealing a rather spindly calf.

Ahead of them, a slender white post stood at the edge of the yew maze, a length of crimson ribbon tied neatly to the top.

Miss Goldsmith lunged the final few steps, snatched the ribbon free and held it triumphantly above her head just as Lord Sitcombe arrived at her side, doubled over and breathing heavily.

"Too late!" she laughed, breathless with victory.

Lady Hortensia clapped her hands with delight. "Excellent girl! Five points to the Ladies!"

The announcement was greeted with loud applause from the ladies and equally loud objections from the gentlemen, many of whom were suddenly convinced that Miss Goldsmith had employed foul play.

Mr Pritchard, who had served Lady Hortensia for nearly twenty years and had acted as keeper of the score since the first Ladies vs.

Gentlemen Challenge, ignored the dispute completely.

He opened the great leather-bound ledger upon the table beside her chair and entered two more points beneath the Ladies' column. They now led by eleven.

The Challenge itself had begun some ten years earlier during what had otherwise been a perfectly ordinary dinner party.

Somebody—Lady Hortensia could never afterwards remember who—had declared that gentlemen possessed the greater wit, logic and strength while ladies excelled only in grace and good manners.

The gentlemen at table had agreed with such an air of self-congratulation that Lady Hortensia had set down her wine glass with a clatter and declared that only a fair challenge could decide the superior sex.

By the time the ladies withdrew after dinner, she had announced that the matter could be settled perfectly well with a week's worth of contests the following spring.

Her husband, Sir Malcolm, merely smiled indulgently as he folded his napkin. "Very well, Hattie," he said. "I look forward to seeing the gentlemen lose."

To almost everyone's surprise, the first Challenge had been a roaring success and invitations for the second were being sought before the first had even ended.

It quickly became one of the most desirable house parties in England.

There was good food, lively company and enough entertainment to satisfy even the most demanding guest. Some proved generous in victory, others petty in defeat, but, whatever the outcome, the week was far more diverting than long evenings spent making stilted small talk in a ballroom or around a supper table.

There was another reason for its popularity.

A number of extraordinarily distinguished marriages had begun at Chaffley Hall.

Whether it was the fresh air, the competition or simply the opportunity to know one another beyond a dance and a few polite conversations, nobody could say.

Lady Hortensia herself never attempted an explanation.

She simply continued sending ten invitations to ladies and ten to gentlemen every spring and watched with interest to see what became of her guests.

It helped, of course, that Lady Hortensia was exceedingly rich.

Society has always found wealth persuasive and, although many declared the Challenge improper, few ambitious mamas or gentlemen with pockets to rent were willing to overlook the number of eligible matches that had their beginnings at Chaffley Hall.

Nobody present during that balmy summer in 1781 imagined it would be another thirty years before the Ladies vs. Gentlemen Challenge returned.

But then Sir Malcolm died unexpectedly the following winter.

Lady Hortensia—always so bright and full of life—fell into a deep sadness, cancelling the Challenge the next spring and never announcing another.

Before long, Chaffley Hall stopped being part of the conversation.

New hostesses took Lady Hortensia's place and the Ladies vs.

Gentlemen Challenge passed gradually into memory.

For thirty years, the great leather-bound scorebook lay undisturbed in the drawer where Lady Hortensia had left it, until, on a perfectly ordinary Wednesday, she unlocked the drawer, drew out the worn volume and brushed a fine layer of dust from its cover before passing it to Mr Pritchard.

Time had bent his back and silvered what remained of his hair, but he accepted it with the same gentle grace he always had.

Lady Hortensia rested her unsteady hands in the lap of her buttercup-yellow gown and smiled. "I believe," she said, "it is time for one last Challenge."