Chapter Six
A broad stone terrace behind Chaffley Hall had been transformed into an outdoor drawing room.
Chairs and benches had appeared beneath striped awnings, servants threaded between the guests with trays of wine and lemonade, and beyond the balustrade the gardens descended in neat green terraces towards a small lake that reflected the last of the evening sun.
Elizabeth accepted a drink absently, looking down at the glass of wine in her hand with a scowl.
Infuriating, headstrong man. How high in the instep must the gentleman be—and she used the word gentleman lightly—to behave in such a manner?
She opened her mouth to detail her annoyance to Jane but noticed her sister was not there.
She was on the other side of the terrace, her head bent towards Colonel Fitzwilliam in quiet conversation.
Elizabeth felt a sudden stab of annoyance that passed as quickly as it arrived. It was not Jane’s fault that she was in an ill humour. It was entirely the fault of Mr Darcy. She took a large gulp of wine and immediately regretted it—coughing as it caught in her throat.
"Careful, Lizzy, I don’t want you to expire before the fun begins." Her father walked up beside her, a glass of claret in hand.
"Oh Papa, where have you been hiding?"
"My dear girl, I have been sleuthing," he said with a delighted wiggle of his bushy eyebrows. "Your mother would be proud. I have been gathering inside information on your fellow competitors."
Elizabeth laughed. "And what have your investigations uncovered?"
Mr Bennet looked thoughtfully across the terrace. "Well, we may as well begin with your own side. The Misses Sitcombe you have already met, and they seem perfectly good girls. The elder has a sensible countenance and the youngest—Harriet, I believe—has almost as much energy as our own Lydia."
"I rather liked them."
"So did I. They seem kind, and that is not a quality I believe you will find amongst all of your fellow combatants."
"Papa! We are not partaking in gladiatorial combat."
He laughed and nodded discreetly towards another young lady.
"The lady in the pale pink gown who looks like she has been rolling through a haberdashery is Miss Amelia Harrington.
Her mama is determined that her daughter will make a magnificent match this week.
She has Mr Darcy—who is indeed the son of my George Darcy—in her sights. "
Elizabeth made a dismissive noise. "She is quite, quite welcome to him."
"My Lizzy, have you been causing trouble already?"
"I found him quite rude, Papa, but it is nothing, continue…"
Elizabeth watched as Miss Harrington smiled up at Darcy. He bowed with impeccable politeness, yet there was a stiffness about him which suggested he would rather be anywhere else. Let him suffer Miss Harrington’s attempts—it served him right.
Mr Bennet continued his survey. "The gentleman laughing with the servants is Mr Thomas Hadley, second son of a baronet. No title, no remarkable fortune, but a very pleasant fellow. Likes his food and drink by the looks of his waistcoat buttons."
His attention shifted to a fair-haired gentleman leaning comfortably against the balustrade. "Mr Adrian Ashcombe, younger son of the Earl of Stanhope. Remarkably handsome and, as far as I can tell, very well aware of it."
Elizabeth followed his gaze. Mr Ashcombe was speaking to another guest beside the drawing-room windows, though his attention seemed divided between the conversation and his own reflection in the glass.
He adjusted the fall of his cravat as he listened, then smiled at something his companion had said without taking his eyes from himself.
"He seems rather pleased with what he sees," Elizabeth observed.
Further along the terrace stood three gentlemen of such striking similarity that she wondered whether she was seeing things.
"The Blackwoods," said Mr Bennet, following her gaze. "Triplets. Edward, James and Henry, though I have not yet determined which is which. A servant assured me the distinction is obvious. They were probably amusing themselves at my expense."
The three young men dissolved into laughter at some private joke, one slapping the other on the back so firmly that his brother nearly dropped his glass.
Mr Bennet took another sip of his claret.
"The remainder require further study. A rag-tag collection of greater and lesser gentry, many of whose parents competed here in years gone by.
Lady Hortensia has cast her net widely. As for Colonel Fitzwilliam and his cousin, the colonel is exactly as open and affable as his happy manners suggest. Mr Darcy, on the other hand...
" He paused, watching the younger man across the terrace.
"I have not made up my mind. He is somehow very like and very unlike his father at the same time. "
???
A hush descended on the crowd as Pritchard stepped up to the raised dais at the front of the terrace and placed a large leather-bound book on a small table there.
"The Challenge ledger," hissed Mrs Harrington to her daughter, so loudly that the whole crowd heard it. A murmur of anticipation rippled through the other contestants and their families and companions. Then came the thump of Lady Hortensia’s cane and silence fell.
She appeared from the drawing room doors in a gown of dark green silk, with a shawl of fine cream lace draped over her shoulders.
A large amber brooch held it in place at her breast and her powdered hair was dressed beneath a fine embroidered cap.
She looked smaller than she had in the parlour, surrounded now by so many guests, but Elizabeth noticed that her back was a little straighter, her chin tilted up.
She seemed to hold the spectators in the palm of her hand.
"My friends," she said, looking over the gathering with a keen eye. "Welcome to Chaffley Hall. I am very pleased to see you here. Some of you are here because your parents once enjoyed themselves under this roof. Some of you are here because I believe you will be excellent competitors."
She paused, and her eyes moved slowly from one end of the terrace to the other.
"I have lived rather quietly these thirty years, but do not mistake quiet for ignorance. I have my sources."
Several people laughed and Mrs Harrington gave a bright smile and adjusted one of the ribbons upon her daughter’s sleeve.
"Whatever the reason," Lady Hortensia continued, "you are here now, and you should know what awaits you.
" She turned to the ledger and rested one hand upon its worn cover.
"This book holds the history of every Ladies vs.
Gentlemen Challenge ever held at Chaffley Hall.
Victories, defeats, disputed points and one unfortunate incident involving a goose, which I shall not bore you with this evening. "
Harriet Sitcombe let out a peal of laughter before being shushed by her sister.
"Now," she said, "to business. Those who have been invited as competitors will please step forward. Ladies to my left. Gentlemen to my right. Parents, guardians and companions, please remain in your seats."
She nodded in satisfaction as the competitors took their places.
"The contests will begin tomorrow morning.
The first day will test logic and observation.
The second will be given over to sporting prowess.
The third will concern artistic merit. The fourth will test wit, and the final contest will, as always, take place in the hedge maze. "
She looked from the ladies to the gentlemen.
"I should add that the contests have been designed with fairness in mind.
I shall not require gentlemen to prove themselves with embroidery, nor ladies to distinguish themselves by feats of brute strength.
The object is not to expose anyone to humiliation but to discover which side can act with spirit and adapt itself best to the task at hand. "
A murmur passed through the competitors at this, and Lady Hortensia waited for it to settle.
"You will compete as teams. Some contests will require every member of a side.
Others will be undertaken by selected representatives.
On certain days you may be divided into smaller parties.
Those arrangements will be explained before each contest begins. "
She nodded to Mr Pritchard, who opened the ledger.
"The scoring is simple. Each day’s contest will be worth five points.
In some events, all five points will go to the winning side.
In others, points may be divided according to performance.
Mr Pritchard will record the score after each contest and announce the standings at dinner. "
"At the end of the week, the side with the greater number of points will receive the Challenge Cup.
The losing side will perform a forfeit at the final ball.
Now, do not look so whey-faced. It shall be nothing very terrible.
A little embarrassment, perhaps, but no lasting injury to body or reputation. "
A ripple of nervous laughter moved across the terrace.
"This evening we shall all dine together. Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, the competitors will remain at the Hall. Parents, guardians and companions will remove to the Dower House."
She looked towards the seated guests and the looks of anxiety that passed between them.
"The Dower House is part of the estate and entirely comfortable.
You will be near enough to return as needed, but not so near as to interfere.
The young ladies and gentlemen will remain under my roof, under my protection and under the supervision of my household. "
Her voice softened a little, though it lost none of its firmness. "I have invited them here to compete, to think for themselves and to know one another better than they can in any ballroom. That cannot be done while every parent and chaperone is hanging on to their hems."