13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Archery had not been Darcy’s idea. That distinction became necessary before the first arrow flew.
Bingley had discovered the old targets stored near the pleasure grounds during a conversation with one of the grooms and returned to breakfast full of bright purpose.
The weather had cleared after two days of rain, the lawns had dried sufficiently for outdoor amusement, and nobody, he declared, could possibly object to a little friendly competition.
Miss Bingley objected before he finished the sentence.
“Archery?” she repeated, stirring her tea with unnecessary care. “Charles, you cannot be serious.”
“I am very serious. Astonishingly serious.”
Mrs. Hurst directed her attention to the windows. “The grass will still be damp.”
“We shall not sit upon it.”
“You may not,” Lydia said from beside Georgiana. “I make no promises.”
Miss Bingley’s eyes moved over her. “That, Miss Lydia, is easily believed.”
Lydia bit into toast. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth covered her mouth with her napkin.
Darcy took refuge in coffee.
That had become a frequent habit since the Bennets’ arrival. Coffee, correspondence, a view from the window, any object near at hand. Anything to conceal amusement when Lydia said precisely what propriety begged her not to say.
Across the table, Elizabeth’s gaze met his.
He had begun to seek her without meaning to do it visibly.
Worse, she had begun to do the same. He would enter a room and find her gaze lifting before she recollected herself.
In company she no longer avoided his side.
Three days ago, in Lambton, she had smiled at him openly across the street while Miss Bingley held his arm and complained of mud with great feeling.
He had thought of that smile for an unreasonable length of time.
He had thought of the bookshop as well.
The volume between their hands. Her blush. The small, brave way she had told him he had brought her to exactly the right place.
He still possessed restraint. He had evidence of it in every day’s conduct. Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s entrance into a room tested it more severely than tenant disputes, estate accounts, or Lady Catherine ever had.
“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, reclaiming his attention, “surely you cannot approve of ladies turning an afternoon’s amusement into a contest. One would think Miss Lydia intended to challenge the militia.”
“I see no objection to it,” Darcy replied.
Her spoon stilled in the teacup.
Bingley brightened. “Excellent. Darcy approves. That settles everything.”
“It settles nothing,” Mrs. Hurst murmured, though without much vigor.
Miss Bingley smiled toward Georgiana. “My dear, you need not participate if you do not wish to fatigue yourself. I am sure Mr. Darcy will not expect it of you.”
Georgiana placed her teacup down slowly. Lydia nudged her with her elbow. Darcy saw the tiny movement because he had begun watching these exchanges too closely to miss them.
“I should like to try,” Georgiana said.
Miss Bingley’s face remained pleasant. Her fingers pressed against the handle of her cup.
Lydia leaned forward. “And I intend to win.”
Elizabeth was doubtful. “You have never shot an arrow in your life.”
“That makes victory more impressive.”
“Or unlikely.”
“Lizzy, your lack of faith will shame you later.”
Mr. Gardiner folded his newspaper. “I should enjoy seeing the contest. I have not held a bow since I was a boy.”
“Then we must have teams,” Bingley declared. “Teams improve all sport.”
“Teams ruin peace,” Mrs. Hurst said.
Miss Bingley recovered enthusiasm. “Teams might be arranged very sensibly. Mr. Darcy should guide Georgiana, of course. Mr. Bingley may assist Miss Lydia, since he delights so much in disorder. Mr. Gardiner will perhaps instruct Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy knew at once what she intended.
So did Elizabeth, if the slight downward flicker of her lashes meant anything.
Lydia shifted her attention between them, then to Georgiana. Her expression became one of great innocence, which Darcy had learned never to trust.
“But I require Mr. Gardiner,” Lydia announced.
Her uncle looked up. “Do you?”
“Yes. He is used to my family’s failings and will not be shocked.”
“That is regrettably true.”
“And Miss Darcy promised to teach me how to stand properly.”
Georgiana blinked. “I did?”
“You were about to.”
Bingley stepped forward. “Then I shall assist Miss Elizabeth.”
Miss Bingley’s smile sharpened. “Charles, you have no skill.”
“That has never prevented me from offering instruction.”
Darcy set down his coffee. “Perhaps it would be better to let everyone make a first attempt before assigning instruction. Skill may declare itself unexpectedly.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Elizabeth said. “I have long wished to discover a hidden talent.”
Lydia waved buttered toast in triumph. “There. Lizzy has hidden talent. I have confidence. Miss Darcy has elegance. Mr. Darcy has lawn enough for disaster. We are perfectly arranged.”
“Put down the toast,” Elizabeth said.
“I am gesturing.”
“You are threatening upholstery.”
Lydia surrendered the toast with a sigh.
By late morning, the party gathered upon a stretch of lawn beyond the south terrace where targets had been placed at a respectful distance and servants had brought chairs, refreshments, and enough extra bows to satisfy Bingley’s enthusiasm.
The day carried the washed brightness that follows rain: grass gleaming, trees newly green, the gravel paths clean beneath the sun.
Horace lay beneath a bench with his nose upon his paws, already barred from active participation by unanimous vote.
Mrs. Gardiner took a shaded chair near Mrs. Hurst, who arranged herself with embroidery and the expression of a woman prepared to endure foolishness. Miss Bingley stood beside Darcy, parasol tilted, examining the bows as if they had personally insulted her.
Elizabeth wore a walking dress of pale muslin trimmed simply at the cuffs. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing that ought to have distracted a man from his duties as host.
Darcy found it distracting anyway.
She raised her brows at him from across the lawn. He devoted an extraordinary amount of attention to the targets.
Bingley clapped his hands together. “Who begins?”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said instantly.
Lydia blinked. “Why?”
“Because otherwise you will spend the next quarter hour explaining how you intend to excel.”
“Very well. I accept this tribute.”
Mr. Gardiner handed her a bow.
Lydia took it with such confidence that Darcy suspected the heavens themselves might pause to watch her failure.
“Do I simply pull and release?”
“No,” Darcy and Elizabeth said together.
Lydia appeared offended. “How complicated can it be?”
“Famously simple,” Elizabeth replied. “That is why armies employ feathers and string in place of muskets.”
Georgiana hid a laugh behind her glove.
Darcy stepped forward. “Miss Lydia, your hand there. No, not upon the feathering. Keep your elbow lower.”
Lydia adjusted nothing correctly.
“Lower,” Darcy repeated.
“This feels low.”
“It is not.”
“It feels low to me.”
“That does not affect its actual position.”
Elizabeth made a sound that might have been sympathy for him.
Lydia drew back the string with heroic determination. The arrow trembled, slipped, and shot nearly sideways into a shrub.
A gardener working nearby ducked behind a hedge.
Silence followed.
Lydia lowered the bow. “I meant to frighten the target first.”
Bingley applauded. “A bold opening.”
Mr. Gardiner called toward the gardener, “All well, Barnes?”
The gardener raised one hand from behind the hedge. “Aye, sir. Though I’ll thank the young lady to aim at the painted circle.”
“I shall consider it,” Lydia replied.
Miss Bingley released a delicate sigh. “Perhaps archery requires more discipline than enthusiasm.”
Lydia brightened. “Then you must be excellent.”
Mrs. Gardiner bent over her workbasket to hide her face.
Darcy coughed and devoted his attention to Elizabeth.
She was laughing silently, shoulders shaking, eyes bright in the sun. When she saw him watching, her expression became conspiratorial rather than guarded.
Darcy fixed his attention upon the targets before he betrayed himself as thoroughly as Lydia had betrayed the gardener’s safety.
Georgiana tried next. Her first attempt fell short by several yards.
She flushed, then said to Lydia, who declared the grass had been menacing the arrow and required warning.
Georgiana’s next arrow flew farther, striking the outer ring of the target.
Lydia cheered with such vigor that Horace turned his head in alarm.
“Well done,” Darcy said.
Georgiana grinned, pleased and embarrassed together.
Miss Bingley stepped forward. “You see, my dear, elegance of form assists everything. Now if you keep your shoulders—”
Georgiana’s expression faltered.
Lydia dropped her bow.
“Oh! My ribbon.”
Every head turned.
A blue ribbon had somehow come loose from her sleeve and lay upon the grass. Lydia bent for it, taking such time to retrieve it that Georgiana escaped Miss Bingley’s hand and moved toward Miss Elizabeth for different advice.
Darcy saw the maneuver.
Miss Bingley saw Darcy see it.
The lady’s smile did not alter, but her eyes cooled.
Elizabeth approached the line then.
“I fear I shall disappoint Lydia,” she said, accepting a bow from Mr. Gardiner. “My hidden talent may remain hidden.”
“Or alarm us all,” Darcy replied.
She glanced sideways at him. “Do you often encourage ladies by predicting danger?”
“Since Miss Lydia’s attempt, it seems prudent.”
“I heard that,” Lydia called from the grass where she was still pretending to repair her ribbon.
“You were meant to.”
Elizabeth shrugged and positioned herself before the target.
Darcy intended to offer advice.
He did not. There was no need. Her stance was natural, balanced without stiffness. She adjusted her grip once, drew back the string, and released.
The arrow struck the target cleanly, not at the center, but close enough to make Bingley shout and Mr. Gardiner clap his hands together in delight.