13. Chapter Thirteen #2
Elizabeth stared at the target in astonishment.
Lydia sprang up. “Lizzy!”
Georgiana applauded. “That was splendid.”
Darcy forgot that he was expected to speak.
Elizabeth’s cheeks were touched with color and her eyes were alight. “Well?”
He recovered badly. “I have no correction to offer.”
“How disappointing. I had prepared myself to be improved.”
“You have no immediate need of it.”
Miss Bingley’s parasol tilted slightly.
Bingley leaned toward Darcy. “She shoots better than you did at fifteen—at least, according to the reports I have been given.”
Someone has been telling tales. Darcy smirked. “Thank you, Bingley.”
“Possibly at twenty.”
Darcy sent him a look.
Bingley grinned.
Elizabeth’s second arrow struck even closer to the center.
The group erupted.
Miss Bingley’s mouth thinned before she restored it into praise. “How very unexpected, Miss Eliza. One would scarcely think such a rustic exercise had formed part of your education.”
Elizabeth handed the bow back with studied calm. “Country life offers many surprises.”
Lydia, who understood insult before grammar, marched forward. “Lizzy used to shoot at crab apples in the orchard when Papa was not looking.”
Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “Lydia!”
“What? That explains it.”
Mr. Gardiner laughed. “Your father knew, I assure you.”
“He did?” Elizabeth demanded.
“He found it entertaining.”
Darcy found himself fascinated by this new image of her: younger, windblown, laughing in an orchard with a bow in hand and crab apples serving as enemies. It suited her absurdly well.
“You are staring, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth murmured as she passed him.
He lowered his voice. “I am reassessing the dangers of orchards.”
She blushed and attempted to hide her expression, but not before a smile betrayed her.
The competition became increasingly unruly after that.
Teams were attempted and failed three times.
Miss Bingley suggested herself and Darcy paired together on account of “natural steadiness.” Lydia declared that steadiness sounded fatal to sport and that Miss Bingley must have Bingley, since their names matched and perhaps that would make the score easier to remember.
Bingley accepted with pleasure. Miss Bingley did not.
After some convincing, Mrs. Hurst joined in the fun. Mr. Gardiner paired with her, and she surprised everyone by striking the target twice. Georgiana improved by degrees, helped by Elizabeth’s easy encouragement and Lydia’s wild advice, most of which ought to have made matters worse.
“Think of Miss Bingley correcting your posture,” Lydia whispered before one attempt.
Georgiana’s arrow struck the painted ring.
“Excellent,” Lydia said. “Spite improves aim.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth warned.
“What? It did.”
Darcy looked away before Miss Bingley caught his expression.
When Darcy took his own turn, Elizabeth watched from beside the lemonade table. His first arrow struck the outer ring.
Bingley seized upon this with disgraceful delight.
“Darcy! I thought you master of Pemberley.”
“Pemberley’s authority does not extend to arrows.” In truth, he had shown very little interest in the sport as a child, or even as a young man. He preferred horses.
“It ought,” Lydia said. “Otherwise what is the point of owning so much land?”
Elizabeth approached, folding her hands before her with exaggerated seriousness. “Would you care for instruction, Mr. Darcy?”
“From you?” He would like nothing better.
“Naturally. I have discovered a talent and must become insufferable.”
Darcy laughed. “You have begun promisingly.”
Her eyes danced. “Your elbow was high.”
“It was not.”
“It looked high to me.”
He received her critique with grace. “Then I must accept correction.”
Miss Bingley crossed nearer. “Mr. Darcy requires no correction in form. His shot was perfectly respectable.”
Darcy did not look away from Elizabeth. “Respectable is rarely the height of excellence.”
Elizabeth took the bow from him and rotated it in her hands. “Then we must try again.”
She stepped beside him to demonstrate.
The nearness was improper enough to require care and ordinary enough for plausible denial. Her sleeve brushed his coat. Her voice lowered so the rest could not hear every word.
“Your grip,” she observed. “Too much force. See how I hold the bow?”
Darcy stared at her rather than at the bow.
“A grave fault.”
“Indeed. You must learn finesse.”
“From a lady who terrifies crab apples?”
“Crab apples require firmness. You require subtlety.”
He risked looking at her then.
Her face was close enough for him to see the laughter she was trying to hide.
“Do I?”
The question left his mouth softer than intended.
Elizabeth’s color rose. She released the bow and stepped back, glancing toward the target with excessive interest. “In archery, certainly.”
Bingley called out, “Are we receiving lessons or witnessing courtship? I require clarification.”
Elizabeth nearly dropped the bow.
Darcy faced him slowly. “Bingley.”
His friend was unrepentant. “For scoring purposes.”
Lydia clapped once. “Courtship should count double.”
Miss Bingley’s voice cut in. “Miss Lydia, that is hardly appropriate.”
“Neither was my first shot, yet we all survived it.”
Mr. Gardiner fought obvious amusement. Mrs. Gardiner directed a look at Lydia over her embroidery that should have corrected her and failed.
Darcy shot again.
This time the arrow landed near Elizabeth’s previous mark.
“There,” she said with satisfaction. “Improved.”
“Your instruction proved effective.”
“Remember that.”
“I am unlikely to forget.”
She favored him with a brief smile before giving her attention elsewhere, beyond Miss Bingley’s reach.
The afternoon lengthened. Servants brought lemonade and small cakes.
Horace stole one cake from a low plate and was sentenced to exile beneath Mrs. Gardiner’s chair.
Mrs. Hurst declared the breeze too much and retreated toward the terrace.
Bingley continued tallying scores badly enough that nobody believed the numbers.
Miss Bingley attempted to rearrange teams again and managed to place herself beside Darcy for exactly one round before Lydia developed a sudden need to consult him on whether arrows could legally be blamed for misconduct.
“Legally?” Darcy repeated.
“You are a magistrate of some sort in Derbyshire, are you not?”
“No.”
“Oh. Then who decides if an arrow has behaved wickedly?”
“The person it strikes, I imagine.”
“Then Barnes may condemn mine.”
“The gardener will recover.”
“Eventually.”
Miss Bingley drew in a breath. “Must we persist in discussing that unfortunate episode?”
Lydia affected surprise. “I thought it memorable.”
“Many things are memorable without being suitable.”
“Then society must be very forgetful.”
Georgiana, who had been sipping lemonade, coughed into her glass.
Darcy gave up pretending solemnity and faced the target.
The final round came down, by Bingley’s inaccurate reckoning, to Elizabeth and Darcy. Lydia insisted that her own score should include “spiritual points” for bravery. Mr. Gardiner denied their existence. Georgiana awarded her three privately, which satisfied her.
Elizabeth stood at the line with more confidence now. Not arrogance. Pleasure. She was alive in competition, quick and laughing, with wind tugging at her ribbons and sunlight along one cheek. Darcy should have been thinking of the target.
He was not.
Her arrow flew and struck near the center.
Bingley shouted approval.
Lydia declared herself related to greatness.
Miss Bingley praised the shot with enough strain to make Mrs. Hurst wince.
Darcy stepped forward for his final attempt.
Elizabeth handed him the bow. Their fingers touched in the exchange, briefly enough for propriety, long enough for him to feel the warmth of her glove.
“Do not disgrace my instruction,” she said.
“I shall endeavor to justify your faith.”
“My faith is conditional.”
“A severe mistress.”
“In archery, very.”
He took his place, drew, and released.
The arrow struck slightly outside hers.
Bingley crowed. “Miss Elizabeth wins!”
Lydia cheered so loudly Horace barked from beneath the chair. Georgiana laughed and applauded with genuine delight. Mr. Gardiner offered formal congratulations. Elizabeth flushed, appearing pleased, then peered toward Darcy almost apologetically.
He bent slightly nearer as the others gathered around the target. “You need not look sorry for winning.”
“I was trying not to look triumphant.”
“You failed.”
“Terribly?”
“Charmingly.”
Her lips parted. No answer came quickly.
Darcy had the rare satisfaction of seeing Elizabeth Bennet deprived of speech by him and not from anger.
Then Miss Bingley was beside them.
“What a spirited amusement,” she said, though her voice had lost all amusement. “Miss Eliza must be congratulated upon such vigorous skill. One so rarely sees such country accomplishments displayed to advantage.”
Elizabeth’s chin lifted.
Darcy spoke before temper could make his answer sharper than civility allowed. “Miss Bennet’s skill required no apology.”
Miss Bingley’s looked furious as she stared at him.
The lawn grew awkward around them. Bingley stopped smiling. Georgiana looked from her brother to Miss Bingley with wide eyes. Lydia appeared ready to say something ruinous and was restrained by Elizabeth stepping lightly upon her shoe.
Mrs. Gardiner rose then with perfect timing. “I believe we should all be grateful for the entertainment. Miss Darcy, perhaps we might walk toward the rose garden before tea?”
Georgiana accepted.
Lydia limped theatrically for two steps, glared at Elizabeth, then took Georgiana’s arm and went with her.
The party shifted, talked, recovered. Society had a talent for smoothing over uncomfortable moments before anyone had decided whether they deserved to be forgotten.