Chapter 16

16

D arcy then ignored Miss Bingley. I hope the woman goes away. I need to engage Miss Elizabeth in conversation. I really do.

But his opponent was concentrating fiercely. She was no longer making the standard moves of novice players, and Darcy knew he needed to focus his attention on the game if he was not to be thoroughly beaten.

They played in silence for some time, although Darcy found he had to keep his eyes on the board. When he had glanced up, the sight of Miss Elizabeth's absolute attention on their game, her lower lip caught between her teeth and a tiny frown line between her brows, nearly caused him to lose his composure.

He stared at the board, wondering when his heart would cease bounding in his chest. He finally accepted he was in serious danger from Miss Elizabeth, and it was not just about losing the chess game.

"It is your move." Her tone was wry, and he started.

"My apologies." He checked the board carefully and made his next move. Miss Elizabeth was lightning fast with hers, and he hesitated. What was her plan?

As he surveyed the state of play, he sensed her amusement, and he glanced up. She was leaning back, a faint smile gracing her features and her eyes dancing with amusement.

"It was just a move, Mr. Darcy."

"Hmm." His suspicions sharpened. "It was too quick. You're plotting something several moves ahead."

"Well done." She closed her eyes. "Do tell me when you have finished your cogitations."

He frowned; he would not be rushed into an impulsive — and unwise — move. But, try as he might, he could not see anything more. Cautiously, he moved his bishop into play, and Miss Elizabeth leaned forward.

She barely thought a moment before moving her queen through a gap in his pawns, and, once again, Darcy found himself on the back foot. He knew precisely what she was doing. She was planning several moves while appearing to wait very patiently for him, and he was rattled, just as she intended.

He drew a deep breath; he must not think of pleasant winter evenings at Pemberley, talking with her about their day while battling for supremacy over the chessboard.

He reminded himself of her terrible mother, of her wild and uncontrolled younger sisters. Not only that; her relations were in trade. All that must mitigate against this young lady, despite her talents in playing the pianoforte and her haunting, beautiful voice. And the other matter. Why would she not have taken that talent and used it to reach the first circles to assist her family?

He shivered as the memory of that voice winding round his heart pulled against his determination not to consider her.

Perhaps he should write to his aunt. She could help launch Miss Elizabeth into society, and with Aunt's patronage, and that talent, she would be welcome there.

"Are you well, Mr. Darcy?" Her voice was syrupy sweet. "Do you wish to continue the game?"

He jumped, and glanced at the clock. How long had he spent lost in thought?

"Ten minutes, sir." Miss Elizabeth gave him an impish smile. "I do not think it is that challenging a game, but rather that your thoughts took you to another place."

Darcy nodded ruefully, and glanced around. Nobody was near, nobody could overhear them. He must take this opportunity. Recklessly, he lifted his head and met Miss Elizabeth's gaze, the impertinent arched eyebrow playing havoc with his composure. "Might I ask you a question, madam? One that has nothing to do with chess?"

She looked guarded. And resigned. "I suppose you will have to. But I assure you, everyone gets the same answer." She sighed. "And I was enjoying that game of chess — without the endless talk of my talent ."

Darcy felt a sudden sense of shame. "Are you importuned about it often?" he enquired.

"You would not believe how much," she huffed in annoyance.

"Does that song you performed at the gathering — the one about a beautiful woman — I suppose that applies equally to a lady with great talent."

Miss Elizabeth looked at him with hooded eyes. "And also to a lady with a great fortune. You are a wealthy gentleman. Are you not concerned that a suitor may have his eye on your young sister's fortune and not on the real soul behind it?"

He stared at her in consternation. How had it never occurred to him that Miss Elizabeth's talent and Miss Bennet's beauty were as dangerous to those ladies in the same way as Georgiana's fortune was to her?

Wickham . He almost growled at the memory, then remembered where he was. As he looked up, Miss Elizabeth was leaning away from him, looking more guarded than ever.

"I apologise, sir. I ought not to have spoken as I did." She rose to her feet. "Perhaps I should take my sister back upstairs. She has been up long enough for the first occasion." She dipped him a brief curtsy and turned to leave him.

"No, wait!" Darcy was aware enough of where he was to keep his voice down. "Please, Miss Elizabeth. I meant no offence against what you said. It was just …"

She turned back to him, her face empty of expression. "I understand, Mr. Darcy. But Jane has been downstairs long enough for today."

Darcy watched her walk away from him, over towards the couple by the fireplace. It was true, Miss Bennet's pallor was more pronounced than it had been when she came down earlier. He wished he had observed his friend and wondered whether she was exhausted from having to parry his advances. Darcy would have to listen to Bingley at dinner this evening to find out what had happened. Perhaps he would have the opportunity to ask Miss Elizabeth when she came down.

But he was unfortunate in that regard. Miss Elizabeth stayed upstairs with her sister, taking a tray in their chambers and only sending down an apology.

It was some ten minutes or more before Darcy decided that he ought to listen to his friend over the dinner table, instead of allowing his resentment against Miss Elizabeth to fester within him.

How could she think he was just another of those men who wished to possess her?

He suddenly stopped, wine glass halfway to his lips. How had Miss Elizabeth found this song — undoubtedly a Santorio score — and that someone had crafted lyrics that exactly fitted the Miss Bennets' situation?

"Darcy? Darcy, my friend, are you well?" Bingley's face wore an expression of concern. Miss Bingley leaned over to Darcy — of course, she had placed him beside her at the table.

"Dear Mr. Darcy," she purred. "You are quite worn out with having to show such politeness to our unsuitable guests."

"Not at all," Darcy kept his expression impassive, and leaned as far as possible away from her. After the port, he thought he would plead a megrim and retire early; it was unlikely Miss Elizabeth would appear in the drawing room tonight, he thought.

He looked up at the head of the table. "Do not be concerned, Bingley. I am well. How was your conversation with Miss Bennet?"

"Oh, she is an angel, Darcy!" Bingley began rhapsodising about the eldest Bennet daughter. "So gentle and kind, and beautiful even when she has been so ill."

"Was she well enough? To be downstairs, that is?" Darcy rather thought it might have been too soon. But at least he was sure that the ladies would not be returning to Longbourn tomorrow. And that was as well. He must somehow heal the breach with Miss Elizabeth. And what had caused her coolness with him? She had been pleased to accept a game of chess. Perhaps it was that he had been so inattentive that the game had lost its excitement if she had to wait so long for Darcy to make his moves.

Perhaps he could apologise for that, and then speak of his thoughts.