Chapter Ten

A s promised, Miss Loughty came to call the next afternoon. It was not Lady Carlisle's day at home, but the girls all remained to visit with their friend.

"There are so many men in town this season," she said, adjusting her spectacles. "I am sure that if I do not find a husband this year, I shall never find one at all."

"Quantity," Elizabeth declared, "is not at all the same thing as quality. It is better to stand alone in a desert than be drowned in a sea of mediocrity."

Amelia giggled.

"There is no need for dramatics, Lizzy," Jane told her fondly. "Miss Loughty, what is it you wish for in a husband?"

Miss Loughty pushed her spectacles up on her nose and straightened. "I have thought about this a great deal. Many of my wishes are too romantic to be practical, but I do want a man who notices me and values what I have to say."

Amelia seemed to be waiting for something more. When it did not come, she added, "He should be handsome. "

"Handsome in appearance is pleasant," Jane declared, "but handsome in character is better. Have you never noticed that some people who might be accounted plain become more attractive the better you know them?"

"And the reverse is also true," Elizabeth said. She would have counted Mr. Darcy among her many examples, but he had improved a bit with his show of good humour in the park.

Miss Loughty nodded. "I could not agree more. I would like to find a man who speaks Portuguese with me. It is such a beautiful language."

Jane smiled. "You speak Portuguese? That is unusual. Do you speak French and Italian as well?"

"Oh, of course. I know French, Italian, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, even a little modern Greek." She ticked off each language on a finger as she completed the list. "Oh, and I am learning Russian. It is so different than the other languages. I find it fascinating, but I shall require a master soon." Her eyes widened, and she pressed her lips together so hard they turned white.

Elizabeth's mouth dropped a bit, though she closed it the moment she realised. Who would have guessed that quiet Miss Loughty could converse in so many different ways? No wonder she wished a man to listen to her. The question was, in how many languages?

"My brother calls it my one dubious accomplishment," Miss Loughty confessed, glancing away.

"Then your brother is a fool," Elizabeth said before raising a hand to her mouth.

"Lizzy," Jane hissed while Amelia barked out a surprised laugh.

Elizabeth could feel the hot blush in her cheeks. "I should apologise, but I fear I cannot."

"You are right," Miss Loughty said. "He is a fool. We played together when we were young, and he was always so good to me. But when he returned from school, he was different. Now he spends his time with other men, and when we are out, he is embarrassed by me." She paused, seeming to realise that they were not judging her. Her trepidation transformed into a thoughtful, mild sort of defiance. "And do you know, I begin to be embarrassed by him . Gossip and on-dits are all he cares for. One would think he was vying to be a patroness of Almack's."

"Clearly he is jealous of his more erudite sister." Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "For how can the seeking out of gossip compare with the skill required to speak seventeen languages?"

"I do not speak seventeen languages, Miss Elizabeth," Miss Loughty said, and this time she was the one laughing. "I am only fluent in seven."

"Oh yes," Elizabeth proclaimed. " Only seven. Such a paltry number!"

Jane smiled. "However will you manage?"

"I thought speaking French and Italian was an accomplishment!" Amelia shook her head.

"It is," Jane assured their younger friend. "It is not that we are deficient, it is that Miss Loughty is a polyglot."

"Might I ask . . ." Miss Loughty's voice trailed away.

Elizabeth hoped Miss Loughty was not upset with her teasing. "Yes?"

"I should like it very much if you would call me Diana." She glanced at Jane and Amelia. "All of you."

Relief made her giddy. "Of course. You should call me Elizabeth, then." She glanced at the others, who nodded and offered Diana their Christian names.

When they concluded their visit, they were a very cheerful group. They promised Diana that they would all meet again in a few days at tea with Miss Torrington.

When Diana was gone, Jane smiled at Elizabeth, and she smiled back. They were finding their way.

Elizabeth liked Mr. Bingley. He seemed to have taken her at her word and had slowed his pursuit of Jane from a sprint to an amble, which showed he was not too proud to listen, and she thought him both gentle and a reasonably intelligent man. It was promising.

But this call was boring her to tears.

As Jane and Mr. Bingley spoke about the weather, the state of the roads, the estate bordering Longbourn's land that had been empty these past several years, and how Jane adored bluebells, Elizabeth reminded herself that she and her sister were attracted to very different sorts of men. And a good thing too, for she would not like to be in competition with Jane. That would be an exercise in futility.

Even so, this conversation was enough to send Elizabeth to sleep right there in her chair. To avoid that mortification, she focused very hard on the shawl she was embroidering as a gift for Amelia. Her friend was visiting her uncle, Simon Howard. He and his wife had a new infant in the house, and Amelia was wild to meet her newest cousin.

Her sister and Mr. Bingley began to discuss horses, and at least here they had hit upon something of interest. Jane enjoyed riding more than Elizabeth did, though they had both taken lessons. Perhaps it was because Elizabeth was smaller than Jane, and therefore mounting and dismounting seemed a more hazardous exercise. In any case, this was more interesting than the weather.

"I have a fine Irish hunter," Mr. Bingley was saying. "I intend to begin searching for an estate after the season is over, and I could not resist purchasing him. "

Elizabeth thought that this was perhaps a habit with Mr. Bingley, putting the cart before the horse as it were. But Jane did not seem to mind.

"Where did you purchase him?" she inquired.

"Darcy mentioned a small operation near his aunt's estate in Kent he and his cousin have frequented in the past." Here, Mr. Bingley blushed a bit. "He did think I was precipitous in purchasing the mount when I had no place to stable him. It is very expensive to do so in town, so I have paid a friend in the country to keep him for me."

Elizabeth smiled to herself. It appeared there was something she and Mr. Darcy could agree upon after all. How shocking. Then she noticed she had made her stitch incorrectly and sighed as she worked it back out again.

"I do not have a horse of my own," Jane said quietly. "My father thinks it an indulgence to keep horses only for riding, and I dare say he is right. But our neighbours have a beautiful pair of Arabians, and they were kind enough to allow us to ride them."

"Do you ride too, Miss Elizabeth?" Mr. Bingley asked amiably.

"I do know how, Mr. Bingley." Elizabeth smiled at her sister. "But as Jane knows, I prefer my own two feet."

"It is only because the horses were too large for you," Jane said firmly. "You have an excellent seat."

Elizabeth nodded, unwilling to contradict Jane when she was enjoying her call. The truth was, she never felt entirely secure riding sidesaddle. "You may be right."

Jane nodded, satisfied, and returned to her conversation with Mr. Bingley. They canvassed at least three other breeds of horses before Mr. Bingley noted that he had been with them for more than three quarters of an hour and rose to take his leave.

"Thank you for calling, Mr. Bingley," Jane said .

"Not at all, I quite enjoyed it," Mr. Bingley said. "Miss Bennet, would you be interested in attending the theatre with me?"

Jane's eyes widened. "Yes, of course. I should like that very much."

"Excellent," Mr. Bingley said. "I shall send a note, and we shall find a time that is convenient for all of you."

Elizabeth thought Jane must like Mr. Bingley very much not to mention that she would have to speak with Lady Carlisle. It was a good sign, for Jane never forgot her manners.

She curtsied as her sister and the man made their farewells. She wondered, as they spoke, whether Mr. Bingley was truly ready to marry. He still seemed a little . . . well, young, to tell the truth, and not only due to his age, which could not be more than a year older than Jane. He was a pleasant, thoughtful, handsome gentleman, and Jane clearly preferred his attentions to those of the other men she had met at the two balls and various other engagements in these past weeks. No wonder, for the other men had leered and teased while Mr. Bingley had simply spoken with her and seen to her comfort.

No, at least thus far, Elizabeth could approve Mr. Bingley's interest. That was all it was at this point.

Quincy crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Darcy with a lifted brow. "You wish to learn the arrow?"

"It is a French strategy my cousin has picked up in his travels," Darcy replied. Once he had known what to look for, his men had discovered what Fitz was truly hiding. At least, he hoped as much. He would not underestimate Fitz again. He ought never to have done so in the first place.

Darcy trusted Quincy, for not only was he one of Angelo's best instructors, one with whom Darcy regularly fenced, he was also a cousin to his coachman, Anders. The Anders family was a large one, and his relatives worked in any number of places in and around London. Quincy was only a few years older than Darcy, but very knowledgeable about fencing in Germany and France as well as Italy; he was the one to ask.

"It is a quick, exaggerated lunge, meant to catch the opponent flat-footed," Quincy said thoughtfully. "Not really an elegant movement in my opinion, but often effective. Used more with the epee than the foil."

"Can you teach it to me?"

Quincy's dark eyes assessed him. "You have only four days. I can teach you the basic movements and how to avoid it. Whether or not you will be able to perform either creditably by Monday depends upon you."

He had asked to see Quincy earlier, but the man had other students. "I can ask no more."

"Very well."

They took their places on the floor and began.

"Presuming I have understood your description properly," Quincy said, "your cousin will remain in a deep knee bend with a fully extended arm. The bent leg allows him to spring forward with great force, and the straight arm to defend against any counterattack." He demonstrated.

Darcy watched carefully, walking around Quincy to view the stance from every angle.

"Next," Quincy continued, "he will turn his shoulders to the side, thus." He squared his shoulders, then twisted his torso slightly to the left. "This reduces the area you have available to strike."

It certainly did. Darcy frowned in concentration.

"If the man who is performing the movement does so properly," Quincy said, "he will target your arm and shoulder. Therefore, you must be attuned to the very moment he pushes forward so that you may step sharply to the side and back. Distance is what you must strive to maintain so that you have the time you require."

It would be quite a trick to know which side Fitz was targeting, too—Darcy would hate to move the wrong way and thus directly into his cousin's path. He was grateful he would have time to prepare. Even having a few days to prepare would make a significant difference. Had he held fast to his illusion of superiority, Fitz would have beaten him soundly, and in public too.

"Would you be available to work on this with me at Darcy House tomorrow?" he asked. Georgiana was home, but fencing with an instructor was not as troubling for her as watching her brother and cousin engaging in a match.

"For the usual fee," Quincy replied.

"Of course," Darcy said. "And if I win on Monday, I will double the amount."

Quincy smiled. "What time?"