Chapter Twelve

O n Saturday evening, Darcy eased himself down into his chair to finally go through his correspondence. His legs and shoulder were sore, but he would practice the movements again on his own tomorrow at a less frenetic rate, and then he would simply have to see how he fared on Monday. The arrow was a diabolical move and would have taken him completely by surprise. Darcy's respect for Fitz had grown, if that were possible, but he would not allow his respect to be an obstacle to winning.

In the stack of cards there was a badly blotted note from Bingley. His friend was hoping to invite Miss Bennet, her sister, and her friend to the theatre, and he asked whether Darcy might be able to accommodate them all in his box. Bingley had not bothered with one as his sisters were not in town.

Darcy could not imagine that Miss Bingley enjoyed the theatre in any case. If anything, it would be that she enjoyed being seen at the theatre—and for that, she would like to sit in the boxes of other families to demonstrate her connections.

It was not Bingley's request that had discomposed him—Darcy had often told both Bingley and Fitz that they were welcome at any time and only need ask if they wished to invite guests. No, it was that Miss Elizabeth was to be one of the party.

He had not missed Mr. Loughty's speculative look when they were all riding together in Hyde Park, and he had since been teased by several men whose wives had spread gossip about him fancying Miss Elizabeth. He could weather any such gossip without much concern, but Miss Elizabeth might not fare as well. This was what he had been concerned about from the beginning with the earl forcing him to be friends with the woman.

It had proven to be even more difficult than he imagined. Miss Elizabeth had a fine mind, along with her rather fine eyes. When she had admitted to not being certain she wished to alert him to his cousin's ploy, she had been rather delightfully mischievous. It was confusing and annoying, the way he responded to her, but at least they had finally spoken a few sentences to one another that were not acrimonious. It would be best if he did not attend with them, but if he absented himself, Lord Carlisle would object. He wished Georgiana was old enough to attend, but he thought it would be difficult for her to be faced with so many new acquaintances all at once, so perhaps it was for the best.

A soft knock on his door broke through his thoughts.

"Brother?" Georgiana asked.

"Come," he called.

His sister entered the study and approached him. "Will you be joining me for dinner this evening?"

He took out his watch and consulted it. He still had time. Barely. "Yes, of course. Allow me to complete this last bit of business, and I will hurry upstairs to dress. I suppose Henderson is already tapping his foot and wondering where I am?"

Georgiana smiled.

"I shall be there very shortly. "

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Brother, I should remind you that I am engaged to visit Miss Amberley's on Monday. She is a friend of Lady Henrietta's from school and my uncle thought it would be a way for me to practice a morning call. I wished to be certain you did not have plans for me."

She looked as though she hoped he would have other plans for her.

Darcy had spoken with his uncle, who had thought it a splendid idea. Lady Henrietta had agreed, even after he had explained that Georgiana was shy and retiring. "Lady Henrietta will accompany you. I spoke to her, and she has agreed to assist you."

Georgiana pursed her lips and nodded.

"Will Mrs. Smith accompany her?" Mrs. Smith was Lady Henrietta's companion.

"Yes, brother."

His sister was timid, and Darcy thought it a good idea for her to begin paying morning calls with established friends of the family, though he would not have chosen Lady Henrietta for the job, nor Miss Amberley. But if he reached out to any of the families he knew with girls near Georgiana's age and asked for this favour, they would view it as a gesture of intimacy. Either that, or there would be rumours that there was something wrong with Georgiana, that she needed to be eased into society. It was true, but there was nothing wrong with being reserved.

"I will be meeting Fitz at Angelo's on Monday, but that will be too early for you to call." He smiled encouragingly at her. "I know we are closer to Miss Amberley's home here, but I am aware how long it takes Lady Henrietta to ready herself for an outing. What if I deliver you to Matlock House on my way and you can travel together? She can escort you home afterward. "

Georgiana returned his smile with a faint one of her own, nodded, and slipped out of the room as quietly as she had entered it.

As the door clicked softly shut, it occurred to Darcy that he did know another woman who could teach Georgiana about confidence. Miss Elizabeth, who had not been cowed by him, not once. Who, despite his ludicrous insults when they first met, was clever and pretty and kind.

Darcy forced his thoughts back to his theatre dilemma. He would not wish to confuse Miss Elizabeth or feed the gossip any more than the earl's decree made necessary.

The earl had not told him to meet Miss Elizabeth at Hatchard's or accompany her to the theatre. He had only been irritated when Darcy missed the Caruthers's ball and told him to attend Sir Humphrey's lecture. It had been Lady Carlisle who had insisted he ride with them in the park, and neither the earl nor the countess had anticipated Bingley wishing to know Miss Bennet better. It might seem odd for Darcy not to join the party at the theatre when they would be sitting in his box. No, it seemed his fate to keep running into Miss Elizabeth, but he would do what he could to keep any rumours at bay.

He felt the minutes ticking past. He supposed he could sit beside Miss Hamilton. That ought to confuse the gossips like Mr. Loughty who, despite the fact that Bingley was already calling on Miss Bennet, were unsure whether Darcy was interested in the elder or younger sister. No one could accuse him of courting three women at once, particularly when all of them were under the same watchful gaze of Lord and Lady Carlisle.

Yes, that would do.

Darcy lifted his arm and swung it around, trying to work out the soreness before he pulled a blank sheet of paper towards him, dipped a pen in the inkwell, and began to compose his response.

A bead of perspiration trickled behind Darcy's ear, trailing down his neck and under his shirt as he held his foil steadily before him. Fitz faced him, weapon raised, his countenance red with exertion and pinched with frustration.

The school was sparsely attended at the moment, as Angelo's had only just opened for the day. Those who were here were focused on their own skills, not the hard-fought battle occurring in this corner of the room. That was fine with Darcy. Public display held no attraction for him.

Fitz had deployed his supposedly secret move three times. Darcy had anticipated the first and stepped neatly out of the way. The second had nearly resulted in a touch to Darcy's arm, but he had used his longer legs to quickly move backwards and out of danger. His cousin would have been better using the epee—it was not as flexible as the foil and might have been more difficult to avoid—but perhaps Fitz thought it would put Darcy on notice that there was something afoot. In addition, the signs that the move was coming were not subtle—deeply bent knees and a straight, outstretched arm presaged the flying lunge that reminded Darcy a bit of the Russian dancers he had seen with his parents as a young boy.

Although Darcy was expecting the attack, Fitz was dashedly quick, and while his third lunge was successful, Darcy was still grateful that he had asked Quincy to prepare him. His instructor stood at the edge of the floor now, having been engaged to keep the score and call out the points.

This was of no benefit to Darcy, who knew Quincy would be scrupulously fair.

Darcy was winning, but only by one, and Fitz seemed doggedly determined to triumph. At times he had a little trouble, though he reined himself in admirably when he began to slip. It must be difficult to move between the battlefield, where there were no rules, and here, where there were many. But even so, Fitz was an excellent fencer—Darcy felt no lasting sympathy for the man who was currently attempting to take him apart and claim victory.

Distance, Quincy had warned, would be his best ally. Darcy had dutifully practiced his double retreat perhaps a hundred times over the past few days, and though his legs ached, it now came as naturally as breathing. Fitz was shorter than he was, and Darcy took advantage of his longer legs to help him retreat beyond Fitz's reach.

His cousin advanced boldly, the lines around his mouth a sign of his irritation. He performed a thrust in quinte that targeted Darcy's flank, but Darcy held his foil in high carte with a low point and parried the thrust with the outside edge of his weapon. He used the opening this created to slide his own foil home. Fitz scowled.

"Point!" cried Quincy.

Darcy was ahead by two points now, only one away from taking the match.

They returned to their respective sides of the floor and saluted.

Fitz stood still for a moment to stare at Darcy, his gaze sharp, observant, and obviously meant to intimidate. It might have worked had Darcy not known his cousin as well as he did. He had once seen Fitz, deep in his cups, shimmy up a duke's wrought iron fence like a sailor on a ratline, insisting that he intended to "have a word." He had he not reached the duke, thank goodness, but he had caught the back of his breeches on the spiky ironwork and been left dangling with a rip in his clothing that left a certain part of his anatomy on vivid display. Fortunately, it had been a dark night.

Darcy's vision narrowed on Fitz, and he smiled.

"What are you smiling about?" Fitz inquired, his voice cold .

"Duke of Saltford," Darcy replied, hoping to discompose his cousin while he awaited the moment he should advance again.

Fitz made the decision for him, coming at him in a straight line with speed. This time, he executed the arrow perfectly, and though Darcy had backed up quickly, Fitz was faster.

"Point!" Quincy called, and Darcy could hear the man's silent admonition against taunting a worthy opponent.

His cousin was grimly satisfied as they returned to their places and saluted again.

Darcy held his foil out straight and in line with his shoulder, the tip pointed down at Fitz's waist. Right hip back as far as it could go, right knee bent, left leg straight. But he hesitated, and that was his undoing. Fitz moved from distance to half-thrust on the inside, towards Darcy's face, and danced back. Darcy flinched, and Fitz moved back in with a full thrust to finish the job.

"Point!" called Quincy and raised a brow at Darcy.

Darcy bent over to catch his breath. Fitz had chased him from one end of the floor to the other for the entire match, and he was fatigued.

They were even. The next point would win, and Darcy knew he would not last if they engaged in a prolonged trading of feints and ripostes. He had to finish this, and now. It was a risk, but better to take the risk and lose than to wait to be worn down and suffer the same result.

They saluted.

Darcy moved forward immediately. Fitz hurriedly planted his left foot to create a wall, and Darcy stalked forward. Without pause, he sunk into a deep knee bend, held his arm out entirely straight, and leapt into the same flying lunge Fitz had been using on him over and over.

His arms were longer than his cousin's. The button of his blade struck the frozen Fitz in his shoulder, and the match was over .

Darcy clapped his cousin on the back. "Thank you, Fitz," he said, breathing hard. "I have learnt a new move and shall never take your challenge for granted again."

Fitz frowned. "I am less unhappy that you have won this match than I am chagrined that your spies are better than mine. Who are they?"

He chuckled. "You will never know. Come, let us return to Darcy House and have a drink."

"You owe me an entire bottle of that brandy you hoard as well as the names," Fitz said begrudgingly. He took the towel Quincy handed him and swiped at his face. "Truly, Darcy, I may need to employ them in the service of the king."

Darcy accepted both a towel and a slight smile from Quincy. "I have nothing to tell you, Fitz."

Neither of them wished Fitz to know Quincy had been involved. Darcy had arranged to pay the promised bounty for a win in a day or two.

Fitz frowned. "Then you owe me two bottles."

"An excellent match," Quincy said as they left the floor. "Shall we see another soon?"

Darcy was already shaking his head. He and his cousin spoke nearly at the same time, with Fitz behind him by a mere moment.

"No."

"Yes."