Chapter 31

Once the aftermath of that blasted race was dealt with, Darcy discovered that Elizabeth had returned to Pemberley with Miss Bentley. It was another hour before he could easily slip away from duty, but when he did, he could not find her in any of the common rooms, and supposed she might be resting in her chambers—out of his reach. Upon his casual enquiry, however, the astute Mrs Reynolds made sure he knew that the young lady had been seen wandering in the rose garden.

It was there that he found her, sitting on a shaded stone bench, seemingly staring at nothing.

“Are you well?” he asked quietly.

“I am, yes,” she replied absently.

“I deeply regret what nearly befell your friend,” he said. “Let me assure you, I have informed my uncle and aunts that I will put a stop to any activity I deem has even the remotest possibility of danger or distress to my guests. Please, tell me what you most enjoy, and I will see to the activity’s performance.”

She looked up at him then, newly alert, a spark of mischief in her eye. “Perfect! I choose fencing.”

“Fencing?” he replied, with some puzzlement.

“Surely you would not deny me the opportunity to challenge one of my fellow guests to a match. Tips on, obviously.”

“You jest, of course,” he said—not entirely certain.

“If you insist. Boxing, then?”

Any other young lady, Darcy might think was behaving in some sort of inane manner. But this was Elizabeth, so he had to ask, “Have you boxed?”

“I punched Reginald Goulding once. He said I broke his nose, but I think he was merely whingeing. It hurt my hand and I would like to know how to do it without bruising my knuckles, if such a technique can be taught.”

He could only look at her with some astonishment. Was she trying to disgust him, with anecdotal evidence that she was not a lady of quality? If so, she failed miserably. She wore some sort of pale yellow frothy something, all feminine delicacy; its wide neckline revealed slender shoulders almost bared to him as she perched on a bench amongst his flowers. She was the picture of graceful elegance and yet, she was resilient, fierce, passionate even. Life could knock her down, but never keep her there. A sudden, urgent desire to gather her into his arms stabbed through him, piercingly acute; if she only knew it, she would probably punch him, too. He forced himself to return to the topic at hand.

“Cheapside is a flourishing but very busy, even chaotic area. You must take extra care. I daresay the fellow deserved it.”

“My uncle’s home in Gracechurch Street is an excellent address, if not so lofty as Mayfair. I have never been imposed upon there.”

He heard the offence in her tone, telling him she resented his insinuation. “I did not mean you live surrounded by scoundrels—only that it is a bustling, lively place. Indeed, there are many fine mansions in that area.” He knew his tone was awkward—he had indeed envisioned some crude tradesman importuning her.

She looked at him for a moment, then took pity. “The incident happened after an assembly in Hertfordshire, by a man who calls himself a gentleman. He deserved worse.”

The rules of society were designed to keep young ladies safe, but a rogue with the right access could cause untold damage.

“Then I am very glad you did it. I might have one or two ideas for you—not boxing, you understand. Merely ways to surprise an opponent who is larger and stronger.”

“Now that would be an activity worth participating in,” she enthused, looking deliciously eager to inflict harm upon future scoundrels.

Darcy frowned. The thought that Elizabeth might overestimate her own abilities was alarming, but whether she admitted it or not, Cheapside was not Mayfair, for heaven’s sake. She ought to know how to defend herself—at least a little.

“I do not know, of course, whether the other ladies would be so willing as you are to participate,” he said.

“I am certain the earl could make it sound appealing—I think he could make weeding a garden seem enticing. But perhaps you would prefer a chess tournament?”

She played chess? Why was he not surprised? “If you take pleasure in it, we should have one.”

“I do,” she replied. A shadow of sadness flitted briefly across her expression. “My father loved nothing better, and taught me. I have not played since he died, however. Jane does not care as much for it, and my uncle is far too busy. I do not suppose the other ladies would be very entertained.”

He shrugged. “I enjoy it.”

She smiled at that, and he supposed he had sounded arrogant, as if the feelings of his guests upon his entertainments were unimportant. But the truth of the matter was that it was Elizabeth’s feelings which were beginning to matter most.

“Does your cousin play?”

“Ridley? Yes.”

“I do not mean that cousin.”

It took him a moment, even so, to realise she meant Richard. “He does, but he would never join us.”

“I do not see why. His parents could surely see that Lady Catherine—” she stopped abruptly mid-sentence, but he thought he knew what she had almost said. Ridley had repeated his aunt’s rude words to him.

“May I sit?” he asked, and she obligingly moved over to make room. He thought about how to explain what he barely understood himself; he did not question why he wanted, so much, for her to know.

“Lady Catherine can be…offensive, but truth to tell, I do not think Richard would care about anything she utters. I am less sure about his willingness to be seen before the other guests, although it is my belief that he has begun to accommodate his scarred appearance. It is his, um, disagreement with his parents which would prevent him from any kind of participation.”

“His parents?”

She was surprised, he saw, and he did not blame her. The earl’s reputation as a benevolent, charitable personage was an earned one.

“It is not what I assume you think—or rather, not wholly. It is not the scar, although I am certain he finds his mother’s emotional response to his appearance excessive.” He shifted on the bench to look at her directly.

“For quite some time, and with good cause, Richard has been angry. The earl is very loyal to king and country. Heated words have been exchanged, with each accusing the other of traitorous behaviour. Neither party can forgive.”