Chapter 33

The next afternoon found several young ladies seated in a large, elegantly appointed drawing room desultorily chatting. Miss de Bourgh sat beside Miss Bingley, murmuring to her in low whispers; Lady Catherine, undoubtedly, would have protested the association, but she had claimed a headache, and the company was blissfully free of her endless, officious pronouncements.

Elizabeth sat with her sister and a few others—wondering where Georgiana had disappeared to. As the conversation fixed on Mr Darcy, however, she decided her absence was for the best.

“I wonder if you will choose a garden walk with Mr Darcy,” Miss Lushington said to Sarah.

Elizabeth wondered whether Miss Lushington would ever apologise to Sarah for nearly causing her to wreck the curricle—and very narrowly avoiding injury to herself and others—but it seemed as though both she and Miss de Bourgh had adopted a ‘it never happened’ attitude.

“He offered to take his turn with a stroll. I refused.”

“Why?” Miss Lushington asked.

“I am certain he is fine company, but why pretend?” Sarah replied. “He has no interest in me, nor I in him. I do not care about searching for clues to either his character or the treasure hunt.”

Jane looked surprised, but Miss Lushington was clearly astonished and appalled.

“You cannot mean it,” that lady said.

Sarah frowned. “Why not?”

Miss Lushington, looking round as if they were being spied upon, lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “It is not how it is done. If you do not wish to encourage a man’s attentions, you simply help him to be dis-couraged. It must always be a man’s idea, whether or not to pursue matrimony. A woman should always be seen as available, even eager.”

“Why?”

“You would not wish to be known as a man-hater, lest one comes along whom you prefer to like.”

“It seems to me,” Sarah said, “that such tactics would only lead to a marriage one does not prefer. It would be much worse, I think, to have to refuse a proposal than to simply be more open about one’s preferences.”

“It need not get to the point of proposing,” Miss Lushington replied. “There are ways to easily discourage a man like Mr Darcy without disappointing those who wish it otherwise. He is known to be very, um, traditional—dull, even. It is why I competed in the curricle race—everyone could see his disapproval of it. But often such actions are not enough discouragement when one has a settlement such as mine. Or yours, Miss Bentley.”

Jane’s lovely face was the picture of astonishment. “You do not want Mr Darcy?”

Miss Lushington lowered her voice even further, so that the others had to lean in more closely. “Of course I do not. He has a terrible reputation in town—although naturally the earl’s family refuses to believe it. I am not so blind—where there is smoke, there is bound to be a flame.”

“Is he ‘traditional and dull’, or is he a dastardly villain? You present quite the paradox,” Elizabeth said with some asperity. “One should never believe, simply because something appears in print, that there is any truth in it. I assumed everyone understood that. But if you are determined not to like him, it seems to me you ought to adopt Miss Bentley’s tactic,” Elizabeth said, annoyed. “Be open and honest.”

“You have never been in society,” Miss Lushington said with unconscious arrogance. “Else you would know better.”

“I have,” Sarah interjected, “and I beg to disagree.”

“You are known for doing things your own way,” Miss Lushington allowed in a tone limned with doubt that Sarah’s ‘ways’ were particularly acceptable. “However, I have my family’s watchful eyes to consider.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, but only Elizabeth saw it.

“The best way to avoid a marriage one does not want is to avoid behaving as the wife such a man wants,” Miss Lushington continued. “One must, naturally, be careful not to be disagreeable. If I were you, I would walk in the garden with Mr Darcy and speak about purchasing a new curricle or ponies for it. He will find the conversation distasteful, but you remain perfectly respectable. You would be surprised by how delicate the feelings of these great men are. Before my sister accepted Lord Ridley’s proposal, she refused three others without enough care. It was bandied about that she was over-particular and not eager to marry. Lord Ridley nearly did not propose. Our mama ensured I learnt the lesson.”

“Still, propose he did,” Elizabeth argued. “Her honesty did not hurt her, and Lord Ridley can be assured that she truly cares for him.”

But Miss Lushington only shrugged. “She might have had a duke.”

The inane conversation was interrupted by the earl clearing his throat. “Mr Darcy proposes a chess tourney for tomorrow, and would invite any who enjoy the game to participate.”

“You see what I mean,” Miss Lushington whispered. “Dull.”

Each chess matchhad a limit of one hour, the player having the most points at the end of said hour being declared winner, and the winner of the best two out of three games advanced to the next level. They had begun with informal pairings; Mr Darcy was not to play anyone except the ultimate winner, which Elizabeth thought very unfair. He was freed from most of the duties of hosting and had the afternoon to himself, while she was required to play game after game against her fellow guests.

The games against Jane were the worst. She tried not to beat her too easily, but it was difficult. Elizabeth had wished to avoid playing her sister at all. But what if Jane lost to, for instance, Miss Bingley? At least she understood Elizabeth’s expertise.

Elizabeth mourned the loss of the closeness they had once shared. Jane did as well, she thought—but somehow, they were unable to bridge the past. The best Elizabeth could manage was to not defeat her too quickly.

Miss de Bourgh’s match against Miss Lushington ended in a squabble that degenerated into the ejection of both. Sarah was an excellent player, Miss Bingley an aggressive one. It did not help either, against Elizabeth’s skill.

Due to the company’s break for dinner, it was nearly nine o’clock before the earl declared his readiness to take up his match against Elizabeth.

“No, no, no,” he declared, when Mr Darcy suggested they begin again on the morrow. “I shall finish this match tonight. Afterwards, we will speak about when to play the finale. I may need a good night’s sleep before our challenge, though, eh?”

Mr Darcy gave her a look to see how she was handling Lord Matlock’s confidence in his ability to beat her; she responded with a benign smile, as if she hardly noticed or cared.

But underestimating Elizabeth was the earl’s downfall.

Mr Darcy watched their game, although he had paid little attention to any other. It was clever of him, since he only had to play the winner of this match, and rather cruel, for his presence was trying to her focus. She could not allow the distraction; his lordship was canny and played a long game. Still, he eventually let down his guard.

“Check.” She saw the moment he looked at the board—truly looked—and realised what she had done. Astonishment, even incredulity lurked in his expression.

“I am getting old,” he said, shaking his head. He had nowhere to go, and just before the one-hour time limit, she had him checkmated.

“Better to quit while I am behind,” the earl announced, to her surprise. “My dignity has taken all the beating it can muster. Darcy, I shall count upon you to uphold the family honour and put this young lady in her place.”

It further surprised Elizabeth that he should forfeit the entire match rather than continue play—but the clock struck ten o’clock at that moment. Realising that she was not the easy prey he had assumed, Lord Matlock had chosen his bed over another game.

“It is getting late,” Mr Darcy said. “I leave it to you, Miss Elizabeth, whether to play tonight or take up the challenge on the morrow.”

“I assure you that I am very able to continue, Mr Darcy. However, if it is past your bedtime, I completely understand.”

He smiled at that, an expression that did something strange to her insides. “I am wide awake and at your disposal.”

Her victory over the earl had been satisfying, but this, she acknowledged to herself, was what she had wanted since the footmen had brought in the chess sets. To challenge him. To show him who I am.