Duels of Every Sort Read online

  Chapter Five

  I was writing a letter to Georgiana when Elizabeth appeared in the drawing room that evening. Polite inquiries were made as to her sister’s improvement, and I noticed the slight darkness under her eyes, no doubt due to the lack of sleep she had gotten whilst tending to Miss Bennet. I was glad to hear that Miss Bennet was better as I did not want Elizabeth to fall ill from neglecting herself.

  Everyone returned to his or her previous activities after the initial pleasantries, and Elizabeth took up some needlework. Unfortunately, Miss Bingley’s previous activity had been hovering over me as I wrote and offering all manner of absurd compliments. I had been doing my best to ignore her, when she continued, “How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

  After a moment, she added, “You write uncommonly fast.”

  “You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

  “How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year! Letters of business too! How odious I should think them!”

  “It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.”

  “Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”

  “I have already told her so once, by your desire.” Here I heard a slight noise from Elizabeth’s corner and looked up to find her paying her needlework uncommon attention and trying very hard not to smile. I felt my irritation with Miss Bingley being replaced by kindred amusement with Elizabeth.

  Miss Bingley went on, “I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

  “Thank you—but I always mend my own.”

  “How can you contrive to write so even?” Here I remained silent. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to smile.

  Again, Miss Bingley changed tact since I was ignoring her. “Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”

  I could not conceal a sigh. “Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present, I have not room to do them justice.”

  “Oh! It is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”

  “They are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.” Again I heard Elizabeth’s attempt to conceal her amusement. I looked up and caught her eye, grinning at her so that Miss Bingley could not see me. However, Miss Bingley could see Elizabeth, and she quickly looked away.

  “It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write ill,” Miss Bingley told the room, at large.

  “That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” Bingley called from where he had been at piquet with Hurst. “He does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darce?”

  I smiled at him. “My style of writing is very different from yours.”

  “Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words and blots the rest.”

  “My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.”

  “Your humility, Mr. Bingley, must disarm reproof,” Elizabeth offered, letting her smile show freely now and her eyes sparkle.

  I knew I should not after my conversation with John, but I could not help replying, “Nothing is more deceitful, Miss Elizabeth, than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.” Her eyebrow rose in that arch manner of hers.

  “Which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?” asked Bingley.

  “The indirect boast—for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told John this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself—yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?”

  “Nay,” cried Bingley, “this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And, yet, I believed what I said of myself to be true. I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off.”

  I glanced at Elizabeth to see that she was following the conversation with rapt attention, her eyebrow still arched. “I daresay you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, ‘Charles, you had better stay till next week,’ you would probably do it—and at another word, might stay another month.”

  “You have only proved by this,” Elizabeth said, “that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself.”

  Bingley grinned at me, before turning to Elizabeth. “I am exceedingly gratified by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did not intend; he would think better of me if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial and ride off as fast as I could.”

  “Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?”

  Bingely’s grin widened, “Well, Darce? Please explain the matter.”

  I looked to Elizabeth, who was looking directly at me. I could see her waiting for my response so that she might tease me by it. “You expect me, Charles, to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Elizabeth, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house has merely desired it, without offering one argument in favor of its propriety.”

  “To yield readily—easily—to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you.”

  I was doing it again, arguing—nay, dueling—with her. Stop it, man! I thought. But I continued, nonetheless, “To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either.”

  “You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of Mr. Bingley’s behavior. But in general and ordinary cases between friends, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?”

  I teased her, “Will it not be advisable before we proceed to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy between the parties?”

  “By all means,” Bingley cried. “Let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size, for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Elizabeth, than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object that Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places when he invokes what John and I affectionately call the Darcy Mask of Inscrutability.”

  I smiled at him and rolled my eyes toward Eliza
beth. She laughed in response. “Yes, I believe Mr. Darcy has quite terrified half of Hertfordshire with his mask.”

  I shrugged and said, “I see your design, Charles. You dislike an argument and want to silence this.”

  “Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Elizabeth will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.”

  Elizabeth shot a look at me and then addressed Bingley, “What you ask is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”

  I grinned and did just that. When I had done, I asked the ladies to provide us some music. Miss Bingley asked Elizabeth to lead the way, but she demurred in favor of looking through the stack of music available. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst played some Italian songs and duets. I found myself staring at Elizabeth again as she sorted through the music atop the pianoforte. I had promised her brother that I would not hurt her, and truly that was the last thing I wanted to do to this adorable creature, but I still did not know how to proceed.

  When Miss Bingley began a lively Scotch air; my feet seemed to propel me toward Elizabeth of their own volition. I came up behind her and said in a low voice, “Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Elizabeth, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?”

  She smiled at me and that eyebrow of hers arched again. When she did not immediately answer, I arched an eyebrow in return. At last she said, “You wanted me, I know to say ‘Yes’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste in joining in such a savage occupation; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all—now despise me if you dare.”

  She had refused me a second time! Was I never to be allowed to dance with her again? I was highly amused, but looked at her very seriously and said, “I believe you know, Miss Elizabeth, that I would not dare anything of the sort.” She was then called to take her turn at the instrument, and I delighted in watching her. I had never been so bewitched by any woman as I was by her.

  Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous and, not so subtly, suggested that Elizabeth should retire to check on Miss Bennet. Once she had gone, Miss Bingley began to disparage her once again. Only this time she attempted to provoke me into disliking the Bennets by talking of my supposed marriage and planning my happiness in such an alliance. She offered advice in checking my mother-in-law’s tongue and the boisterousness of my youngest sister-to-be. She even went so far as to suggest that I endeavor to check Elizabeth’s impertinence—one of the aspects that made her most intriguing.

  “Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?”

  “Oh! yes—Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle the judge. They are in the same profession you know; only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”

  Really, my tongue seemed to have run away with me tonight. I knew I should not say it, that it would only provoke Miss Bingley to be more cruel toward Elizabeth, but I seemed incapable of stopping. “It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expressions, but their color and shape, and the eye-lashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.” As I knew she would be, Miss Bingley was affronted by this remark but, happily, remained silent for the rest of the evening. I retired soon afterward, pausing briefly outside Elizabeth’s door. Tonight, I had not been nearly as indifferent to her as I had planned to be. And she would still be here for some days.

  --- --- ---

  The next day, I was out for a walk when I came across Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. They insisted on attaching themselves to my arms, and we continued down the path. I was not subjected to their company long, however. We came across Elizabeth, bonnet in hand rather than on her head, on another path. Miss Bingley was immediately rude, “I did not know you intended to walk Miss Eliza.”

  “I usually enjoy a morning walk, Miss Bingley.”

  “Please join us, Miss Elizabeth,” I offered.

  Elizabeth was on the point of speech, when Miss Bingley interjected, her grasp on my arm tightening, “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”

  Elizabeth looked from Miss Bingley to me. I saw the flash of annoyance in her eyes, but she responded with a laugh, “No, no. Stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoiled by admitting a fourth. I was just about to return to the house anyway. Goodbye.”

  She ran off gaily, and I watched her curls bouncing as she disappeared. I, too, declared my own intention of returning to the house before I was subjected to more of Miss Bingley’s jealousy. My mind was in turmoil and a walk with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst was not the sort of exercise I needed to clear it. I decided a round of fencing practice was in order.

  I retrieved the wooden box in which my foils are kept when traveling from my room and made my way to the ballroom. There was ample room in that place to allow me to run through various styles of attack and defense. Though I had no opponent, I could still work up a good sweat—which usually helped tame my thoughts as well. Once in the room, I removed my coat and began a leisurely warm up before moving into a more complicated series of parries and thrusts.

  I do not know how long I had been thus engaged when I heard a noise from a doorway, which had stood partially open. I stopped mid-thrust and turned to see what had made the noise. I found Elizabeth standing there, clearly embarrassed for having found me in such a position—again. I righted myself and felt heat in my own cheeks. She dropped a curtsey and muttered, “Forgive me, sir. I did not intend to intrude. I heard a noise as I passed by and wondered what it was. I’ll leave you to your exercise.”

  She turned to go. I will never know what made me call out and stop her. I only know that I did. “Please, wait, Miss Elizabeth. You are not intruding. I was just about finished.” I felt her gaze roam over me and take in my disheveled appearance.

  She blushed again, and averted her eyes, “You seem to take fencing practice quite seriously. I’ve never seen anyone who could match John’s skill the way you do.”

  “Yes, John is very skilled. He and I spent many happy hours at Cambridge sparring with one another.” Again, I have no idea where it came from. My tongue seemed to have disconnected itself from my better judgment. “Would—Would you like a lesson, Miss Elizabeth?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Had I really just offered to give a fencing lesson to a proper young lady—and one who was not even related to me?

  Elizabeth looked up sharply. Our eyes met and locked. I could see the struggle between embarrassment, propriety, and desire in her eyes. I was sure she could see a similar struggle in mine. At last she nodded and moved into the room.

  I retrieved another foil from my set and moved to stand next to her. She looked up at me shyly. I took her hand and showed her how to grasp the hilt. Touching her without the impediment of gloves was like heaven. Her hand was warm in mine, and I felt that warmth throughout my entire body. I released her reluctantly to demonstrate several positions, which she mimicked. There was very little speech between us—only enough so that I could convey what she was to do. Once I had shown her the basic numbered positions, I stood opposite her, and we crossed blades. I called out a number, and she blocked my blade with the appropriate move. Our eyes never left one another. She had a natural ability—I assumed John had given her a lesson or two before—but she was breathing hard and was slightly clumsy with the foil. But, then again, so was I and not from exertion.

  She made one block incorrectly, and again without thinking, I set aside my blade and moved to stand behind her. I placed my right hand over hers on the hilt and placed my other hand on her left shoulder, guiding her through t
he movement. She followed my lead, leaning into me. I became intoxicated by the scent of roses in her hair and the way that her body fit against mine. We moved together through a series of blocks as if in a dance. I had never felt anything so intense or so right as holding Elizabeth in my arms.

  I stopped moving, and she looked up at me. When our eyes met, I knew that she was just as affected by our closeness as I. Our hands, which held the foil, dropped to our sides and my other arm moved from her shoulder to wind about her waist, pulling her more tightly against me. A sigh escaped her, and my gaze dropped to her full, perfect lips. I leaned down, rational thought having completely left me at this point. My lips were a mere inch from hers when a noise in the hallway startled us both.

  Elizabeth sprung away from me and dropped the sword. It clattered to the floor, and the haze cleared from my mind. I had nearly kissed Elizabeth! I looked to her to find her staring at her feet, her cheeks crimson and her breathing heavy. God! I still wanted to kiss her. “I—I,” she stuttered. “I thank you for the lesson, sir. Please excuse me.” With that, she fairly ran from the room.

  And that was it. I knew then and there that it was futile. I was completely in love with Elizabeth, and now nothing would stop me from making her my wife. I did not care what society thought, and my family would learn to accept her once they met her and saw how happy she made me. As soon as she and her sister returned to Longbourn, it appeared Mr. Bennet would be receiving not one, but two callers with questions about his daughters.

  Unfortunately, I first had to find Elizabeth, apologize for my forward behavior, and gain her permission to court her. Today was turning out to be much more eventful than I had anticipated.

  I grabbed my coat and hurried through the door through which Elizabeth had disappeared. She was nowhere to be seen, but a maid—who I presumed had made the noise that startled us—was arranging a vase of fall foliage on a table. I asked if she had noted where Elizabeth had gone, and the girl directed me toward the garden with a curtsey. Seeing that the doors at the end of the hallway stood open, I walked through and squinted against the bright sunlight. I looked left and right, but saw no sign of Elizabeth.