Page 5 of A Good Memory is Unpardonable (Frolic and Romance #2)

Four

T he way Elizabeth usually tells it, I was only lured to Hertfordshire by means of duress.

She has probably written something about a wager in which she pitted her wit against my pride and felt assured of the victory.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I do not doubt that she expected to foist one of her sisters off on me.

She claims she was nearly successful, but I was never in any danger of falling for one of the Bennet sisters.

The simple reason is that the sister I learned to prefer was no longer a Bennet.

But there, I am getting ahead of myself.

Charles—I shall hereafter call him Bingley, for the family name was now his by right—had little experience of the world beyond Eton and Cambridge.

Barely graduated, he had expected a Grand Tour and a few years of leisure before assuming any sort of responsibility.

I had once counseled Andrew not to keep his illness from his younger brother, but it was his judgment that sorrow deferred was sorrow foreshortened.

And so, Bingley had but two months of intelligence before he had to bury his brother and head the household.

When I arrived in Hertfordshire, I expected disorder and confusion. I was disappointed.

It was Elizabeth—ahem, Mrs. Bingley, as we were not yet on intimate terms—it was she who saw that I was received properly since Bingley was riding the perimeter of his new estate at the moment.

And when I say “received properly,” I do not mean that she arrayed the servants and set out a formal tea service.

I mean that she hushed everyone up and hastened me upstairs to refresh myself in peace before Miss Bingley learned of my arrival.

This gesture alone fixed her firmly in my mind as a kindred spirit.

I later discovered that she had gained her wisdom in managing discreetly by surviving nineteen years with her mother. To this day, I am in awe of that feat, for my first meeting with Mrs. Bennet nearly sent me speeding back to London.

I had not completed my bow to her before she laid claim to me for her daughters.

A local Assembly was in the offing, and we were all expected to attend.

Even Elizabeth, a widow in half-mourning, would make her appearance to sit on the edge of the room with the other matrons.

As a bachelor, I was assured that my company in the neighborhood would be most joyously received, but not until I had promised a dance to each of the Bennet sisters—and Miss Bingley.

With half my evening thus spoken for, and Bingley’s as well, I expect Mrs. Bennet felt herself quite at an advantage of her neighbors.

One thing was certain. Elizabeth was correct in declaring her sisters beautiful. What she failed to inform me of was that each one possessed some fatal shortcoming.

Jane, the eldest, seemed the most likely to catch a man’s interest. Firstly, there was her age, for she was two and twenty, ripe yet fresh, and full of the sort of mature sweetness one might hope to find in a prospective wife.

And she did possess rather remarkable looks—golden hair and eyes so blue they were nearly violet.

I confess, I did look at her two or three times, but I found her rather bland and empty-headed.

Not that she lacked intelligence; she simply lacked the passion to spark her interest in anything.

I could never declare this to Elizabeth, for it became obvious at once that of all her sisters, Jane was her favorite. However, I no longer wondered why Andrew had chosen to break with convention and marry the second sister.

After Jane came Mary, and her beauty was understated, but still evident if one could entice her to look up from her book. I shall end my observations there because someday Elizabeth will read this, and I dare not describe my impressions of her sister’s musical talent.

Catherine was next, and there I drew the line, for she was the same age as my “baby” sister Georgiana.

And though she brushed it off with inelegant carelessness, it was all too soon apparent that she was far less sure of herself and even more willing to follow bad advice than my sister had ever been. .. a staggering accomplishment.

Then there was Lydia.

I shall say no more.

The only person who truly intrigued me from Longbourn was Mr. Bennet.

He sat in near silence, his forehead frequently resting on his index finger as he watched the various performances of his women folk.

He seldom looked Elizabeth’s way, but he nearly always found it necessary to remove some dust from his eye when he did.

He was an older man, probably double his wife’s years, and he had the stooped posture of one who read more than he walked.

Very well, I could speak equitably with a learned man.

But there was a dry sort of bitterness in his words that I could not like.

He reminded me of one of my masters at Eton—a man of brilliant mind and nearly limitless abilities, but a series of misfortunes and disappointments had made him a scant shell of a human who resorted to mocking others for his own amusement.

That was my first impression of Elizabeth’s family, and it did not leave a pleasant flavor.

“Well, Mr. Darcy,” she challenged me later over a rather stimulating game of chess, “which is it to be? My suggestion would be Jane, for she is ten times prettier than any of the rest of us, but you are quite free to choose for yourself.”

I feigned a frown and moved my rook and wondered what was wrong with Mrs. Bingley’s mirror. “You needn’t trouble yourself to push your sisters my way, as I am certain Mrs. Bennet will do the job creditably.”

She placed her knight and smiled brightly. “Which is why I must pretend to be cooperating with her. But am I in earnest, or am I merely sporting with you because I enjoy provoking you?”

“If I presume the former,” I replied evenly as I considered the board, “it would be no credit to you. If the latter...” I put my pawn in her way, drawing a knowing smile... “it would be no credit to myself.”

“Come, Darcy, do you two mean to play all night?” Bingley protested from his stance by the hearth. “I never understood why people enjoy that tiresome game.”

“Mr. Darcy was a champion at Cambridge,” Miss Bingley informed him archly. “You ought to try it, Charles, for I always say the mark of a true gentleman is in his pursuits.”

Elizabeth’s mouth twitched as she claimed my pawn. “Is that true, Mr. Darcy?”

“Is what true? That I was captain of the Chess Club, or that it is the pursuit of a gentleman?”

“The latter, for you would have denied the former out of hand if it were an exaggeration.”

“Then I shall deny the latter.” I made my move and enjoyed to the fullest the expression of awe in her chocolate-colored eyes when she saw why I had sacrificed my pawn. “Any man can play a game. A gentleman makes an art of it.”

“It is only a pity there is no one available to match your skill, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley interjected. I did not miss the pointed look that passed between the sisters by law, but Elizabeth, to her credit, smiled sweetly in the face of the other’s scorn.

“Indeed, it is a pity. I hope my humble abilities are sufficient to provide an hour or two of amusement, but I am under no illusions about my prowess.”

I captured her knight, and set it aside with care. “Consider me vastly amused, Mrs. Bingley.”

She pursed her lips and tilted her head. “That is all well and good, but you miss the entire reason I agreed to the match in the first place.”

“So you could make use of your captive audience to extol the fine qualities of your sisters?” I asked mildly.

“You know, Mr. Darcy, you are not half as thick as you look.”

“Oh, do not be fooled, madam. I am quite inflexibly thick when I set my mind to it.”

I think my favorite way of meditating on Elizabeth’s face is with that quirk to her brow—playful and clever or thoughtful and cool, that same look can convey a thousand moods. She favored me with it again, and that was the first time I felt my grip on my heart slipping.

“And what have you set your mind to at the moment, if I may ask?”

“I was thinking of asking one of them to play a game of chess.”

“Chess? Now there is a fine picture!” Miss Bingley snorted.

Dash it all, I had nearly forgot she was listening, and she looked none too pleased about my continued presence at the chess table while she waited on the sofa.

“Miss Kitty, or Miss Lydia, trying to hold two thoughts in their heads is quite outlandish enough, but to try to match you! Oh, no, Mr. Darcy, it would be humiliating to yourself, even if they do not share the capacity for shame.”

For the first time, I noticed that Elizabeth’s cheek was flinching.

Her jaw was tight, her eyes hard, and her nostrils fluttering with anger.

But she refused to allow Miss Bingley to goad her.

I understood then that this must have been a regular thing between them, and to my dismay, Bingley scarcely noticed.

There was nothing to be done by me, however, save to play along with the innocent party. I folded my arms and returned a sage look for Miss Bingley’s acerbity.

“As a matter of fact, I do have my opponent chosen, and I have no doubt it will prove interesting. I believe I will challenge Mr. Bennet.”

Elizabeth rewarded me with a grateful smile. I remember that most of all, above anything else that happened all that week. I had come to the house as a near stranger to her, and now, I had won a friend.

I had few true friends in life. Perhaps it was because I was so cautious in the choosing of my inner circles, and the loss of Andrew had been a devastating blow that Charles could never make up. His widow, however, was beginning to step slowly and inexorably into that wounded hole.

It was a pity I had to beat her at chess.