Page 14 of Gentlemen of Honor (Bennet Gang Duology #2)
A Friendly Bout
Darcy opened his eyes to a pleasant and well-appointed bedchamber done predominantly in a soothing cream but with accents of forest green and a lighter, nod-to-spring version of the same color. The spacious bed was undeniably comfortable, no expense spared for a room that was, apparently, solely for guests. Aside from Miss Kitty’s terrible artwork in the entrance hall, one could not fault Mrs. Oakwood’s décor, a pleasant mixture of elegance and comfort of which Darcy was a touch jealous. Laudable as centuries of family treasures were, he wouldn’t mind redoing a few rooms in Pemberley to the more clean, modern styles of Dovemark. Not that his home held any of the ostentation of his Aunt Catherine’s or of the Matlock country seat. Darcy could, at least, say that his family had long evidenced impeccable taste.
Patrick already bustled about, his quiet preparations what had roused Darcy. Upon seeing him awake, his valet gestured to the door that led to the sitting room which adjoined to Richard’s chamber, and asked, “Do you believe you and Colonel Fitzwilliam would prefer to breakfast in your sitting room, or in the parlor with the family?”
Darcy’s stomach rumbled, reminded that he’d eaten little the evening before, holding out hope that Elizabeth would reappear to dine with him…which she had not. Determined that they must speak, he answered his valet’s question with one of his own. “Do we know which of the family might be in attendance?”
The knowing glint in Patrick’s eyes informed Darcy that his subtlety was wasted on his valet. “Miss Elizabeth is in the stable with Master Thomas and Miss Lydia. I am uncertain when they will join Miss Bennet and Miss Mary in the breakfast parlor. It is believed that Mrs. Oakwood and Miss Kitty will both breakfast in their chambers.” Something near to a smile eased Patrick’s often unreadable countenance. “Master Matthew is improved this morning.”
“Is he? That is good news.” Throwing back the covers, Darcy swung his feet to the floor. “Perhaps some coffee and toast are in order before I venture out.” Were he quick, he may be able to catch Elizabeth in the stable. Would she be willing to send her younger siblings away so they might speak? They could walk in the garden, much of which could be seen from the house. That would satisfy propriety.
Darcy made quick work of his ablutions, dressing, and devouring enough toast to tide over his empty innards, half his attention on the door to Richard’s room. Fortunately, it remained closed, for Darcy would not permit anyone to delay him.
He escaped their sitting room and the upper hall unseen, then trusted his memory to bring him to the back entrance that young Matthew had led them through on Darcy’s first call to Dovemark. Had that been little more than a month ago? How chaotic life had been since meeting the Bennets and Oakwoods. How lacking in the usual monotony of estate business and fending off unattached ladies that had been his lot since his father’s death.
Stepping out into crisp November air that smelled more of winter than autumn, he strode up the path to the walled garden and inside. It truly was a lovely place, and as he walked the length, he was entertained by imagining which aspects he could attribute to Elizabeth. Had she so carefully trimmed those climbing roses? Tended that slumbering bed? Shaped the habit of that apple tree? Did she prefer the careful refinement evidenced within the walls of this garden, or the free, natural trails they’d walked the day he’d asked to court her?
Before he fled to London.
Darcy grimaced.
As he drew near the far end of the garden, he heard footfalls without, but rather than enter, they took the shorter path back to the house. He paused, permitting the sound to fade, certain that hurried tread wasn’t Elizabeth. He’d noted that her steps, even on the gravel walks, were all but silent.
Stepping free of the garden’s walls, he cast a quick glance up the path to take in Miss Lydia’s disappearing form. Surely, Elizabeth would still be in the stable? The youngest Bennet sister didn’t seem the sort to be more dedicated to caring for their mounts than Elizabeth.
He entered to the sight of her leaning against Tuck’s stall door, in silent communion with her horse. Tuck gazed at his mistress, soft brown eyes filled with adoration, and Elizabeth petted his nose. Darcy closed the stable door with a gentle thud. Tuck huffed, his breath slightly disarraying Elizabeth’s curls, and aimed a glare over her shoulder at Darcy.
Elizabeth chuckled. “I do not think Tuck cares for you, Mr. Darcy. ”
He blinked. He’d yet to speak. “How do you know it is I who stand behind you?”
Elizabeth turned to him, her eyes inscrutable. “Were it any of my siblings aside from Kitty, Tuck would be pleased to see them, and Kitty would not have entered without a complaint about the smell of horses on her lips. Nor would most people stand silent. That is your propensity.” She shrugged. “And I could hear you coming up the walk. You have a specific, assertive footfall.”
“I was moments ago analyzing your footfalls.”
“Why then, we have something in common.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Have you come to enumerate the faults in my way of walking?”
He shook his head, a memory of Elizabeth’s gently swaying hips as she strode away from him immediately intruding. “I find no fault in the way you walk.”
“And yet, you must find something about me quite objectionable, to have behaved as you did.”
He grimaced. “I behaved badly. I am aware of that. One of the reasons I sought you out this morning is to apologize.” Realizing that Elizabeth wouldn’t take that as an actual apology, as most women of his acquaintance would, he continued, “I am sorry. I should not have left without speaking with you. You deserve the opportunity to defend your actions.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Defend my actions? That is rather accusatory.”
He resisted the urge to press a hand through his hair, nervous. “I concede that it is, and perhaps I mean my words as an accusation. You permitted me to come to know you under false pretense, and then did not have the courtesy to inform me of such. A courtesy I believe your sisters afforded their suitors.”
“I had not the opportunity.” Anger touched Elizabeth’s tone. “I seem to recall you looking at me as if you would kiss me, and then Jane and Mr. Bingley’s return. My choices were to blurt out the truth in a moment when, I must admit, the Boney Bandits were rather far from my mind, or to tell you later, before numerous witnesses.”
He strode across the space that separated them to frown down at her. “You could have held me back. Taken me aside for a moment before we returned to the house.”
“After I had shown such a complete lack of restraint when it comes to you?” She shook her head. “I want to enter into a courtship, not be compromised into a union.”
Warmth unfurled in him, derailing his next point of argument as he realized what Elizabeth was saying. She wanted a courtship, and she doubted her ability to resist the temptation of him. Darcy fought an uncharacteristic grin of triumph.
“You need not appear so smug, sir,” Elizabeth snapped.
He schooled his expression. “I am merely pleased to learn that you still wish a courtship.”
“Yes, but we have much to discuss before it can be declared officially.” As she spoke, her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth.
“Do we?” They did. He knew as much. And yet…
Tuck huffed, blowing Elizabeth’s curls forward.
Pivoting, she backed away from both the stall and Darcy. “Yes. We do, and we need both privacy and something to occupy us.”
Darcy took a step back as well. He was a gentleman. A good, proper sort of gentleman, not a cad like Wickham. He would not kiss Elizabeth Bennet until she agreed to be his wife.
His wife…was that truly what he wanted? Despite her wild ways? Her flagrant disregard for the rules of propriety?
He wanted her. That much he could not deny. But to make her mistress of Pemberley? Responsible for bringing Georgiana out into society? What madness would Elizabeth teach his sweet, innocent sister?
Not so innocent, he corrected, recalling Georgiana’s talk about married women taking lovers.
“You appear confused,” Elizabeth said softly.
“I am. There is much to laud about you, and yet much to abhor.”
“Abhor?” she repeated flatly.
Darcy winced. “Perhaps too strong a word.” She opened her mouth to speak, her expression pinched, but he cut her off with, “I am sorry.” How did he always manage to say the wrong thing when it came to Elizabeth? With most women, he could say anything and they simply smiled and agreed.
But was not part of Elizabeth’s allure that she was not most women? Was he being fickle, drawn to her uniqueness and yet regretting that she did not conform to his ideals?
“Come with me.” She whirled and strode to the far wall, beside the tack room.
His brow furrowing in confusion, Darcy followed. “Come with you wh—”
He broke off as she pulled on a single stone, set low in the wall, and a section swung inward.
Darcy gaped at the hole, peripherally aware of Elizabeth taking a lantern from a shelf and sparking it to life with a block of flint and a dull blade. Light bloomed, the flame rising until it bobbed merrily.
Hoisting the lantern she turned to him, her eyes dancing more brightly than the flickering glow. “Do you trust me, Mr. Darcy?”
He looked over his shoulder at the length of the stable, empty save for horses, then back to the dark opening in the stone wall. He strongly suspected that once he passed through and the door closed, he would have no means by which to leave until Elizabeth permitted him too. And if he never left, no one would ever find him.
She met his gaze, her eyes daring him to doubt her. Or to join her. He knew not which. His mind flashed back to the day he’d thought was their first meeting, on the street outside the magistrate’s office. Elizabeth had a similar look on her face that day.
That expression, that liveliness, intelligence, and surety, had beckoned to him then, and their call was now even stronger. He strode forward, following her into the darkness.
As he suspected, Elizabeth immediately closed the secret door, shutting them in, but to his relief, on this side of the door, there was a handle. He studied it as she moved about, lighting candles stuck into wax-coated candelabras. The abundance of drips, which also pooled on the floor beneath each, spoke of how many hours had been spent in the cavern in which they stood.
Darcy took in the smooth stone floor, the cavern roof above, and a tunnel across from him that led into deeper darkness. Beside the door through which they’d come, the wall that backed the stable’s tack room boasted racks of weapons. Most, he could see from where he stood, were dulled and scuffed. Practice blades of all sorts. One rack, however, held several fine blades and two rows of knives, some designed for fighting, and others for throwing. Among the swords, he recognized Enaj’s rapier.
“This is where we train. Until recently, we did so daily.”
Darcy came full circle to find Elizabeth watching him. The candelabras lit, the still glowing lantern stood once more on the shelf inside the door, along with several others. “Why are we here?” he asked.
“I will spot you that question,” Elizabeth replied with a mischievous grin. “We are here in part for the privacy, and in part that we might talk while resisting temptation.”
“I can resist temptation,” he said stiffly. What sort of rogue did she take him for?
Elizabeth’s amusement grew. “Can you? Or have you, twice now, nearly kissed me? Because I have twice nearly kissed you.”
He frowned, unable to deny her point.
“Don some padding and select your weapon.” She gestured first to a row of pegs from which fencing jackets dangled, then to the rack of dulled weapons he’d noted. “We are going to have a friendly bout. Whenever one of us scores a hit, that person may ask a question.”
Fence with her? He looked her delicate frame up and down. “That seems hardly fair. I have had years of training. I would attempt to be careful, but I might end up harming…” He trailed off as her eyebrows climbed higher and higher.
“Since you are so sure of yourself, despite what I would say is overwhelming evidence to the contrary, you can have no reason not to face me.”
“Overwhelming?” he protested.
She smiled slightly and repeated, “Don some padding and choose your weapon.”
Fortunately, among the jackets he found a padded chest guard, the straps of which could be let out to accommodate him, for all the jackets were too small. Mindful of Patrick, he removed his coat before donning it, so as not to wrinkle or damage the garment. He tightened the vest’s buckles over his waistcoat and the shirt beneath, acutely aware that he and Elizabeth were alone in this cavern.
She, likewise, selected a vest, belting it tightly. She then went to the rack of blunted weapons and selected a rapier, obviously familiar with the offerings. Darcy, in contrast, tried several, testing their weight and the feel of them in his hand before choosing.
He turned back to find Elizabeth waiting in the center of the cavern, one side of her skirt fastened in such a way as to give her mobility…and to reveal a portion of shapely leg. Darcy swallowed, suddenly feeling at a disadvantage.
“Only hits to the padding count,” she said.
He wrenched his gaze from her leg and nodded, crossing to join her.
Elizabeth raised her sword. “On your call, Mr. Darcy.”
“En garde,” he said, bringing up his blade as well. “Prêt. Allez!”
Lightning fast, her blade whipped in, scoring a hit.
Darcy bit back an exclamation as she danced away, saying, “Do you want to court me, Mr. Darcy?”
Chagrined, he snapped, “I do,” turning slowly to keep her before him.
She darted in again but this time he parried, following with a lunge of his own. Elizabeth slapped his blade away without seeming to look, her gaze locked with his. She came back with a feint that he only realized was false when she reversed her blade and scored another hit.
“Do you intend for your wife to be a meek, timid, quiet sort of woman?” Elizabeth asked as she circled.
His mother had been quiet. Calm. Aloof, even. Far more like Miss Bennet, though he suspected that miss of hidden vivacity. Darcy’s father had loved Anne Darcy née Fitzwilliam very much, and their home had been peaceful. Darcy had always imagined himself with someone like his mother.
Until he met Elizabeth.
He shook his head, dodging to the left as she attempted another hit. He struck, but Elizabeth’s blunted rapier deflected his.
“A headshake is all the reply I may expect?” she said, the tip of her blade weaving a swirling infinity-like pattern designed to distract.
“Is that another question?” he countered.
She charged in, exchanging a series of rapid, light blows with him. Darcy mustered years of practice, deflecting them. When she danced away again, it was without scoring a third hit.
“I will spot you a question, Mr. Darcy,” she taunted, circling to his left. “Even though your answers have proved rather stingy.”
There was only one thing he truly wanted to know. “When you wed, will you give this up?”
She was on the attack again, and he was forced to defend. He fell back before the onslaught. He hadn’t felt so outmatched in a bout since…in truth, he could not recall since when. He was known in his circle as unbeatable.
Her blows so fast that he could hardly attend to her words while deflecting them, she replied, “That depends, Mr. Darcy, on what you mean by ‘this.’ Being a Boney Bandit? Yes. With Mr. Collins gone and Mr. Bingley set to purchase Netherfield Park, the need for the Boney Bandits is over. Even were it not, my sisters are marrying. They have made promises to the men who court them, and they will keep their word.”
He moved farther back, warding off blows, his arm growing tired with the effort. Elizabeth lunged, her wrist twisting, and suddenly his blade soared free. She reached up and plucked it from the air.
“If you mean fencing, then no. Never.” She smiled, a warm, hopeful smile. “I would greatly enjoy, however, if I could marry a gentleman who would be willing to practice with me.”
She tossed him his sword.
Darcy caught it, giving thanks that he did. He didn’t wish to embarrass himself any further with his ineptitude.
Elizabeth’s smile fell. “That is, assuming I am able to find a gentleman who does not mind losing on occasion.”
“On occasion?” He shook his head, rueful. “I have the suspicion I will lose a great deal.” And enjoy nearly every moment of it.
This time, her smile was one of relief. “That, Mr. Darcy, is what practice is for. You are a very fine fencer.”
“So I used to think. I am only glad no one witnessed the pummeling I just endured.”
“On the contrary. Were I facing anyone else, I would be a dozen questions in by now. You acquitted yourself well. I am satisfied that, with dedication, you will eventually be able to win.” Her grin returned in full. “On occasion.”
She still stood on guard, one leg forward, blade held at the ready, yet her frame loose. Several of her curls had tumbled free to cascade over her shoulders. Her color was high. Her eyes glowed.
He’d never seen a more beautiful sight. He desperately wanted to kiss her.
She swayed forward, the tip of her blade dropping.
Her eyes snapped wide and she shook her head. “You are not to look at me like that, sir, until after we are wed.”
“Then you will permit me to court you, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, resting the dull sword tip on the cavern floor.
“I believe I must.”
Not quite the affirmation for which he’d hoped, but he would accept it. “I do have more questions.”
She moved to the rack of weapons. “Ask them.”
“Where does that tunnel lead?”
With a glance that way, she replied, “To a hidden entrance below Oakham Mount. Without that, what we do…did, would be much more difficult. This way, we could change out of our gowns here.”
He tried not to envision that as she crossed to the rack of padding and began loosening the buckles of her vest. Darcy returned his borrowed blade to its place, marshaling his thoughts, then asked, “Will you teach me that move? The one you’ve twice used to disarm me?”
Tugging at the straps on her vest, she cast him a quick smile. “I imagine that would be only fair.”
He crossed to remove his padding, his senses full of how close he stood to her as he did so. He hung up the padded vest and risked a glance to find she still hadn’t removed hers, struggling to loosen a buckle in the small of her back.
“May I be of assistance?” he asked before he could think through the offer.
“If you would be so kind, yes.” Her back to him, she swept her loose curls forward over one shoulder, out of the way.
He moved closer, reaching to work the buckle loose. A sweet, honeysuckle scent slipped over him, filling his senses. “I have another question,” he murmured.
She turned her head, revealing a flush to her cheek. “What would that be, Mr. Darcy?”
What would you do if I clasped a hand on one of your delicate shoulders and turned you to face me? Clearing his throat, what he asked aloud was, “Do you speak French?” The buckle, which he’d all but forgotten, slipped free, loosening the vest.
“Mieux que toi, mais pas aussi bien que Mary. Elle est la vraie compétente. Je manque de dévouement,” Elizabeth said quietly, leaning slightly in his direction.
Darcy exhaled, seeking restraint, and dropped his hands from where they clasped the fastening at the small of her back. “I believe the buckle is loose.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured.
Stepping away from him, she removed the vest, then leaned down to unfasten her skirt. Watching as closely as he was, he realized that she had some sort of strap sewn into the underside that allowed her to secure both skirt and petticoat out of the way.
Did she have such precautions sewn into all of her undergarments?
He took a step backward. He had to escape this cavern before he proved himself no gentleman at all. He cleared his throat. “May I assume we are now officially courting, Miss Elizabeth?”
“You may.” Her back still to him, she smoothed her skirt. “We should join the others at breakfast. Between the news that Matthew is reviving and our courtship, Mama will be overjoyed.”
“Very well.”
“Help me extinguish the candles, please.”
Not looking back at him, she started forward, moving around the cavern. Darcy went the other way, meeting her halfway around. Only the lantern by the door still cast light. In the shadows, Elizabeth’s face was a mystery, but the honeysuckle sweetness of her washed over him again. He imagined he should move away. He did not.
After a long moment, she whirled, crossing to the door. She reached for the handle, then yanked her hand back. Sucking in a deep breath, she slid aside a small piece of wood he hadn’t taken note of and, on tiptoe, pressed her eyes to the door. Returning her heels to the floor, she slid the wood back into place and opened the door.
“After you,” she said. “I will extinguish the lantern.” As he passed by her into the stable, she added, “Thank you.”
He turned back, confused. “For getting trounced so thoroughly?”
The lantern darkened, she closed the door before once more facing him. “For proving yourself a gentleman,” she replied, and strode past him to lead the way out of the stable.