Page 35 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)

" I declare, we have grown far too comfortable this evening," Miss Bingley announced. "Let us enliven the proceedings with a round of Questions and Commands! It shall be such a diverting little pastime, do you not think?"

Elizabeth enjoyed parlour games among her own family and friends.

But she was less enamoured of them at house parties where she knew few people well.

The games were inevitably transformed into tedious exercises in false modesty and thinly veiled competitions, more suited to the ambitions of the players than to innocent amusement.

The party was gathered in the drawing room.

She sat on Jane’s left, Mr. Bingley occupied the space to Jane's right, radiating his usual good-natured enthusiasm, and Mr. Darcy sat on Elizabeth's other side.

Mr. and Mrs. Hurst lounged opposite them, he with his perpetual glass of spirits and she with her embroidery, though Elizabeth suspected the latter was employed more as an ornament than an occupation.

Miss Bingley, seated next to Mrs. Hurst, presided over the gathering with the self-possession of a duchess at her own court.

Her gown of amber silk had surely been chosen to complement her complexion.

She had positioned herself where the light from both the candles and the fire would strike the elaborate arrangement of her dark hair, and her every gesture seemed calculated for maximum effect.

Elizabeth was still attired in a less formal gown, as was Jane, and observing the contrast between them and Miss Bingley, was aware of their hostess’s triumph in that regard.

She exchanged a glance with Jane, catching the wariness in her sister’s eyes. Miss Bingley’s tone was too casual, her smile too perfectly arranged, and her eyes flickered with the gleam of anticipated triumph.

Apparently, Miss Bingley thought she could repair the damage that had been done earlier in the day. She truly was relentless.

"Certainly, Caroline. I do enjoy these diversions," Mr. Bingley said, but there was something different in his tone. Elizabeth thought his cordiality a shade too even, his smile a fraction too fixed, as though he were issuing some kind of warning. But that hardly seemed likely.

Mr. Hurst gave a grunt which might be interpreted as assent though he shot a heated look at his wife. Mrs. Hurst looked up from her embroidery with a tepid smile.

"How delightful," she murmured, though there was a conspicuous absence of surprise in her expression. "I confess, Caroline, I had wondered whether you might suggest it."

Miss Bingley's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Had you indeed? How prescient of you, Louisa."

The sisters regarded each other across the space between their chairs. Mrs. Hurst returned to her embroidery with deliberate focus, while Miss Bingley's fingers drummed against her silk skirts.

Mr. Darcy said nothing, but his dark eyes moved deliberately to Elizabeth, as though waiting to gauge her response.

She found his attention both unsettling and oddly reassuring— unsettling because she felt inexplicably conscious of his regard, reassuring because she suspected he harboured the same reservations about Miss Bingley's motives.

"What say you, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked, tilting her head towards him. "Are you prepared to risk your dignity for the sake of our collective entertainment?"

"I was not aware my dignity was so precarious as to be threatened by a parlour game, Miss Elizabeth," he replied drily.

A silver bowl, already prepared and filled with folded slips of paper, was placed upon the polished table by one of the footmen.

Miss Bingley had clearly arranged the entire affair well in advance, for the servant appeared without being summoned and the bowl was conveniently at hand.

There was nothing spontaneous about the proceedings, though their hostess performed her little charade with admirable commitment.

“Now then,” Miss Bingley announced, “as our most independent guest, Miss Elizabeth must have the honour of playing first, for she, at least, requires no example to follow.”

In Miss Bingley's lexicon, independence was not a virtue to be admired, particularly not in young ladies of modest fortune. Elizabeth rose, her movements as graceful as she could make them.

She reached into the bowl slowly, allowing her fingers to hover over the slips whilst her mind raced.

Whatever Miss Bingley had planned, Elizabeth was determined to turn it to her own advantage.

She ignored the paper that had conveniently slipped closest to her and chose another, unfolding it with care.

“Invent a proverb , ” she read aloud, her brows arching in amusement. “How very edifying.”

Jane gave a soft half laugh, half groan .

Elizabeth pressed her hand to her heart in mock injury. “Jane, how little you think of my wisdom! Proverbs are but common sense dressed for Sunday, and no one parades common sense better than I.”

Miss Bingley smiled, though there was an air of disappointment about her. “We shall all be much improved, I am certain.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat with ceremony and gazed about the room, searching for inspiration.

She had no farther to look than Miss Bingley, who had positioned herself so intentionally in the room.

Adopting the air of a philosopher pronouncing a maxim, she declared, “He who sits nearest the fire must not complain of the heat . ”

A soft ripple of laughter stirred the room.

Mr. Hurst snorted into his glass, Mr. Bingley’s eyes sparkled with delight, and Mr. Darcy even laughed aloud, not boisterously, but with a genuine, unguarded mirth that startled Elizabeth with its warmth.

Their eyes met, and for an instant she saw his own surprise.

Miss Bingley’s smile froze almost imperceptibly. She shifted upon her seat, smoothing the tassel of the cushion nearest her with unnecessary care. She may have understood Elizabeth’s meaning, for her colour rose faintly. “How very droll, Miss Elizabeth.”

Mr. Darcy’s mouth curved, though he said nothing. Elizabeth, feeling the quickened beat of her own heart, resumed her seat with studied composure.

Jane gave her a discreet nudge and whispered, “You are irredeemable.”

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand. “You love me regardless.”

Jane smiled, and then it was her turn. She unfolded her slip with calm composure. “Which do you believe more difficult to acquire: true humility or true happiness? ”

Miss Bingley’s expression betrayed surprise before she regained control. Elizabeth wondered how she could be startled by anything in the bowl if she had written the questions herself.

Jane reflected a moment before replying, “True humility. It requires one to be regarded by others as less than one truly is, and to accept it without resentment. Such composure is not always natural, particularly when one feels misunderstood. Happiness often comes unbidden and may vanish in a moment; humility is the steady habit by which a life is best conducted.”

It was rather ironic, Elizabeth thought, to feel a swell of pride in her sister’s quiet ruminations on humility, but she did. The others in the room all appeared to be reflecting seriously on Jane’s words. Only Miss Bingley shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming lightly against her cushion.

The game continued with various degrees of hilarity.

Mr. Hurst did not like his question and was commanded to recite the alphabet backwards, which he accomplished only with considerable assistance from his wineglass and much good-natured encouragement from the company.

His performance was engagingly awful, involving several false starts and creative reinterpretations of the established order of letters.

Mr. Bingley likewise declined his question and was made to stand upon one leg whilst singing the first verse of "God Save the King," which he accomplished with such enthusiasm that even Mr. Darcy's lips turned up in a genuine smile.

Mr. Bingley's voice was pleasant enough, though his balance left something to be desired, and he swayed alarmingly during the more ambitious notes.

Mrs. Hurst was required to pronounce one compliment for each person present, which she did with kindness.

When she reached her sister, she hesitated an instant too long before pronouncing that she admired Caroline’s “determination.” Miss Bingley’s smile did not falter, but her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly .

Elizabeth did not know what to make of it all. Had the sisters quarrelled? It seemed unlikely.

At last, it was Mr. Darcy’s turn.

But Miss Bingley did not allow him to select from the nearly empty bowl.

“Here is a question most fitting, sir,” she said, unfolding a slip with a smile that was both sweet and sharp.

“Do you believe true friendship between men and women possible?” She held out the paper to him, and he rose to take it.

Elizabeth’s breath caught. Miss Bingley’s design was plain.

If Mr. Darcy answered in the affirmative, she would claim the distinction for herself; if in the negative, he risked appearing both ungenerous and unkind.

Elizabeth’s gaze flicked instinctively to his, wondering how he would extricate himself.

Mr. Darcy regarded Miss Bingley steadily, then folded the slip in half with deliberate composure. “I shall take the command instead.”

A murmur of interest ran through the party.

Bingley clapped his hands together in delight.

“Excellent! Excellent! Let us see what fate has in store for you, Darcy.” Mrs. Hurst, her eyes locked with her sister’s, held out a slip to her brother, who read it aloud.

“‘Recite a nursery rhyme in the manner of an oration.’ Ha! Nothing could be better.”

Darcy rose at once. He drew himself to his full height, shoulders squared, his expression the very image of solemn dignity. The room fell into expectant silence as he began, his voice resonant and stately, as though delivering a speech before the House of Lords.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

Four score Men, and Four score more,

Could not set Humpty Dumpty where he was before .

The words, absurd in themselves, gained a majestic grandeur from his delivery.

Elizabeth pressed her handkerchief to her lips, struggling to contain her laughter.

Mr. Hurst gave a convulsive laugh, nearly losing his glass in the process.

Mr. Bingley doubled over, tears of mirth streaming from his eyes. Even Jane laughed behind her hand.

Mr. Darcy, unmoved, concluded the rhyme solemnly and resumed his seat without so much as a twitch of amusement. Only the faintest movement at the corner of his mouth betrayed his awareness of the absurdity.

Elizabeth could not be more delighted. She could scarcely believe it that Mr. Darcy, of all men, should not only know such a childish rhyme, but have it so readily at command and recite it with such deliberate gravity!

It was beyond imagining. She felt her cheeks grow warm as she stole a glance at him.

How thoroughly she had misjudged him at first. First impressions, she knew now, could be highly unreliable.

As the attention of the room turned away from him, he leaned over to say, very quietly, “I do believe that it is possible for men and women to be friends, Miss Elizabeth, particularly when there is a similarity of mind between them.”

Was Mr. Darcy confirming that they were friends and no more?

If he was, it was only in the most Mr. Darcy way imaginable.

She smiled to herself. Insufferable man.

Miss Bingley lifted the final slip from the bowl, frowned, and turned it over to reveal—nothing. “How curious,” she said with a tight smile. “It seems my own slip has gone astray. How unfortunate.”

Elizabeth, who had already suspected that Miss Bingley had saved herself for last in hopes of closing the evening with a glittering witticism, made no comment. Nor did Jane, who folded her hands in her lap and looked serenely into the fire .

It might have ended there, awkward but unspoken, had not Mrs. Hurst stirred from her seat.

“That is all right, Caroline,” she said, her voice mild. “I wrote a few extra questions, just in case.”

Miss Bingley turned, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Did you? How diligent of you.”

“Indeed.” Mrs. Hurst reached into her reticule and produced a folded slip.

Elizabeth wondered whether Mrs. Hurst had in fact written all the questions. Other than the one Miss Bingley had selected for Mr. Darcy, of course.

Mrs. Hurst read the question aloud. “If you knew that another’s pursuit of admiration was rapidly becoming their own undoing, would you speak candidly, or let them continue?”

The silence that followed was not long, but it was deep.

Jane shifted in her seat, her brows drawn ever so slightly together. Mr. Bingley glanced from one sister to the other. Mrs. Hurst, expression smooth as porcelain, lifted her glass without a word.

Elizabeth pointedly did not look at Mr. Darcy.

Miss Bingley gave a light, musical laugh.

“How very serious we have become! I believe that signals the end of the game. Too many questions and not enough merriment.” She rose, her smile firmly in place. “Shall we have the card tables brought out?”

She did not wait for agreement but swept to the bell pull and summoned the footmen with such vigour it might have been a call to arms. The silver bowl of forfeits was quietly removed by a servant. The moment, whatever it had nearly become, was deftly snuffed out.

Elizabeth exchanged another glance with Jane, who looked relieved .

Miss Bingley fluttered back into the room as the tables were being arranged, all graciousness and clipped pleasantries. She was in command once more.

But Elizabeth could not help thinking that Mrs. Hurst’s question had been written in warning, not in jest. And she hoped that Miss Bingley had recognised the difference.