Page 54 of An Accidental Meeting
“Surely there are other chess players to be found in London.”
“I am certain that there are, fine ones too. But my business takes up a great deal of my time.” Gardiner gazed at Darcy, assessing his response. But Darcy did not blink. Gardiner liked to test him, but he would not flinch. A year ago, he would not have been able to hide his distaste for talk of business, but he had been hard at work to improve himself these past months, and now such a statement had no impact on him otherthan admiration. Mr. Gardiner was in trade, but he was clearly successful at it, due in no small part to his keen intellect.
“I understand that your holdings are rather extensive,” was Darcy’s smoothly delivered reply.
“I do not want for much,” Gardiner answered agreeably. “Except that I could use another ship, but that is always true.” He offered Darcy a little nod of approval. “Black or white?”
He chose white.
“Are you prepared, Darcy?” Gardiner asked when the pieces were all in place.
“I am,” Darcy told him, and moved his king’s pawn forward two spaces.
Gardiner looked up from the board at him and smiled.
Chapter Fourteen
Elizabeth and the Gardiners had been here a week. Between their trips to Lambton to visit Mrs. Gardiner’s friends and relations, and the business Darcy had found he could not delay, they had yet to take their ride around the park. Mrs. Reynolds was again running the house with military precision, but while she had been recovering, word about the frame had made its way about the servants’ quarters. He had been required to turn off two of the temporary servants because they were found tampering with the portraits in the long gallery, perhaps plotting to break the frames in the hopes of finding gold. Some of the frames were two hundred years old and irreplaceable, so he had put an end to their employment immediately.
With the help of Mr. Rhoades and the threat of the magistrate, they had managed to keep it quiet, even from his guests.
Then, at dinner this evening, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had lobbed another round of thinly veiled insults at Elizabeth. She had easily caught them mid-flight and sent them back with precision, while never saying anything unladylike. It wassomething of a marvel. Darcy had enjoyed watching it despite his affront, for Elizabeth ought never need to defend herself so, certainly not in his house.
He had once thought Bingley’s sisters refined and elegant, but now he knew that his judgement had been in error there as well. Could he trust that same judgement in Elizabeth’s case? Itseemedher opinion of him had greatly improved. Had it improved enough?
It was too warm for a fire at night, but Darcy still sat before the hearth in his bedchamber and took a sip of brandy. A candle burned next to him on the table and a book, unread, sat in his lap. He had been dreaming of having Elizabeth here but forced himself to cease. He must not distract himself with what he wanted, but rather focus on what Elizabeth’s behaviour told him of her feelings. He had missed all signs of danger in Kent; he would not do so again.
He had made some progress here, he thought. Elizabeth had smiled at him in a way she never had before. She had teased him about his collection of carriages and spoke kindly to him about his D’Arcy relations. The pitiful bouquet he had cut for her seemed to meet with her approval. She bantered pleasantly with Aunt Nora and Uncle Hugh, never missing any of their sharp observations, and this evening after dinner she had sat with Georgiana at the pianoforte for more than a half an hour. Georgiana had never felt comfortable playing before company, and to remain so long when she had an audience was nearly unheard of. What was more, Elizabeth had clearly detected when Georgiana’s resolve was flagging, and had suggested that they change places.
A thoroughly satisfying ending to the day, even if Miss Bingley did manage to sit next to him in the music room. He suspected she had been frustrated, for while he did what was required to remain polite, his attention had been fixed upon his sister andthe woman he hoped to make his bride. How many more such evenings might they have if only she would say yes?
He wished he could trust his own judgement as much as Bingley once had. But when it came to Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy feared he was seeing what he wished to, and not what was there. She no longer hated him—she would not have allowed her uncle to accept the invitation to stay if she had. But not hating him, even perhaps liking him, was a long way from desiring to wed.
Simons appeared in the doorway to the dressing room. “Are you ready to retire, sir?”
“Not quite yet, Simons.”
Something clattered loudly, and both men’s heads shot to the door. No sounds followed, but Darcy was alarmed.
“Simons, ring for Rogers.” There was likely no need for the burly footman who accompanied Mr. Rhoades as he locked up the house at night, but Darcy was responsible for the safety of his family and all his guests. He set his drink down and stood. “I shall return shortly.”
He stepped out into the hall. He could now hear someone opening and closing drawers nearby, though had he been inside his chamber and asleep, it would not have awakened him. He thought at first it might be coming from Georgiana’s chambers, but all there was quiet and still. Perhaps his aunt and uncle required assistance?
Their chambers, too, were dark.
He walked past several doors, down the hall away from the family rooms and towards the northern corner of the house. He held no candle, but then, he needed none. He knew his way.
The door to his mother’s reading room was ajar. His lips curled back from his teeth in an unconscious snarl. The hinge squeaked as he tossed it open.
There, in the dim light of a single candle, was Mrs. Hurst, kneeling at the bottom of the bookshelves and looking up at him.
“Mrs. Hurst,” he said icily. “The door to this room is always locked.”
“Oh,” she said, flustered. “Mr. Darcy. I . . . I was only searching for another blanket.”
Darcy glanced about. The silver candlestick from his mother’s small writing desk had fallen to the floor. A stack of books was piled next to it, as well as a small, enamelled box and one of his mother’s porcelain figurines. When his eyes moved back to Mrs. Hurst, she had stood and was now shutting the larger of the two drawers at the bottom of the shelves with her heel.
Each chamber had ample blankets for weather much colder than the summer days they had been enjoying. “And you felt it necessary to break into a locked room to find one?”
