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Chapter 11

Posted on Sunday, 27 April 2008

Mr. Bennet wondered which of the five gentlemen would be first with their rules as he listened for the clopping of a horse through the window of his study. For the sake of his peace and quiet, he did not tell his wife about the competition or his role as approving judge. It was not hard to imagine either her uproar every morning or the anguish in the evening if none of the men appeared at their home. He returned to searching his estate accounts for ways to cut expenses while he waited for the gentlemen to arrive.

With his rules finished, Mr. Bingley mounted his mare to head to Longbourn. Once out of sight of Netherfield, he spoke in gentle tones to his horse. “Shall I rename you, my friend? Should I call you Zeus? Will you then be as fast as lightning? Do not be jealous. You will always be my favorite.” He laughed as India Treasures snorted forcibly.

As he rode the three miles, his mind reflected on his almost daybreak visit. He had decided on meeting with Mr. Bennet before the ladies of the house left for their morning calls. He knew if he arrived early, Mrs. Bennet would insist her eldest daughter stay. I do not understand why Darcy dislikes mothers so; they can be most helpful. Fathers, however, are a different worry.

He spied a few eyes looking through a slit in the draped window, and he chuckled when he heard Mrs. Bennet’s shrill shouts.

“Jane, where are you girl? Mr. Bingley has come. Put on your best gown. Make haste. Oh! My nerves!”

With a wide smile appearing across his face, Mr. Bingley wondered about the dress. Was she to be attired for a ball? Now finding himself in Mr. Bennet’s study, he again chose the chair next to the window. He thought of it as his chair. Unsure if Miss Bennet would wish for some fresh air while he met with her father, his eyes stayed turned to the garden. Images of all sorts of dresses of different colors bounced in his head.

Every so often, Mr. Bennet chuckled aloud as he looked up at Bingley before returning his attention to the rules. In a matter of a few minutes, he approved them, thereby releasing the fidgety young man to wait upon the ladies. Leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, Mr. Bennet mouthed the words he knew his wife would say as Bingley entered the hallway. “Why, Mr. Bingley, we are honored by your visit.” Rolling his eyes, he wondered when the rest of the men would appear.

Entering the parlor, or rather being shoved into it by Mrs. Bennet, Bingley was not surprised to find several of the daughters sitting quietly in the room, busy at handiwork. With two sisters of his own, he was aware of the ladies’ pretense. He shook his head. Many a time he had witnessed Caroline and Louisa scurrying about tidying up a room, checking their appearance, and then pretending to be involved in books or music. They did not do needlework of any kind.

He spotted her straight away. Yes, she has chosen her gown well. A blue dress to match her beautiful eyes. I cannot remember seeing another with eyes of quite that shade. They almost match mother’s favorite blue topaz pendent. Bingley recalled his mother’s jewelry box filled with this gemstone. His father favored topaz over any other gem and searched for any jewelry made with any shade of the many varieties of topaz. Caroline only liked the orange amber colored stones, but the sparkling pale blue topaz was the favorite of both father and son. It was the rarest of colors.

After exchanging polite civilities, he sat down in a chair near the eldest daughter. Keeping his eyes on her, he tried to be polite as he listened to Mrs. Bennet ramble on about the weather, but all he wished was to be alone with his angel.

Mr. Darcy’s arrival diverted Mrs. Bennet’s attention. She was exceedingly surprised to hear Kitty squealing that the man she despised was coming up the driveway. “Mr. Bingley, I believe Mr. Darcy is seeking your company.” She was swift to the window to spy on the gentleman dismounting his horse.

Without looking at her, Bingley answered, “No, ma’am. I imagine he is here to see Mr. Bennet.” His gaze remained directed at a pair of beautiful eyes brightened by a shimmering blue dress with a tantalizing low neckline. Since adolescence, he had dreamed often of a mysterious blue flower that had instilled a momentous yearning in his soul. Her eyes were identical to the color of his nameless bloom. He slid to the seat next to Jane when her mother left to get a closer look out of the window.

As soon as she lost sight of him, Mrs. Bennet turned back to catch the young couple leaning together speaking with each other. “Well, I have no idea what Mr. Darcy wants with my husband.”

As the young couple sat whispering, Mrs. Bennet did not mind how they ignored her without showing any evidence of remorsefulness. Choosing to ignore them in return, she sat in the chair across the room, and did something she had not done for years–embroider a handkerchief. By nature a curious person, Mr. Darcy’s visit piqued her interest. With a furrowed brow, she whipped her needle through the cloth as she pondered this morning’s surprise visitors. She had completed a row of featherstitches when Hill announced Lord Blake had arrived. Shocked, she put her work down, stood, and greeted the man.

“Lord Blake, welcome to our home. It is such an honor to receive you.” Glancing around the room for Elizabeth, she was displeased to discover her missing. “Please, sir.” She curtseyed while attempting to conceal her distress. “Make yourself comfortable. I must speak to Hill about some refreshments.” Mrs. Bennet, hurrying to find her housekeeper, noticed the bulky oversized satchel held by Lord Blake. Her acute curiosity remained concentrated on the possible contents causing her to ignore everything else until she bumped into Mr. Darcy in the hallway.

“Oh, sir, excuse me. I was not attending.” Mrs. Bennet held her head.

Mr. Darcy was a tall, broad man, and not one easily missed in a small hallway. He bowed his head ever so slightly as he straightened his coat.

Mrs. Bennet pointed to the room she had just left. “Mr. Bingley and Lord Blake are in the drawing room if you would care to join them.”

Darcy was surprised to find the men here. He had not realized they were missing from Netherfield when he decided to journey to Longbourn to meet with Mr. Bennet. Entering the room, he found Bingley deep in conversation with Miss Bennet. That did not come as a surprise, but what caught him off guard was the sight of Blake speaking with Miss Mary Bennet.

Blake detected Darcy standing in the doorway. “I see you found your way here. Might I be correct you hold some important papers on your person? Oh, excuse me.” He turned toward his companion. “Miss Mary Bennet, may I introduce you to Mr. Darcy?” Blake smirked at Darcy’s obvious discomfort.

Blake proceeded with the introductions. Mary performed a slight curtsey as she clasped to her bosom a tattered book with crisp pieces of sheet music sticking out from its cover. Peeking at the title, Darcy smiled at the young girl’s choice of composers. He had purchased Johann Hummel’s Op. 37, 8 Pieces for Piano for his sister last month. Perhaps it was not as brilliant as Beethoven’s work, but he knew it to be an easier piece for someone without Georgiana’s talent.

Darcy sat next to Blake. “I see you have brought your rules with you.” He cast his eyes toward the bag next to his foot. “Did you really need a satchel to carry them in? Is that not a little excessive?”

“I am taking the competition seriously, for I plan to win the stallion.”

“Competition?” Mary asked.

Blake turned to her. “I beg your pardon. Am I to understand Mr. Bennet has not yet informed you? Mr. Bingley is holding a version of the Olympic Games for his friends. The winner will receive a magnificent stallion as the prize.”

Miss Mary commented on the evils of sports while the two non-responsive men listened with a politeness instilled in them before they were breeched. Warming to her subject, she admonished them on how people of means should spend their time on the more worthwhile activities, such as caring for others.

“Oh, but I do care, Miss Mary,” Bingley interrupted. “I did not wish my friends to fight over a horse.”

Before anyone could respond, Mrs. Bennet entered the room, pulling Elizabeth along with her. Mary, seeing her audience distracted, returned to her well-worn and tattered book.

Lord Blake jumped to his feet and, with a marked decisiveness, approached her. “Miss Elizabeth.”

An ecstatic Mrs. Bennet observed the couple in animated conversation until another gentleman arrived to divert her attention. Perplexed, her eyes widened and her brows rose to their heights when Hill announced Mr. Kent.

Kent smiled at his friends. “We should have taken a carriage.” Bowing, he informed Mrs. Bennet and the room at large that he was waiting to meet with her husband. He sat near Darcy, Blake and Elizabeth, since Bingley was so lost in conversation with Miss Bennet that seeking him out would go unheeded.

Mrs. Bennet returned to her chair across the room. With a sudden silence overcoming her, she thought about the room full of single wealthy men and only her daughters to attend to them. When her housekeeper informed Lord Blake that he could meet with her husband, she noted that instead of leaving immediately he picked up his satchel and stopped to whisper to Bingley. She began to pace the room. What is so important that these men must meet with my husband? She wondered. What is going on? And, what is in that bag? Her eyes grew wide. Perhaps, he brought settlement papers!

She plopped down in her chair, confused as to the men’s purpose. Sneaking peeks at Mr. Darcy staring at her second daughter, she picked up the embroidery again as the two began a conversation of sorts.

“Miss Elizabeth. I hope your morning goes well.” Darcy said.

Elizabeth’s eyes followed Blake as he made his way out of the room. “Thank you for inquiring, Mr. Darcy. It was a little tedious and boring, but it is improving as the day goes on.” She turned her eyes on him. “Have you met with my father too?”

“Yes. Are you not aware of the reason? I am surprised no one has revealed it to you by now.”

“No. I am just as confused as my mother.” She glanced towards her mother who was shaking her head as she sewed. Mrs. Bennet muttered something, but it was too low for anyone to hear.

Finally, Hill arrived with the refreshments.

Darcy and Elizabeth did not speak again even though they sat across from one another. He continued to study her when she rose to pour tea. He paid close attention to the way she held her cup and how she relaxed from the aroma arising from it. She would occasionally look about herself and smooth her dress or tap her hair. Every so often, she stole a glance at the door. When the quiet had become too much for her, she pointed her eyes directly at him and asked,

“I understand you are from Derbyshire.”

“Yes, I have an estate there.” Darcy stared into the eyes that seem to have turned dull.

She waited to hear more and when he did not say anything else, she returned to sipping her tea and watching the door.

Darcy knew the instant Blake arrived by the light in Elizabeth’s now sparkling eyes and the beaming smile upon her face. Blake needs to put an end to this.

Blake, after signaling Bingley, approached Elizabeth with his own lips curved, causing his eyes to wrinkle and the dimples to appear on his cheeks. He wasted no time in sitting next to her. Much to Darcy’s consternation, Blake leaned closer to Elizabeth and spoke in a whispered tone.

“I believe Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet intend to walk in the garden for a little fresh air. I, too, would find it inviting.” He inclined his head towards Bingley and Jane as they prepared to leave the room.

“Was my father a bit too stuffy for you, Lord Blake?”

Darcy smirked at Blake when he noticed him fidget.

“Not at all. He is an intriguing gentleman,” Blake said loudly at Kent, who was leaving for his appointment.

Mrs. Bennet chose that moment to interrupt. “Mr. Darcy, did you have a nice visit with Mr. Bennet?” She continued to engage the man in a conversation, albeit it a one sided one. When Blake and Elizabeth left for the garden, Mrs. Bennet ceased speaking to the man frowning only when she saw Mary follow the couples out the door.

Once outside in the yard, Blake offered Elizabeth his arm. “You look lovely this morning. I am looking forward to seeing the flowers that grow in your garden.”

Elizabeth lowered her eyes. “Thank you. It is getting late in the season to find many flowers left.” Pausing for a moment, she tried to think of an acceptable way to ask her next question. Giving up, she decided the best way was just to be direct. Separating herself from Blake, she fixed her eyes on him. “I am curious about all of the visits to my father. Is there something afoot?”

“Bingley is hosting competition for a horse,” Mary interrupted.

“A horse?” Elizabeth looked at her sister, and laughed as Mary nodded her head. She turned back to Blake. “Please tell me why anyone would want to compete for a horse?”

Blake gazed into her eyes. “You remember the fine white stallion at Goulding’s Farm?”

“Yes, the one you were to purchase. Did Bingley beat you to the sale?”

“He did so while we were speaking that very day. And here I was, worried about Mr. Darcy making the deal.

Mary turned to Elizabeth. “You have seen the horse?”

“Yes, and he is a monster!” So saying, Elizabeth noticed Darcy quickly walking their way.

Darcy glared at Blake as he joined the threesome.

“We were just speaking of a monster,” Elizabeth raised her eyebrow at Mr. Darcy. “I suspect you are intimately familiar with them.”

Darcy looked puzzled. “A monster, Miss Elizabeth? I do not catch your meaning.” He could not fathom what story Blake had entertained them with in his absence.

“Great big white four legged ones.”

“Oh. The stallion, Heracles”

“And I understand there will be a competition for it?”

Unhappy that Darcy had managed to capture Elizabeth’s attention, Blake interrupted, saying brusquely, “Yes, there are to be five games.”

Blake informed the ladies about Bingley’s proposal, including their father’s role as judge. However, when he finished, he realized that Darcy stood between him and Elizabeth.

As Darcy offered his arm to Miss Elizabeth, Blake pointed to a small dying flower in a bush along the path. “Miss Elizabeth, is this not the prettiest wildflower.”

Turning to look at the flower, Elizabeth sighed. “Yes it is pretty, milord, but it is a camellia, not a wildflower.”

“Yes it is a lovely flower but shall we find Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet?” Darcy led Elizabeth back towards the path. “I am interested in hearing about his talk with Mr. Bennet. Perhaps, Lord Blake, we may discover his game!”

Elizabeth glanced back to Lord Blake, shrugged and raised her brows. With a slight nod, he sent her an apologetic smile.

And so it was, Blake glared at Darcy’s back as his friend escorted Miss Elizabeth while he was left to walk Miss Mary. The four continued down the garden path in silence. Maintaining his position, Darcy did not allow Elizabeth the opportunity to return to his side until they separated when they caught up with Bingley and Jane. They shared their happy thoughts of the competition and even a little of Mr. Bennet’s teasing ways. Even Mary laughed at some of the comments.

Later, after enjoying refreshments and the young ladies’ attentions, the gentlemen returned to Netherfield. Mrs. Bennet, rushing to speak to Mr. Bennet, did not bother to knock on his sacred study door before entering.

“Mr. Bennet, what is this all about? Why have these young men come to visit with you?”

“Is it so strange that men would want to visit with me? As gentlemen, we have many topics we can discuss,” Mr. Bennet said lightheartedly.

“Do not vex me today. I will not leave this room until I know the truth. Does it have anything to do with our girls?” Mrs. Bennet sat down on the sofa. Directing a cold, hard glare at him, she crossed her arms.

“They came at Mr. Bingley’s request; although, I dare say I have hardly been so entertained.” Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled at the umbrage shown by his wife.

“Mr. Bingley asked them to come? Now I know I am not leaving. What possible reason would he have for that?” She thought for several minutes until her eyes lit up. “He wants his friends to tell you what a fine gentleman he is. Perhaps it is with our Jane in mind.”

“No, my dear. Jane is not the reason.” Mr. Bennet smirked.

Mrs. Bennet leaned forward with a wide smile and raised brows. “Ah, then Lord Blake has come to offer for Lizzy. He brought his marriage settlement papers in that satchel, did he not?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let us hope any settlement papers would be less verbose.”

“Mr. Darcy, oh! I cannot stand the man! He did not even beg my pardon when he almost knocked me down earlier. Well, he has no business with you.”

“He is a gentleman farmer as am I. We have much that can be discussed.”

Mrs. Bennet glared at her husband. She knew he was sporting with her. She needed something to make him talk. Her eyes narrowed when Mr. Bennet smiled at her. How is it possible that I found that smile so inviting? If I had known then. . .

“My dear, do not look so.” Mr. Bennet poured his wife a glass of wine before he closed and locked the door. “Please take this. I have the most interesting story to share with you. Mr. Bingley asked me to not to reveal it until now. That is why I did not tell you sooner.”

“Thank you, dear husband.” Mrs. Bennet took the glass. She fluttered her eyes in her best flirtatious manner. “I thought you were just being, well, your usual teasing self.”

“It is you that teases me,” Mr. Bennet whispered as he sat very close to his wife.

When Rawlings arrived the next day, Mrs. Bennet did not conceal her enthusiasm as she welcomed him, and led him to Mr. Bennet’s study. Now that she knew about the competition, she tried her best to learn the name of his game. Smiling mischievously at Mr. Bennet, she glanced towards his sofa before she announced the visitor. Mr. Bennet welcomed the fifth and final gentleman to his study, but dismissed his wife without ceremony.

Rawlings was quick to produce his rules, along with a hand-drawn map of the area. He chose to sit in the chair next to the window to wait for the approval. It was Bingley’s usual chair, although he could have no way of knowing that.

While the older man read the rules, he looked about the room concluding that Mr. Bennet was a well-read man. Without leaving the chair, he tried to identify the books on the overflowing shelves. He had assumed a book, or two, useful to the alliance might be found among the collection. Growing tired of trying to read the small printed titles, he turned his eyes out into the garden. He was wondering about the location of the youngest Bennet when the very person came bursting in the study.

“Papa, you need to tell Kitty to return my necklace.” Lydia stopped abruptly when she noticed Mr. Rawlings rising from his chair. “Oh, please excuse me.”

“Lydia, as you see, I am busy,” Mr. Bennet said brusquely.

Curtseying to Rawlings, Lydia giggled. “Are you speaking of the competition everyone is talking about?” Mr. Rawlings nodded. Lydia snorted. “It would be better if the Officers could join in. Then you might see some real games. I wish Mr. Bingley would have let them compete.”

“Miss Lydia, I will pass on your recommendation.” Mr. Rawlings spoke calmly and with just a hint of a smile. I promise to tell Bingley after I have left the country and the games are over!

“Thank you. That is most kind.” Turning, she left the room.

The men overheard her speaking to her sister outside the door. Kitty had been sneaking looks in her father’s room. She felt a lump in her throat when Mr. Rawlings ogled her sister as she was leaving the room.

“La! Let the silly men compete for the horse. I would so long to see Captain Carter or Denny taking a turn at the games. I wonder if one of the games is Blind Man’s Bluff? Oh, would not that be fun?”

My, my, Lydia. That would be nice, thought Rawlings. I shall hope so as well.

They were still giggling when Mr. Bennet closed the door.

Chapter 12

Posted on Sunday, 4 May 2008

For the past decade, the back rooms of the largest tavern in the center of Meryton had served as the men’s club. This private section was not overly large, yet it did contain all the essentials: bar, small dining area, and the card playing room. Since no other establishment existed as a men’s club in the village of Meryton or in any of the surrounding area, the proprietor had added a billiard room, thereby rendering his men’s club and tavern complete. It had all the elements needed to remind the patrons they were men first, before they were husbands, farmers, shopkeepers or soldiers. Visitors to the club included more than just the four and twenty estate owners and distinguished gentlemen of Hertfordshire. The militia officers, the well-to-do tradesmen, and those gentlemen servicing the intellectual and spiritual needs of the community found solace within the private section of the tavern.

In keeping with manly traditions, men liked to wager and the favorite place to do so, without the disapproving reactions of the womenfolk, was at this dwelling; identified by a sign hanging above the door showing a magnificent Black Bull. Mr. Roger Staunton, the proprietor, was ever ready with his betting book. All the men recognized it instantly—a large black journal with a fierce looking bull stenciled in gold on the cover. Inside could be found the names of all the local men; all their losses circled and winnings checked. Since a drink or two usually accompanied every bet, Roger Staunton did little more than annotate his journal no matter the purpose of the wager.

Men visited the tavern on a regular basis. They stood around the bar area, drank, and mostly talked loudly. Some men played cards or billiards. Others were content to sit and argue over the most mundane things, even placing bets on the truth of the latest gossip.

Therefore, when news of Mr. Bingley’s competition reached the neighborhood, husky voices, musky scents, and the sound of heavy boots on the dusty floor flooded the Black Bull. All the talk focused on the five men, five games and one grand prize—the Andulasian stallion. London, renowned for its wagers of vast fortunes, could not compete with the frenzied behavior taking hold of this little parish called Meryton.

The night before the first game, Roger Staunton invited Sir William and Mr. Bennet to the tavern. They were his best sources of information about the event, other than the actual competitors; except those men were unlikely to visit the Black Bull.

The patrons, their eager faces searching for any betting advantage, swarmed the two men as they attempted to find a spot to sit. Both men were peppered with questions; each questioner hoping for the little tidbit, which would allow him to place the winning bet.

“You must tell us about this competition. We understand you are the judges.”

“Which man looks the most fit? Who is the smartest?”

“I want to place a bet on the marquess. I am sure he had the best master instructors in all of England, being the son of a duke.”

“What are the games, Mr. Bennet?”

“Will we be allowed to witness the competitions?”

“You know we will continue hounding you until you talk. I promise you we will.”

Raising his hand to stem the questions, Mr. Bennet sat in the nearest chair. “Please give us some room. Let us get comfortable if you wish to learn about the competition.” He smirked at the impatient men crowding around them. “Someone buy me a drink, and I will tell all.”

“Pour me two, and I will make sure he does not stray from the truth,” Sir William said as he sat in the chair next to Mr. Bennet.

Roger Staunton nodded his head to the servant to fill their glasses quickly; for he, too, awaited the information with considerable interest.

Mr. Bennet began his story after he took his first swig of ale. “They will play five games. The men drew straws to decide the order. Lord Blake’s game will open the competitions.” Mr. Bennet waited for the murmur to die down.

“Tell us about Lord Blake’s game, Mr. Bennet. We have heard only snippets.”

All the men found chairs for themselves for they knew they had a story coming. Mr. Bennet never bored them when he was in a talkative mood, and today he certainly was.

“I remember my meeting with Lord Blake when he brought the rules for his game. I am the approving judge, you understand, and all the men had to do so.” Sighing, Mr. Bennet thought back on the day he hosted these men in his study, followed in the late afternoon by an irate wife. “He was certainly well prepared. He carried with him many charts, numbers, and rules upon rules.” Chuckling he took another nip of ale. “This young man does not understand the value of economy.”

“Well, what game did he chose?”

“Chess. Lord Blake chose chess,” Sir William blurted out.

“Why chess?”

Smiling, Mr. Bennet leaned forward. “He is the master at the London Chess Club at Parsloe's. In fact, he won every game he has played in the last three years.”

The background hum of whispered conversation rose briefly as the other patrons discussed this new piece of information. “Well what are the rules?” one of them eventually asked.

“The game, clearly mapped out on one of several diagrams, is to be played on two chess tables in the library.” Mr. Bennet chuckled briefly as he recalled the flawlessly hand drawn illustrations. “He maintained we should separate them to the far sides of the room. He wanted the players to be able to concentrate on their match without disruption by the play of the other game. He insisted the tables had to be thirty inches high and the chairs had to be just so. I suggested Lord Blake enter the diplomatic profession, but he did not respond.”

“Mr. Bennet, who plays first?”

“Yes, now about the order of play. Lord Blake made this one chart, all colored, to show the rounds and the players for each round. Quite elaborate! I never saw such work in all my years,” Mr. Bennet revealed a slight smile as he stared at his empty glass. He nodded his appreciation for the refill. “I decided the playing order. Lord Blake and Mr. Kent will play at one table; Mr. Darcy and Mr. Rawlings at the other.”

“What of Mr. Bingley?”

“He will sit out the first round. Do not worry they all play each competitor once. Each man will sit out a turn.”

“Stop! Let us at least have time to bet. I want Lord Blake.”

“We all want Lord Blake you bloody fool. Did you not hear Mr. Bennet tell us that he has not been beaten in three years? Let us bet on who comes in second. I want that man Mr. Rawlings. He is the son of an earl. That should count for something.”

The conversation between the patrons and Roger Staunton escalated. After a time, Staunton annotated the Black Bull’s book with all the wagers. Rawlings and Bingley received the most bets. Kent garnered many supporters, as well. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, had only a fraction.

Not a single man was late for breakfast that morning. They had prepared for a long day of competition. When Blake handed out the rules to his friends, his choice did not surprise any of them; they were more interested in how he organized the tournament. Once the judges arrived, they removed themselves to the library. The servants brought in coffee, wine, cigars, and plates of food. The men agreed they would dress comfortably—no cravats and no jackets.

The timepiece on the mantle ticked away as the men took their seats. Sir William stood by one table and Mr. Goulding by another. Mr. Phillips and Mr. Long sat in chairs situated near the game tables. Bingley, who was sitting out this round, decided to observe the match between Darcy and Rawlings. He was glad for the opportunity to study these two rather than the others. He had no hope of defeating a master such as Blake, and through the years, he had had plenty of practice playing chess with Kent.

Mr. Bennet found a comfortable chair near the fire. He sipped his coffee, read the latest London newspapers, and took pleasure in the sound of men’s voices. The first round began. Immersed in reading an article about Parliament’s actions on land enclosures, he jerked his head up when Mr. Rawlings shouted—

“Blast! You win, Darcy.”

“True.” Darcy said offering his hand to his friend. “It is called the Queen’s Gambit. I was pleased to get a chance to play someone that had not experienced it before. The Gambit works very well! You did admirably for never having played against it.”

“And that famous chess master, Philidor, actually wrote that the pawns are the life of the game. I do believe he was wrong. You could have been kind and attacked less aggressively.”

“Can I expect that sort of kindness during your game?”

Rawlings shook his head in amusement. “Not after today!”

Bingley congratulated Darcy and consoled Rawlings before they joined the judges at the other match. Blake and Kent’s game continued. Blake possessed all of his back rank pieces and a few pawns as well. Kent was down to six pieces: his king, queen, one bishop, one knight and two pawns. Kent shook his head. Every move seemed a disaster. How can I be losing so badly? I won many a game in many a tavern in my day. Kent moved his queen down the board only to watch Blake move his rook in line with the king.

“Check”

“Damn.” Kent continued to play defensively until there was no defense left. He laid his king down and stood to shake Blake’s hand.

“Excellent game, Blake. I bow to your skill.”

“Thank you, Kent. You did better than I expected. Where did you learn? I was amazed at some of your plays. Quite unorthodox.”

“While you were sweating over your math studies, I was playing in the taverns!” Kent laughed. “Perhaps I should have concentrated on math!”

“Luckily for you there are three more rounds. Which round do you sit out?

“You do not know? We follow your rules.”

Blake’s face colored. “Mr. Bennet established the order of play.”

“Oh. I sit out the last round. I need to win all three games if I am to come in second.”

As the two reset the chessboard for the next game, Bingley and Rawlings approached them.

Sir William announced, “Time for round two.”

Rawlings took his seat to play against Blake, and Bingley and Kent left for the table across the room. Sitting out, Darcy poured himself a coffee and joined Mr. Bennet near the fireplace far away from the chess games.

Surprised when Darcy sat down with him, Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. “You are a most confident fellow.”

Darcy looked at him with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are not studying your competitors to gain that all important advantage.”

Without so much as a smile, Darcy spoke quietly. “I have played all of them many times in the past. I suspect the day will be long. I prefer to relax.”

As the games progressed, their conversation changed from the chess game to estate matters.

“I understand your estate is quite large. Are all your fields enclosed or is there common land left in Derbyshire?” Mr. Bennet pointed out the article in the newspaper as he offered the young man another coffee.

Darcy nodded. “Enclosure in Derbyshire happened many decades ago, nevertheless it was conducted by agreement among the landholders and the land users. While there are arable common fields, the enclosed land is mostly used as pastureland for sheep.”

“So you are a sheep farmer, Mr. Darcy, on enclosed fields?” Mr. Bennet lifted one eyebrow.

“Yes, to a great degree.” Darcy tapped the arm of the chair. Most of the sheep do graze in enclosed fields. I found that to be more efficient.”

“And more profitable I should say.” Mr. Bennet smirked.

With a knitted brow, Darcy narrowed his eyes. “At Pemberley we did enclose a bit of land strictly for inbreeding and selective breeding experiments. I hope to produce bigger and more profitable livestock. That would not be possible in common fields.” He gripped the arms of the chair.

“No farming, then, on enclosed land?”

“Lately, we experimented with four-crop rotation on some of the enclosed farmland. However, most arable fields are still common land.” He did not elaborate on how much of Pemberley was enclosed.

“That is very progressive of you. I am not sure that is wise. There are times when it best not to pursue wild schemes.”

“Crop rotation is not new. Livestock breeding has been tried through the ages. Perhaps it is just the scientific methods that concern you.” Relaxing his grip on the chair arms, Darcy settle further back into the seat.

“Scientific methods. Hah! I caution you Mr. Darcy to be wary. Nevertheless, I will admit enclosure is not new. The land in Hertfordshire has not yet faced that dilemma. I do not look forward to the day it happens. The tenants will not be consoled.” Mr. Bennet shook his head. Sipping his coffee, he watched the expression change on the young man’s face.

“Derbyshire landholders have opened a cotton mill in Matlock Bath to help the displaced tenants.” Darcy leaned forward. “Are you familiar with Arkwright?”

Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Bennet threw his hands up. “You speak of another progressive scheme. This new machinery of Arkwright’s may be productive, at the same time such mills employ children younger than ten years!” Sneering, he waved the paper in his hand. “I have no desire to see a mill opened here not to mention the Luddite problem. There is also an article covering their latest attacks on the stocking frames and power looms. I believe it is in your neck of the woods.”

“Major landholders have a say in how the mills are run.”

Just as Mr. Bennet was about to speak, their attention was diverted to the table occupied by Blake and Rawlings.

“Damn. That was quick.” Standing, Rawlings shook Blake’s hand. “What was that? Fifteen minutes? Even Kent took twice as long!”

“You only made one mistake.”

“Yes, the mistake was playing this game! I could have had myself a few good drinks if I had just forfeited from the start.” Rawlings eyed the sideboard, filled with good wine and brandy.

Blake reset the chess pieces for the next game. “I do not recall you liking games of strategy.”

“True, so true.” Rawlings looked at Blake with a sparkle in his eyes. “I like the simpler games, such as shooting birds.”

“Well, I am skilled in a different way. You are good at hunting.” Placing his hand over his heart, Blake pleaded with him. “I do hope that was not the game you chose.”

Rawlings selected a sweet pastry from the table and poured himself a coffee. “No. I will spare you that embarrassment even though you now own a Baker rifle.”

Blake, declining any food or drink, inclined his head towards the other match. “Well, shall we join the others? It seems everyone else is engrossed in that game.”

Kent and Bingley continued play for over an hour. Blake had positioned himself to scrutinize Bingley's play since they play each other in the next round. Searching for the slightest telltale signs, he paid close attention to his eye movements, his body posture, breathing pattern, and reactions to any unexpected move Kent made. He groaned when Bingley made a move, and other times he smiled. Blake did not attempt to conceal his surprise at how well Bingley played.

Kent held his own against Bingley, and everyone found it hard to determine the better player. After many moves, the two competitors agreed it would not end satisfactorily for either of them. Blake nodded for he, too, saw no way for one to win. Mr. Long called the game a draw.

Sir William announced the round two scores. Blake was in the lead with four points, two points for each win. Darcy had two points for the only match he played. Bingley and Kent held one point each, and Rawlings had none. The number of points in the chess game determined the finishing order of the chess tournament, and subsequently the ranking for the stallion.

All the men took a break at the end of the second round. After excusing himself, Mr. Phillips left to attend to some urgent business. He assured them he would return before the final game. Although he did not explain, his ‘business’ was with his wife. Many of the ladies of the area, including all of the Bennet women, had gathered at his home, awaiting some news.

The servants brought in trays of cold meats, fruits, and cheeses. They lingered in the room trying valiantly to discover how the game was going. A young boy was waiting outside the kitchen for any information he could obtain. He was ready to bolt to the Black Bull. He dearly wanted the penny the proprietor was paying for match results.

The third round began one hour after the break had started. The older men changed positions: Mr. Bennet and Mr. Goulding were the judges for the matches. Blake and Bingley sat at one chess table and Darcy played Kent at the other. Rawlings, whose turn it was to sit out, approached the refreshment table where Sir William was standing.

“Do not look so forlorn, Mr. Rawlings. You still have two chances left.”

“Thank you, Sir William. I did not expect to do well. I have not played chess in years. I only did so now for the one point I will earn for last place. Bingley warned us we must play to even obtain the one. So here I am, allowing my friends to humiliate me, which I would never allow them to do otherwise.” Rawlings followed his pronouncement with a laugh and a slap on the Sir William’s back, putting the older man at ease.

“You may do better if you win just one game. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Kent are tied. I believe you have not played either of them yet.”

“True. That is something to consider. I hope the fine people of Meryton did not bet their future on me today.”

“Oh. You know about the betting.”

“Who could not? Is it not the latest craze?”

Nodding, Sir William wondered what was happening at the Black Bull Tavern.

“Here you go, boy. You earned your penny.” Roger Staunton threw the boy a coin, turned to his patrons and shouted, “I have the results of round three.”

“Who played?”

“Lord Blake played Mr. Bingley and—”

“Did Blake win again?”

“Yes, he defeated our Mr. Bingley.” Mr. Staunton waited until the crowd quieted to announce the other match. “Mr. Darcy played Mr. Kent and—”

“Did Mr. Kent win?”

“No, Mr. Darcy won.”

There was a collective, “Oh...”

“What is the point total now?”

“Lord Blake is in the lead with six points for his three wins.” He waited for the crowd to quiet. “Mr. Darcy follows with four points, for his two victories, Mr. Kent and Mr. Bingley each have one for their draw, and Mr. Rawlings still has no points at all.”

“I need to change my bet. I want Mr. Darcy now. Although I cannot stand that man he seems to have better skills than my favorite, Mr. Rawlings.”

“It is getting late. Do you think they will finish today?”

“They had better. I cannot stay here all night.” The other patrons laughed, just the same none left to return home.

There was a small break after round three. Rawlings, Bingley, and Kent all chose wine. Blake and Darcy preferred to avoid drinking. They were the most serious players.

When Sir William announced round four, Darcy sat across from Bingley. He purposely took the table nearest the windows. He knew his friend had a habit of losing concentration when he had a view to admire. It is a shame Mr. Bennet did not bring his two eldest daughters with him, he thought as he looked at Bingley, and then to Blake.

Rawlings and Kent began their play at the table along the far wall. Someone lit the candles as dusk was just beginning.

The matches started. The judges watched the players carefully looking for any infractions while the competitors concentrated on their own moves. It was not long before both games finished.

Round four ended with Darcy and Kent winning their games over Bingley and Rawlings. Darcy, having now played three games, was now tied for the lead with Blake. Kent whose turn it was to sit out the final round ended the tournament with three points. Bingley had one point and Rawlings, as he expected, had none.

Round five was about to start. Rawlings and Bingley were playing to avoid last place. On the other hand, the game everyone waited for had finally arrived: Blake against Darcy.

Rawlings and Bingley played for one hour exactly. Bingley laid his king down, stood, and shook his friend’s hand. “Game, Rawlings. Game. You are the proud owner of two points. Alas, I have only a single point for the tournament and will rank last for the stallion!”

“Good game. I was fortunate to have played you in the final round. The results would have been much different had we met earlier. I suspect your game with Darcy sapped your strength of mind.”

“Perhaps. Regardless, I congratulate you, my friend. You did very well. Truth be told, I am surprised you did not beat Kent.”

Mr. Bennet congratulated Rawlings, offered his condolences to Bingley, and then directed their attention to the other match. “Shall we then proceed to watch the chess master and the challenger?” They agreed with alacrity, and all three found their way to across the room. They did not stop for drinks or food.

Servants were milling about, taking their time replenishing the refreshments and refilling the carafes. Roger Staunton’s boy was back and waiting for more information. One servant even went so far as to dust away some invisible lint from the sofa nearest to the chess table to gain any tidbits since he had wagered his own money on outcome of this game. No one bothered with or cared about the servants. They kept their eyes on one chessboard and two very determined men. None of the assembled men suggested a break for dinner, preferring to sustain their focus on the remaining match.

A relaxed Blake examined Darcy carefully. A serious mien replaced all the ease and relaxation from the early games enjoyed by both of them.

Darcy did not look around. He did not speak. He barely breathed. He did not eat any of the food brought in for the men. He certainly did not partake of any alcohol.

When talking with Mr. Bennet earlier, Darcy had revealed he had spent several of the past evenings studying the chess books written by Francois-Andre Danican Philidor. Blake admired the man, often calling him the greatest player that ever lived. And, if Blake thought so highly of him then he needed to know as much about how Philidor played the game as Blake knew.

Blake made a move, Darcy countered. Darcy tried an aggressive attack and Blake crushed it immediately. Blake remained calm for the first two hours. The third hour proved to be difficult and it was not until the fourth hour when it finished.

My, this is getting interesting, a most amused Mr. Bennet thought. Blake shook Darcy’s hand, and then frantically waved the judges over.

Chapter 13

Posted on Tuesday, 6 May 2008

All day long, patrons filled the Black Bull Tavern. Word spread throughout the neighborhood that two of the judges planned to stop by to give their account of the final round of the chess game. By this time, every man, from servant to landowner, was aware of Mr. Bingley’s competition. Everyone heard of the results of the first four rounds, but the young boy had not returned with the news of the fifth match.

In the beginning, the patrons were interested in all aspects of the competitions, but now they only desired the name of the man who came in second place, for that was the result on which the bets were placed. Collecting their winnings was important, but as is the usual nature of men, they also coveted their ability to crow about their cleverness, at least until the next game.

When Mr. Bennet and Sir William entered the tavern, Mr. Staunton closed the journal for what he assumed would be the final time regarding the chess tournament. A servant led the two gentlemen to the chairs they had occupied the previous day. Two tankards of ale appeared before the men took their seats while the patrons crowded around them. Some sat, others stood close.

Mr. Bennet tapped impatiently on his mug; waiting until all murmuring died down before he revealed the results of the fifth round. “Those betting on Mr. Rawlings to win, you may collect your bet. With certainty, he thrashed Mr. Bingley and avoided last place.” Mr. Bennet waited for the cheers to subside. “Mr. Kent sat out having played his four games.”

“Do not drag this out, Bennet! Tell us the victor in the other match—Lord Blake or Mr. Darcy.”

“Now, that was the game of the day, taking a full three hours to complete. Mr. Darcy was a man focused; there could be no different opinion on that.”

“Who won? Tell us man, who won?”

“Neither. It ended in a tie. An excellent game I might add; and it was, perhaps, the best match I have witnessed in many years. Lord Blake may be a master, but Mr. Darcy gave him fits throughout the game.”

The patrons’ chatter grew louder. Surrounded by men confused about their wagers, Roger Staunton closed the betting journal and shouted over the din, “I figure Lord Blake and Mr. Darcy both ended with the same number of points. Was that allowed to stand? Did no one come in first for the stallion?”

“True, those two did tie the chess tournament with seven points after the five rounds. Mr. Kent did well to finish with three points, Mr. Rawlings managed to gain two, and Mr. Bingley was last with only one.”

“I am sorry Mr. Bingley did not do better. I was hoping he would win the stallion. This will make it harder for him.”

“What is the rule for ties?”

“The overall competition did not provide such a situation. I, as judge of the rules, suggested Lord Blake and Mr. Darcy play until one either won or bowed out.”

“Well, did they play?”

“They are stubborn men. Lord Blake might be more charming and talkative, but he is every bit as proud as Mr. Darcy.”

“So they played?”

“Yes and no. The games will be held tomorrow.”

When the next day arrived, a smiling Mr. Staunton observed the quantity of men in his tavern. The men drank, ate, and continued to bet while they waited out the results. More wagers were placed on the marquess than on the one disliked by almost everyone. They knew both of these men treated the locals with a similar arrogant superiority, but Lord Blake smiled at them from time to time. He had even danced with several of the young maidens at the recent Assembly ball, while Mr. Darcy ignored anyone not in his own party. Nor had the men overlooked his dismissal of their Miss Elizabeth Bennet when making a judgment of the man’s abilities. . Men used any morsel of information before placing a bet, and this particular tidbit did not render kind feelings toward Mr. Darcy.

The news about this extra game was scant and of little importance since the only persons permitted in the library for the game were the competitors and the five judges. Everyone waited; their eyes glued to the door. As soon as one of the men won, Mr. Bennet had promised he would hurry to share the news.

And, so it was, when the final match ended and enough time had passed to take their leave politely, Mr. Bennet and Sir William hurried to the Black Bull, each looking forward to the free ale. The two men smiled widely when a cheer erupted at their entrance. Once settled in the two chairs reserved for them with almost overflowing tankards, Mr. Bennet began his story.

“After tying the day before, today’s match started down the same path. The first and second attempts again ended in ties.” He waited for the murmur to die down before continuing. “It was exciting to watch. Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Kent were drinking and cheering on their favorites.”

“Which one favored Lord Blake?”

“Mr. Rawlings cheered on Lord Blake and Mr. Kent rooted for Mr. Darcy. I suspect they wagered with each other on the outcome of this match. From the sounds they made, the stakes must have been significant,” Mr. Bennet said, smiling. “Mr. Bingley remained neutral, claiming, as host, he would be too uncomfortable choosing sides.”

“So, Mr. Bennet, what happened? How did it end?”

“A winner emerged in the third match.”

“Ahhh! Just tell us who!”

The room grew silent. No one dared take a sip of ale or a bite to eat, in case anyone missed Mr. Bennet’s announcement. All eyes focused on the eccentric, teasing master of Longbourn.

Sir William yelled out, “Lord Blake!”

A cheer went out for those who had bet on Lord Blake.

Mr. Bennet sipped his drink unhurriedly before continuing with his story. “Lord Blake was apparently having sport with his friend. He won in the shortest game of the day. In my opinion, he could have won any of the games. He is a master of the game, and he is the best player I have ever witnessed.”

Mr. Bennet remembered an odd comment Mr. Rawlings told one of the players at the end of the final game. “I suspect, one day soon, you will be in a different sort of match; one of greater significance. In the same manner as chess, you must plan your moves. Be aware ... the other competitor will have his own plans and allies. And be careful, my friend, not to lose one day because you underestimated your rival. He is tenacious, and he will be willing to sacrifice to win.” Watching the young man glare back at Mr. Rawlings, Mr. Bennet deemed the dynamics among the men to be the most diverting. Most diverting indeed.

Mr. Staunton posed a question, bringing Mr. Bennet’s attention back to the tavern. “When is the next game? I thought Mr. Kent’s game was to start today?” He waited for the response as he wrote the score for the stallion on the wall: Game 1, Chess: Blake 5, Darcy 4, Kent 3, Rawlings 2, and Bingley 1.

“They agreed to play tomorrow.”

“Do you know what game is to be played?” One of the fortunate patrons asked. He was anxious to extend his winnings.

“Yes, but I promised to keep all secret. You see, the other gentlemen do not know, and the game will only be named at breakfast along with the rules on the morning it is to be played. It does create a lot of tension between them, I imagine.”

“I suspect their valets are working overtime to gain that information,” one patron suggested as he noted the servant refilled Mr. Bennet’s tankard for the fourth time.

“Yes, I suppose you are correct.”

“Mr. Logan, do not tell me you failed. You…you… soulless knotty-pated scullion!” Rawlings relaxed in his chair near the fireplace as he waited for Logan’s reply. The only noise in the room was the sound of his valet fiddling with the fire.

“I have tried everything! What do you suggest?” Logan answered after a short pause.

Rawlings removed his cravat and wiped his brow while Logan poured the tea. He had been successful in including the calming beverage in Rawlings schedule. However, unbeknownst to him, his master slipped a little rum in the teapot from a flask he kept hidden in the table.

“Have you tried giving the valet a woman for the night?”

“I did. I swear the man is more afraid of being released from his service than desirous of having the fine pleasures of a silky soft woman to cuddle up to all night long.”

“I suspect you have received many gifts?”

Placing his cup down, Logan began his early evening chores, “Not one of them thought of a sweet miss though. I might have revealed all if they had presented me with a beautiful, silky body of a woman.”

“You want a dead woman? Just the body?” Rawlings looked at him with the widest smile he could muster. “I do not wish you to sell me out for such a thing. I will buy you a damn live chit if need be!”

“Do not be such a spongey puisny-tilted eunuch.”

Tipping his invisible hat to his valet, Rawlings chose to let his insult win this night.

“Very good, sir. I will not sell you out for anything less.” Bowing to Rawlings, Logan left the room chuckling.

Lord Blake was about to mount his horse for an afternoon gallop when Darcy called out his name.

“Darcy! I am surprised to see you. Are you planning to ride? Do you wish to best me in something today?” He laughed as he patted his filly, Chesterfield.

“Not today.”

“If you do not plan to ride, what brings you to the stables? Come to inspect my Heracles?” Smirking, Blake glanced toward the beautiful white stallion in the far stall. “You must catch me now. I have begun the games with the most points.”

“That will not be so in a few days.”

“Well, what is it? I can see by your expression you wish to have a word with me.”

“You toyed with me,” Darcy said without a hint of displeasure.

“Yes, it is true. But, you were so determined. I did not wish to deflate your ego.”

“Ha. You are enjoying this small win of yours. Nonetheless, each day it will be more difficult for you to gain points. In fact, I doubt you will score more than one point when my day comes.”

“What is your game? You knew full well that I would choose chess.”

“I will not tell you now. Remember, do not come naked.” Darcy displayed his trademark smirk as they both recalled the earlier conversation about the competition.

“Have I ever played this game before?”

“If I tell, that could be giving you an unfair advantage.”

“Can I not bribe you?”

“No. Money cannot compensate for the pleasure of witnessing your expression when I announce the game. It is not money that is an inducement for me.” Darcy smiled at his friend. Abruptly his countenance changed, from jest to seriousness, when he next spoke.

“It is fine for you to toy with me. I have the strength of mind to survive your games; not everyone does. I beseech you though, do not trifle with others.”

“You do not understand at all.” Blake said brusquely as he squeezed his hands into fists and stood rigidly.

“Understand what? That you are enjoying all the country has to offer?” Darcy asked. “But will you leave it all behind when we return to London?”

“Do not think of me like that.” An agitated Blake held himself in a tense, rigid stance.

“Why not?” Darcy asked, surprised by Blake’s obvious perturbation. “I know of your past with women like Miss Elizabeth.”

“You are not aware of my actions in life.” Blake stared fiercely at Darcy. “As I said, you do not understand at all.”

“Exactly what do I not understand?”

“My attentions to her.”

“What are your intentions, Blake?” he asked with urgency in his voice.

“I cannot say. Or rather, I will not say.” Blake did not drop his stare.

“Or are you are embarrassed to say the words aloud?”

Blake’s eyes narrowed and grew darker as he leaned in closer. “I am my own man. My relationships are no concern of yours and neither are Miss Bennet’s. Stay out of this.”

Darcy mirrored Blake’s stance. “I will not let you dally with her.” Suddenly he stepped back, and added, “Or any other lady here, for that matter. We did not come to enjoy the attentions of a pretty face. We are here for business.” Darcy stormed towards the door as Blake yelled—

“Darcy, stop!”

Halting mid stride, Darcy slowly turned to face Blake.

Blake shook his head, and in a softer tone said, “I will not be distracted from the alliance or my commitments to you. I promise you.”

Smiling, Darcy walked casually to the house.

The next morning found the all the men, except one, waiting at the breakfast table; curious, eager and excited for Kent’s game. No one had been able to find out or even imagine what he had chosen. Kent was not the best in billiards, fencing, archery, or target shooting.

“Where is Blake?” Darcy asked as he moved to the dining room window with his coffee in hand.

“I believe he is returning from the stable,” Bingley said. Slowly looking up from his meal, he missed the worried expression on his friend’s face.

Darcy focused his attention on the window. “Did the man go galloping off again this morning?

Bingley grinned. “No, he wanted to check on his horse. He said something about soothing his filly’s jealousy when he wins Heracles.”

Rawlings did not miss Darcy’s sigh or relaxed shoulders. “Win Heracles? He counts his chickens I should say!”

“I was the best at Cambridge, Rawlings,” Blake said as he walked confidently into the room. “Perhaps I do count my chickens, but you are still trying to find your eggs. How many points do you have now? Oh yes, two.”

Rawlings and Kent shared a questioning glance when Blake chose to sit at the opposite end of the table, far away from Darcy.

“Do not be so cock-sure, Blake. Today’s game may not suit you at all,” Kent said.

“Well, what is it, Kent? What is to be the game?” Blake asked.

“We must wait for the judges. The ballroom is set up, and we will meet there in a half hour.”

“So, we play a game indoors?” Blake asked.

“Games, more like” Kent said, a delightful gleam in his eyes.

When the judges arrived at the allotted time, all the men removed themselves to the ballroom. Surprise was evident on all their faces, for in front of them was the best looking tavern they would ever enter.

Kent had spared no expense. His footman-turned-carpenter had placed beams along the walls with wooden planks fastened between them. Five chairs, typical to those found in a tavern, were lined up in a row in front of a bar set up against the back wall. One of the servants, dressed in a scruffy outfit, was obviously the proprietor. He stood at the bar with bottles of brandy, wine, rum, and even one Oban whisky along with the appropriate drinking glasses on the shelving behind him. When they stared at him, he held up a black journal similar to the betting books found in men’s clubs in town. Signs typical to this sort of establishment hung on the walls. However, the space normally reserved for ballroom dancing held the most interest for the men. Four different games were on display.

“Welcome to the Netherfield Park’s Five Alls!” Kent announced, pointing proudly to the plaque hanging behind them above the door. Five figures appeared on the sign with a slogan under each one.

“First figure is of a king in all his finery, with the pronouncement, I govern all,” Kent said, as the men moved closer to inspect the figures and the mottos painted upon it.

“He must be Darcy. He is here to lead us, is that not so?” Rawlings asked. The others nodded in agreement.

Mr. Bennet stood apart from the friends and studied the interplay between them. Hmmm, this could prove quite enlightening. I wonder where Mr. Darcy is leading these men. Mr. Bennet kept an eye on the men as they identified which figure symbolized each of them.

“Second one is undoubtedly a pontiff or bishop. You can tell by his vestments and insignia, and the inscription, I pray for all.”

“That would be you, Rawlings. You are always quick to tell us where we go wrong,” Darcy said.

“Third one is a lawyer in a gown declaring, I plead for all.” Kent laughed, and then gazed directly at Bingley.

“I suspect that would be you, Bingley,” Rawlings said, not surprised at the lack of objections. “None of us can do wrong in your mind.”

“I cannot help it if I am fond of all of my friends,” Bingley said, shrugging.

“Fourth one is a soldier in his dress uniform, stating I fight for all.” As he read the motto, Kent aimed an invisible Baker rifle at the men.

Everyone yelled out, “Kent!” Rawlings followed up by saying, “Of course it more like fighting us than for us!” The men laughed. Kent did not appear amused.

“Finally a poor countryman with his farming implements crying, I pay for all. It cannot be anyone else but you, Blake,” Kent said.

The friends argued amongst themselves as to who they thought they really were. The judges were amused. “I daresay each one could be any one of the figures,” Mr. Bennet whispered to Sir William. “I agree, and us as well.” He glanced at the older men.

Kent drew their attention back to the purpose of the day—his competition. He pointed to the games set up in the dancing space. Rawlings was the quickest to follow him to the first table.

“Why, it is shove ha’penny. I have not played that in years.” Rawlings realized all the games could be found in most pubs and taverns throughout the land. As he studied the other games set up on the dance floor, he recognized skittles, quoits, and cribbage.

“I should have guessed! You did spend many an evening at the taverns, Kent. I thought all this time you were up to something else!”

Kent waved the others over and handed out the rules to each of his friends.

Sir William announced, “Game two shall now begin.”

Chapter 14

Posted on Saturday, 17 May 2008

The second day of games was held behind closed and guarded doors. Two footmen stationed at the entrance had explicit orders that no one is to enter the room except the judges, the competitors, and the lone servant posing as the bar keep. Those instructions, however, did not keep these two doormen from straining to hear talk of winners and losers. Amongst the shouts and cheers, they heard chuckles and guffaws. On one occasion, the room grew silent, followed by an enormous burst of sound. Waiting impatiently for news, the makeshift sentries listened with their ears upon the door and viewed the action by peering through the keyhole. After a moment of excessive hilarity, the guards shook their heads, gave up hope, and returned to the stance of proper doormen.

“The quality folks is a queer lot.”

“That they are.”

“Which gent did you wager on to be second?”

“Mr. Bingley.” The footman raised his brows in question to the other guard.

“I put thruppence on Mr. Rawlings.”

The morning had been filled with competing on the tavern games, followed by drinks at the bar, and refreshments shared by all the attendees. The men took on a competitive spirit: cheering when they did well and moaning alibis when they did not. When the doors opened, the men spilled into the hallway with voices raised in merriment. The doormen barely breathed as they kept their ears trained on the men’s conversation.

“I must tell you, my friends, this was a most enjoyable morning. I am especially partial now to counting the points for the stallion. Yes, indeed. A most splendid day.” Laughing, the victor of game two slapped the back of his friend as he led all the men out of the ballroom.

“Yes, you did well today. Remember though, there are still three more games left. The real game is who wins the most seconds and thirds.”

“I will be sorry to see the tavern decorations removed. I rather like having a gentleman’s club so close.” Darcy pointed with his head back towards the ballroom.

Turning around, the men beheld the comfortable room. The afternoon sunbeams pointed down upon the games in the middle of the floor. The servant was putting away the brandy, port, and ale. Unceremoniously, other servants were retrieving the trays of uneaten food.

“Now this is worth the trouble of climbing several flights of stairs!” Rawlings exclaimed.

Bingley decided to leave the ballroom decorated until the date set for the Harvest Feast, and the men happily concurred when he suggested having the servants move the billiard table into the room. The Five All’s Tavern became their own unique men’s club, where they invited the judges to stop by from time to time. Here they would continue to challenge one another in friendly rounds of games, including twenty points. The drinks would flow and the friends behaved in the manner of men without the civilizing presence of women. They spoke and sang in masculine tones, the arguments ended in mocking duels, and the language flowed easily with words never spoken in polite company. The men had returned to their Cambridge days when life was carefree and responsibilities were few. In this most private of all clubs, all was well between the men.

After this second day of competitions when the older gentlemen departed for the homes, the young men separated. Several chose quiet surroundings while others opted for the outdoors: one left to ride in the meadow and two others left for Longbourn.

Riding Chesterfield did calm Blake after his performance at Kent’s game that morning. He refused to spend this clear and bright day shackled to a book in the library with Darcy and Kent. He preferred to gallop when he needed to meditate concerns encroaching on his thoughts.

However, nothing—not even the competition—could erase the vision he saw in his head as he raced over the open meadow. He tried not to search for Miss Elizabeth, as that had become his newest habit on his rides, but he found himself drawn to the hidden path he had discovered previously. He sought time to think about the situation with her, and he wanted to consider Darcy’s interest in the whole affair. However, when the loveliness of a gown peaked out of a side path, all thoughts abandoned him as he dismounted from his horse and rushed to her.

“Miss Bennet.” A pleased Blake bowed and without a hint of remorse said, “I had hoped to find you today.”

“Looking for solace, Lord Blake?” Elizabeth picked a leaf from the tree and did not peek at him. Instead, she kept her eyes on a squirrel, as the furry animal scurried away.

“If consolation is needed for me to remain in your company, then yes, I accept,” Blake whispered as he leaned closer to her than was proper.

Elizabeth turned, smiled at Lord Blake, and then hastily stepped back a little. She played with the leaf in her hand while they continued walking along the path. “First one eliminated this morning, I understand.”

“Your father talks too much.” Keeping his eyes on the trail ahead, Blake offered his arm.

“But he did say you are the best chess master he ever witnessed. Did he talk too much then, as well?” Elizabeth gazed at him with the most arresting pair of eyes he had beheld.

“Let us say he should be a little more selective when he speaks of my abilities to others. I would not wish to lose any good impressions I had garnered.”

“Much can be learned about a person when they lose, as well. You, I understand, make a charming loser.”

“No one loses charmingly. They merely pretend to do so while all the time seething inside. We are taught how to smile at our losses at a dreadfully young age, as you are well aware.”

“My father spoke of Mr. Kent’s skills with commendable appreciation. Had you never played any tavern games before, Lord Blake?”

“It is true I have some experience, but Mr. Kent grew up on them. He should be superior to those of us that found time to only dabble at them.”

“Tell me about the games, if you can do so without becoming cross with yourself.”

“Galloping through the open meadow released all my irritation to the wind. So how shall I begin?”

“I suppose by describing each game and how it is played. I have never even dabbled, milord.” Elizabeth found a fallen tree, which she used as a bench.

“As always, for you, I shall endeavor to do my best.” Blake sat down beside her. “Kent set up four tavern games in Mr. Bingley’s ballroom. I must say it was quite a sight. Mr. Kent spared no expense in decorating it to look like an authentic tavern. The old King’s Head near my home could learn a few lessons from Mr. Kent.” Blake stared straight ahead, remembering how surprised he was when he saw the room.

“Where is your home?

“Leicestershire. Have you ever traveled there?” Blake asked.

“No, other than London, I have not ventured out of Hertfordshire. But we digress. Please continue with the competition as I am quite captivated by them.”

Blake narrowed his eyes. “You and all of Hertfordshire are absorbed. I understand many have hiked to Meryton to place bets on the games.”

“Are you stalling, milord? I know you lost in the first elimination. I will admit you have not been diminished in my eyes.” Elizabeth studied the leaf in her hand.

Leaning closer, Blake inhaled her familiar lavender scent now forever impressed upon his consciousness. “Thank you. I would never wish that.” Sitting upright, he cleared his throat. “You are correct. I was stalling. I do not like telling how I could not succeed on the initial game. Oh well, we began with shove ha’penny. Have you ever played it?”

“No. Please tell me more. Is it difficult?”

“I think luck is needed. Mr. Kent insists skill is required.” Blake rolled his eyes. “It is a game with a board and a few ha‘pennies.”

“How do you play?”

“Exactly like the name. You shove a half penny across the board. Well slide it to be precise. May I take your arm?”

Thinking his intention was to help her up so that they might continue their walk, Elizabeth held out her arm. She was surprised when he turned her arm over and, pretending it was a game board, he drew imaginary lines across it. In a deep husky voice, he described the board, and how a penny should slide and stop near the top. Elizabeth sat very still. In truth, she barely listened as his fingers moved seductively across her arm. And when Blake’s knee rubbed against her thigh when he turned to demonstrate the game, it excited her in ways she had never before encountered.

Raising his head after finishing the explanation, he startled at the blush on Elizabeth’s face. However, he felt his own face on fire and assumed his cheeks had deepened into a bright crimson color of his own.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I understand now, please go on.” Lizzy retrieved her arm as he turned to sit more appropriately.

For a few moments, they avoided eye contact, until their breathing had returned to normal and their faces were no longer flush.

“You will get to try this game for yourself. In fact, Mr. Bingley will include all of them at the harvest feast for everyone to try. I will watch to see how you do.”

“Harvest Feast? I had not heard of any such event. And is not the harvest long finished? Why, this is November?”

“Oh. Bingley told us at dinner last night he was planning to hold a celebration for his tenants. Even though he did not let the estate until the time had passed to hold such an event, he is most desirous of showing his tenants he is attentive to all those things. Perhaps Celebration Feast would have been a better name.”

“Perhaps. It is commendable regardless of when it is held.”

“I agree. I suppose you will be learning the particulars later. As I said, he agreed to allow all the tavern games be available for the attendees of the Feast. Your family is one of many to be invited.”

I await it with pleasure. Now tell me more about the games. I am like everyone else, obsessed. My father did not tell us anything more, except how you and Mr. Bingley fared.”

“Mr. Kent had a competition with four games—shove ha’penny, skittles, quoits, and cribbage. I will show them to you at the Harvest Feast.

“Go on. How did the scoring work?”

“It was incredibly simple, in fact. We all played a game and if you ended in last place then you were excluded from moving on to the next game.” Blake’s muscles in his neck twitched and his hands balled into fists. “Unfortunately I was eliminated after the first game, when my penny flew right off the…” He threw his hands up in expiration as he mumbled, “…blasted… board.”

After a moment of taking deep breaths, he shook his head. “Please excuse my ungentlemanly outburst. I forgot myself, but all the same, I am confounded by my inability to push a penny on a board.”

“Shall I release you to go galloping about in the meadow, Lord Blake? Elizabeth asked with just a hint of a giggle. “Do you need to release all this new irritation to the wind?”

Smiling, Blake shook his head.

“Well, you are forgiven. Please go on. Did the others win points for each tavern game?”

“No, nothing so complicated as that. I received one point because I lost first and was eliminated from the rest of Mr. Kent’s games. Whoever came in last in the next game received two points, and was eliminated from the remaining games, and so forth.”

“What was the next one, and who lost?”

“Skittles and Mr. Darcy lost. I am glad he did not do well, for it would have made it difficult for me to best him for the stallion. He was none to happy either!”

“Why do gentlemen make games so complicated?”

“We must keep our senses sharp in order to deal with ladies. They are the wiser sex as you alleged.” Blake presented her with the most charming smile he could muster.

“Lord Blake! You use my own words against me.” Smiling at her tease, Elizabeth was inclined to throw the leaf at him, but decided that was too Lydia-like. She instead dropped it to the ground.

“Not true! I use them against me. Well, I shall continue to describe the games. Apparently, Mr. Darcy is no more skilled than I am. He failed at Skittles. Mr. Rawlings has had more practice as he patronized taverns and public houses regularly for several years after we completed school. I learned today that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Kent spent much of their youth playing these games. You, I guess, can surmise how the points went?”

“Yes. I imagine Mr. Rawlings placed third when eliminated from quoits and the final game came down to Mr. Kent and Mr. Bingley in cribbage with Mr. Kent winning. Remember, my father told us Mr. Bingley’s result.”

“I am surprised he did not tell you all the standings.”

Elizabeth dropped her head to hide her blush she could feel rising on her cheeks. “We only asked about you and Mr. Bingley.”

Blake’s eyes lit up. “Now, Mr. Bingley played exceedingly well, but Mr. Kent was the victor. I will be interested to see you play these games.”

“I have attempted a little cribbage before.”

“Then it shall be quite entertaining to observe you playing the other pub games. I assure you, there is nothing untoward in playing them.” Blake looked at Elizabeth’s arm and felt his face grow hot again.

“Mr. Bingley is most kind to hold this Harvest Feast.”

“He is the most amiable gentleman of my acquaintance. He seems to thrive around people and everyone likes him. He never says any unkind word about anyone, except he does rather tease Mr. Darcy at times.”

“Does Mr. Darcy not take any offense?”

“No, Mr. Darcy is exceedingly fond of Mr. Bingley. They became best of friends when their fathers died. Rather sad.”

“Yes, dreadfully sad, indeed.”

“Mr. Darcy was expecting his father’s death, for he had grown dreadfully ill over a period of time: months, perhaps even years. Such was not the case for Mr. Bingley whose father, stricken with pneumonia, passed within a few days. Mr. Darcy was a grand friend to him during that time, and since that day, Bingley has relied on him on all matters of major significance.”

“And that is why they are especially particular friends?”

“Yes, and he stood by Mr. Darcy when it was his turn to bury a father. They do have a unique relationship. Mr. Bingley is the only person able to tease him without giving offense, and I believe, his friendliness fills some void for Mr. Darcy. At one time, someone close to him was much like Mr. Bingley, but has since vacated his life.”

“Mr. Bingley appears to have survived his loss with his humor and sunny disposition intact. I am afraid Mr. Darcy lost his.”

“When he is in comfortable surroundings, Mr. Darcy can be surprisingly amusing. Do not be too hard on him.”

“I am surprised. You seem to admire Mr. Darcy.”

“I do not comprehend how he accomplishes everything; run an estate and a home in London. He has many business responsibilities, and he is guardian of his young sister.”

“But he is proud just the same; too proud to mix with the likes of us!”

“He has a right to be proud, do you not think?”

“But, he… let us return, for I am sure they are expecting you.” Elizabeth rose from the makeshift bench and began down the path without waiting for Lord Blake.

“I know what Mr. Rawlings is planning,” Lord Blake said abruptly. When Elizabeth stopped and turned to him with an curious expression, he smiled.

“I thought it was a secret. How did you find out?” Her eyes widened.

“I know his passion. In truth, I am speculating, of course.” Blake moved closer to her. He could sense her breath upon his person. His eyes grew dark and he lowered his head.

“Which game do you guess?” She asked softly. She was so fixed to the spot that even his slow breathing did not cause her to step away. Gazing deep into his eyes, she held her breath.

As he looked at her, he leaned in further and the pattern of his breathing slowed. He could smell the lavender scent that now overpowered all other senses. His palms had started to sweat and he had began to feel hot all over.

“He will have us race through Meryton in chariots!” Blake hastily stepped back, shaking his hands and then rubbing them dry against his jacket.

“No! Like the Romans?” Elizabeth said, without attempting to control the surprised and relieved look upon her face.

Blake nodded. “Just like the Romans.”

“Is there a reason why he chose this game?” Bewildered and perplexed, Elizabeth imagined a chariot race through the streets of her small village.

“He is a member of the Four Horse Club, and races all the time. Like me and chess, Rawlings will use his favorite pastime as his game.”

“Might he be beaten?” Elizabeth took Blake’s arm. They turned to make their way back to his horse.

“I think not. We will be lucky not to be knocked over.”

“If you do not win this game, are you concerned you will not win the stallion?”

“The competition is not about who wins every game, but who can achieve the most seconds and thirds. That is the true game.”

“Well, Lord Blake. I wish you luck.”

Blake released her hand from his arm as he examined the path. “And perhaps if I find an object to carry with me for luck, I may do well.” He stooped to find either the leaf she discarded earlier or a wildflower like the one he picked for her before. Smiling, Elizabeth dropped her kerchief over his shoulder. “Perhaps this will suffice.”

Lord Blake picked up the handkerchief. Adorning one corner was the very same wildflower he was searching for, and along the other was a single garden rose.

Bingley was the only competitor Rawlings’ told the name of his game ahead of time. The main road in Meryton had to remain open and clear of other travelers to avoid serious problems, and as the judge of all rules, Mr. Bennet would be the one to ask. When Rawlings made the request to seek Mr. Bennet’s assistance, Bingley immediately agreed to accompany him to Longbourn. He would have ventured to Jane’s home for even the slimmest of excuses. Within moments, Bingley sat atop his gentle mare. He was not entirely sure he wanted to win the stallion.

Miss Bennet was home when the two men called. Bingley was quick with his visit to her father. Leaving Rawlings to conclude the arrangements, he immediately went in search of the eldest daughter.

Jane was gracious in showing him the garden. Mary, their chaperon, again commented to him on the evils of sport, but nothing she said could dissuade him from being in Miss Bennet’s company. It did not take long before Mary found a bench suitable for reading and observing her sister and visitor take a turn around the garden.

When Mr. Bingley leaned in and whispered the name of Rawlings’ game, Jane smiled sweetly to him, but with a wrinkled brow. “Are you concerned about the game? You may be injured.” She promised to keep it a secret even from her favorite sister.

“I will take care. If I do well, I will certainly be competitive with the others.”

“I am anxious no one be hurt. Is your game as dangerous as this? Jane was no different from any other resident in the parish. She enjoyed knowing more than anyone else, excepting her father, who had been made privileged to the information, of course. But it took many smiles before Bingley revealed his game.

“My game is not dangerous at all. I suppose tomorrow’s race will be the most perilous of all the games, but I do not think any of us will take it to the extreme. Although I must say, Mr. Darcy has been quite wily about his game. But, Miss Bennet, let me assure you, my friends will not take any undue chances, for we are only competing for a horse.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Both walked in silence for several minutes. When Jane looked at Bingley, she noticed there was sweat upon his brow.

He smiled at her. “Do you remember in the days of old, young maidens provided their favorites with a scarf for luck?” He focused his eyes on spot around her neck.

“Oh, yes I do recall those stories. Blushing, she removed her scarf and handed it to him. “I wish you luck, and I hope this will help, Mr. Bingley.”

“I have won with this on my person, even if I lose the race. But, Miss Bennet, do not count me out for I may yet surprise Mr. Rawlings at his own game.” Busy gazing at the spot where the scarf laid, he did not discern Rawlings’ approaching.

“I look forward to it.” Rawlings bowed as he joined the two. “All the arrangements are finished.”

As the men departed Longbourn, Rawlings kept his eye on the slip of blue material peeking out of his friend’s coat. Laughing heartily, Rawlings guessed what was in the pocket that caused Bingley to look sheepishly away as he pushed the scarf further into its hiding place.

Bingley chuckled. “Of course, I will go with you. Are you seeking your own amulet? I heard the youngest Bennets walked to town. Do not look disheartened: Miss Bennet mentioned their goal was to purchase some pretty ribbons. You will need more than a flimsy good luck charm, my friend. I warn you.”

Rawlings scoffed. “I have wasted enough time listening to your idle threats of superiority.”

The two men pushed their steeds forward but before they reached the turn for Netherfield Park, Rawlings did confess he desired to go into town.

Rawlings feared the shops would close shortly, and the ladies may have returned home using a different path. But he refused to miss the opportunity to speak to a pert Lydia away from her family, and hopefully, any redcoats. After a half hour, they had not found the youngest Bennets, so they returned to Netherfield; one happily patting his pocket, and the other a little frustrated.

The bright afternoon sun easily lit the words on the pages of the books Kent and Darcy were reading. They sought a little quiet time in the library after the boisterous noise of the tavern games. Tomorrow was Rawlings’ competition and they expected a long day.

Kent trudged through one of Shakespeare’s tragedies. How does Darcy read this? If I must think about each line as I read, I will go mad.

He turned another unread page.

Now, I prefer ‘Wealth of Nations’ or anything by Tom Paine. Of course, I cannot read such books here. I can well imagine their peevish reactions. Well, he does not specifically call for the overthrow of the aristocracy. Not specifically! But Thomas Spence’s ‘Pigs Meat’ surely does! They are unaware how often I hold the same opinion with some of his radical calls to transform society. If they did, I might be branded as an enemy of the state!

Kent glanced at what Darcy was reading. John Donne. Ahh ... poetry! Other than his books depicting sea battles fought by Admiral Nelson, I cannot stand what he reads.

Kent’s thoughts drifted to Blake and Bingley as he continued to ‘read’ his book. The men’s behavior around the two eldest Bennet girls increasingly worried him, as well as their tête-à-tête, often spoken in hushed voices. They whisper too much. God, they still discuss their flirtations like young schoolboys experiencing first love.

All afternoon, Kent waited for the right time to speak to Darcy about this matter weighing on his mind. As the sunlight began to lessen and the words on the book lost their sharpness, he sensed the time had come. Closing his book, he leaned forward and spoke in a calm voice to the other man sitting across from him who was seemingly lost in his reading.

“Darcy, are you not concerned two of our friends are spending too much time with a couple of young ladies? Will this type of diversion interfere with our business plans?”

Setting his book in his lap, Darcy bestowed his full attentiveness upon Kent’s concern. “I do not see how their latest flirtations will cause any disadvantage to our alliance. There is no other society in which to focus their interest. Both men are prone to fancy the ladies; they have fancied them since our school years.”

Kent did not drop his eyes or settle back in his chair.

Darcy shrugged. “When they take notice of a particular lady, they often dance with her more than once, fetch her drinks, sweet talk in such ridiculous ways, and otherwise flirt and flatter the woman.”

“Yes, but do they not raise false expectations for the young ladies?”

“I should hope not. I do not think they go beyond what society views as harmless flirtation.”

“So, you believe they are not serious over their latest interests?” Kent asked.

“Bingley is behaving as, well, Bingley. He falls in love every other month, as he cannot be without the companionship of a beautiful woman. I have no doubt he will fall in love with another as soon as we return to London.”

“And Blake? Are you at all concerned with him?”

“Blake? He is not under the same obligations or circumstances as Bingley.” Darcy paused to sip his wine and compose his words. “While he also engages in many flirtations, he does respect his situation in life. Most young ladies understand it is just a flirtation from a man of his station. They do not object and in actuality, seek the attention since any notice by a marquess will help her move up in her own circle. But, Bingley must marry to help him advance to a higher status. Being new to London society, his open behavior towards the ladies is his way of finding out who might serve that purpose.

Kent leaned forward in his chair and watched closely as Darcy wrestled with his thoughts. His face appeared puzzled until he sighed and said, “Now Blake, as the son of a duke, will connect himself in marriage only to increase his fortune; he must marry an heiress. No one here is suitable for Blake’s needs. This is the way of our world, Kent.”

He caught the hint of regret in Darcy’s voice, but he had his reason to continue the conversation.

“You believe marrying up for social reasons is acceptable? Kent asked, and then, with widened eyes and the slightest of gasps, he added, “I mean, Bingley must marry into some titled or near titled family in order to move up in society. He has quite the wealth on his own. Would that be possible with his relatives being from trade?”

“Yes, he could find himself married to an earl’s daughter or granddaughter. Of course, the family would need fresh funds. Those not requiring financial support will never allow such a union. It is just not done.”

“Not even if he was a long standing friend of that family? Would Bingley become more acceptable, especially if he is wildly successful with this alliance?”

“Even then that is most unlikely.” Darcy leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Kent frowned. He was deeply disappointed to hear this.

The two sat, lost in reflection, as they sipped their wine for a time. Darcy focused on Blake, while Kent’s thoughts drifted to the next London season. Neither one of the men deliberated for long before they returned to books, taking advantage of the remains of the afternoon.

Chapter 15

Posted on Saturday, 24 May 2008

Rawlings appeared at breakfast humming and smiling, with the rules of his game in one hand and accompanying maps in the other. Not finding Blake in his usual seat, he glanced about the room, but to no avail. However, he did detect Darcy fidgeting with his food; uncommon behavior for his friend. He pushed the eggs around the plate, without a single morsel finding its way into his mouth.

He studied him while handing out the rules and opening up a large map on the dining room table. Apparently uneasy by something in particular, Darcy kept an attentive eye on the door. Conscious of a troublesome situation brewing, Rawlings had first become aware of subtle signs of Darcy’s distress when an exhilarated Blake returned from his afternoon ride the day before. He had not paid much attention to it at dinner last night, but he did recollect Darcy had maintained a puzzled expression all evening. Through the evening his brow remained furrowed as he sniffed the air. Rawlings wondered if his friend had ever discovered the answer. He asked Logan if there had been a fire in the kitchen.

Rawlings turned toward the door when he heard the marquess in the hallway. However, his interest in Darcy recommenced when he greeted the late arriving man with a cold, dark stare while Blake proceeded straight to the breakfast buffet table.

“I assume we are to participate in a Chariot race today.” Blake said indifferently.

Rawlings relaxed when Blake took his usual seat next to Darcy, until his friend leaned in close toward Blake. My God, he is sniffing the man! When Darcy released a long sigh and settled back into his chair, Rawlings’ curiosity overcame him. Handing Blake the rules, he, too, tried secretly to sniff Blake. Discovering nothing different from the usual scent of a man, he returned—albeit a little bewildered—to discussing the game.

“Did you bribe someone, Blake?” Kent asked.

“No, did I not win senior wrangler’s honors at Cambridge? I used my logical, mathematical mind.” Blake tapped his head. When everyone else looked confused, he looked at Rawlings. “What else would you have chosen? You are a member of the Four-Horse Club! So what are the rules? And where do we race?”

Rawlings chuckled as he pointed to the map everyone else had studied only moments before. “I was ready to believe your hypothesis was due to some mysterious mathematical calculation or skill.” Nibbling on his favorite sweet pasty, he viewed the men studying the map in between eating bits of food. The cook had filled the pastries this morning with a delightful lemony filling. He shamelessly licked the gel from his lips before devouring the remaining bite.

“The race way will be marked by flags.” Rawlings held up the map as he began his explanation of the game.

Putting his fork down, Bingley lowered his eyes and stared at his plate. “None will be necessary; the townspeople will line the path. Mr. Goulding and Mr. Long are handling the crowd.”

“We are to be their entertainment today, I suppose,” sighed Kent.

“Yes, you could describe it as such. Oh, tomorrow, they will be present for Darcy’s game, and then again for mine. After much badgering, the judges granted permission for the locals who are interested to observe the race.” Bingley did not flinch as his friends rolled their eyes.

With a clear voice, Bingley revealed that Mr. Bennet had made the request to him and Rawlings when they visited Longbourn the day before.

“Why allow the public now?” An annoyed Blake fidgeted in his seat. “Should we not be asked if we would consent to be become spectacles for them?”

Rawlings set his map down. “Come now, Blake. Bingley is the newest member of the community. He needed to agree, and, I am proud to reveal, he did with great alacrity. I believe he is truly that decisive man he identified himself as being when telling us about the purchase for the horse.”

“Why not agree, Blake?” Bingley gulped his coffee. “The remaining games are to be conducted out of doors. It will permit large crowds to gather, unlike the indoor chess and pub competitions. There was not a fair way to limit who could view them.”

“Do you know what Darcy’s game is?” Blake turned to Darcy with his mouth agape and brows raised.

“No, I only know where it will be played. I am as much in the dark as you,” Bingley said. “For today’s game, I knew only of the map. Of course, I did assume it was a horse race of sorts; I had no idea we would be using carriages. Besides, secrecy is optional.”

The men studied their maps, scrutinizing each mark in an attempt to recognize any familiar landmarks and the trail of the race. Rawlings had drawn a sophisticated, easy to follow map with distinguishable well-known trees and accurate depictions of houses and other establishments on the street in Meryton where the race will end.

Darcy placed his folded up map in his jacket pocket. “Were the chariots brought down from London, Rawlings?”

“No, I did not wish to divulge our location to anyone in town of our location.”

“I suspect they will hear of all this presently,” Blake said. “On the other hand, the competition will be finished long before word reaches our friends and family!”

“Where did you find the carriages for the race?” Darcy asked. “What type will be used, and will they all be the same?”

“We will be using two-horse curricles. Logan was exceedingly creative and discrete. I am aware I may have to purchase the chariots if you fellows are not capable of racing without crashing.” Laughing Rawlings looked at Bingley. “Each one is slightly different; the same goes for the horses, although we did try to make sure they were equal.”

“Who decides who gets what?”

Before Rawlings responded, Whitson walked in with the straws in his hand.

“Ahhh, the drawing of straws! We should invent some of our own special straw to be used for choosing matters of importance!” Kent laughed. “Of course Bingley would then have to be responsible for setting up games all over the country.”

“Well, this competition will be surprisingly exciting.” Bingley winked at Kent, and then spoke quietly to Blake. “I understand a few lovely ladies plan to cheer us on.” He patted his coat pocket.

The bright afternoon sun favored all of Meryton as its residents lined up early, eager to secure a spot to view the competition. The route would take them through the main street in Meryton where the majority of spectators stood waiting; although men, women, and children converged along the entire course. No one grasped that all of the shops had closed early. They concentrated on staking out the best spot to root for the men. Everyone sensed the excitement building for the race. Even the ladies had their preferences, and placed wagers for ribbons, gloves, and in one case, a much-admired bonnet.

The Black Bull Tavern had emptied out well before the start. Unlike the women, the men wagered heavily, and again, they bet on who would come in second. The locals believed those with a superior lifestyle were not as capable to win this race, as driving a carriage took experience. Hence, Kent and Bingley were the favorites, and even a few bet on them to win.

The time for the race arrived. The stable hands brought the horse curricles to the starting line. The five competitors stepped forward to inspect their ‘chariots’. Concentrating on calming their horses, neither Rawlings nor Darcy caught sight of lady’s tokens in two men’s hands. Kent spied one man waving what he perceived as a scarf, and the other, a handkerchief.

Rawlings called out to his friends, now standing by their makeshift chariots ready to race. He wished them God speed and good luck in arriving at the finish line in one piece. They had drawn straws twice, once for the curricle, and again for the horses they would use. Rawlings was not concerned. He knew it was neither the speed of the horse nor the shape of the vehicle that would guarantee him victory. His experience would triumph against the other, lesser skilled gentlemen.

“Watch out for the arrows, shots, and darts that might find its way into our path,” Rawlings teased his friends.

The local men practiced daily to win the modified Baker rifle at Bingley’s Harvest Feast. Their competition included archery, darts, and target shooting, and the Black Bull patrons wagered on that contest equally. Word had spread quickly once Mr. Goulding made the announcement of the event. Thanks to the enterprising servants at Netherfield Park, the whole of Hertfordshire had heard of the modified Baker Rifle. In their minds, it was a most worthy prize; almost as sought after as the ten pounds that would accompany it.

Finally, Sir William held the starting pistol high in the air, signaling the men to climb aboard their carriages.

Mr. Rawlings bowed to the crowd as they applauded his apparel. He had worn the racing club’s customary drab long coat that reached his ankles. It had three tiers of pockets with mother of pearl buttons as large as five-shilling pieces. He opened his coat to show off his blue waistcoat with yellow stripes and breeches, plush with strings and rosettes clear to the knee. Finally, as he tipped his hat that was more than three inches to the crown, he bowed again. The crowd cheered as he took up his position. He snapped the reins; the horses became alert. They had rosettes at their heads, the harness silver-mounted. With the exception that the carriage was not a yellow barouche, he felt properly attired for a Four Horse Club race. Rawlings spotted Logan giving him a nod.

Sir William waited until the men indicated their readiness. He held the pistol above his head. The horses were anxious. The crowd grew quiet. The five gentlemen began to sweat.

Bang.

The race had begun. The crowds cheered as the men snapped their reins, and the horses bolted forward.

The first carriage in the lead was Kent’s, much to the obvious surprise of Rawlings. Kent advanced to his left while Bingley charged ahead on his right.

“Damn. Get moving you lazy mules,” Rawlings muttered, tapping the horses several times before they fully engaged.

Blake and Darcy trailed behind, nose to nose. Both concentrated hard, their own horses failing to match the speed of the others pulling away.

Darcy yelled “Charge” to no avail.

Blake laughed as he watched Darcy’s horses slow.

Darcy smacked them hard with the reins. “Move!”

He found the magic word, and his steeds pushed him in front of Blake. Glancing back, Darcy smiled at Blake with his typical smirk.

Blake scoffed back to him. Nonetheless, he found it difficult keep up with his ill matched horses and a most rackety carriage. He attempted to focus on the race until he caught sight of some lovely young maidens standing along the path. He was determined not to spend his time examining every lady in the crowd. He recoiled at the thought of coming in last.

Proceeding forward along the route, but it was Darcy that winced when he caught sight of his friend smiling to the young lady with the most captivating eyes in the crowd. She was gently tapping several small rose buds in her hair. Neither he nor Blake could divert their eyes away from her.

Only a second later; however, Blake refocused his attention to the race at hand. He and Darcy were struggling not to be last while Rawlings, Kent and Bingley were battling it out for first place. The race was two miles long. Blake snapped the reins a little harder, and his horses finally responded, although not as explosively as he wished.

The three frontrunners charged ahead, exchanging positions several times; each one enjoying going ahead before another jumped in front. Finally, the finish line was within sight for the leaders. It was a furious battle. Kent was a whole carriage in front; Bingley and Rawlings were pushing hard upon his lead.

Rawlings was placing third in his own game. Damn! Who would have thought these two tradesman boys could beat a member of the Four Horse Club? We are the best racers in all of England! He whipped his horses one more time, sparing no energy.

The crowds along Meryton murmured louder as they spied the three men turn down the main street.

“Only two hundred yards to go,” Mr. Goulding yelled. The crowd cheered on their favorite man.

The men in the lead shook their reins as hard as possible and remained on the curricle seat as best they could.

“I never imagined such a race would have happened on our little roads. It was most exciting,” Sir William said to his friends of long standing— Mr. Bennet, Mr. Goulding, and Mr. Long. While the competitors changed into proper dress, the judges waited for them in the library. Everyone, except Mr. Phillips; he would arrive last, having the most distance to travel from his judging spot.

Mr. Bennet surveyed the room, which appeared orderly; yet, he surmised the men relaxed in this room. He identified signs all around. The location of the chairs and sofa were for conversing, not for show. The table in the corner was out of place. I suppose they have refreshments placed there. He noticed the sideboard on the other side of the room filled with many different types of liquor.

As Mr. Bennet moved to investigate further, Sir William approached him. “Quite the choice, would you say?”

“All good brands, as well. I wonder who drinks the whiskey.” Mr. Bennet fingered the bottle from Oban. “I never acquired a taste for the drink of the Scotch.”

“I have it on good authority that Mr. Bingley does. I believe some members of his family are from Scotland.”

“At least I see some good port as well. Shall we?” Mr. Bennet asked. Sir William nodded. Mr. Goulding and Mr. Long were quick to join the two.

While they sipped their drinks over an excited conversation, the five young competitors entered. Although freshly dressed, they did appear somewhat tired after the race.

Rawlings entered, smiled, and bowed to everyone as a round of applause filled his ears.

“Congratulations on your win, Mr. Rawlings.” Sir William patted his back.

Surely you are relieved sir.” Mr. Bennet said, inviting the young men to join them in some port.

Mr. Rawlings pointed to the brandy.

“Yes, I am most fortunate.” He turned to speak directly to Kent. “Where did you and Bingley learn to drive so? You must join the Four Horse club. You simply must! You are both excellent drivers. I will sponsor you. We will be unbeatable!”

A bemused Mr. Bennet watched Rawlings’ sincere reaction to the close race before turning his attention on Kent. “Sorry young man, I realize the spill you took was a disappointment. After you were in the lead at the end, it was a shame to have such a tumble.”

“Yes, I might have won had the carriage not hit that hole instead of placing last. Thank goodness none of the horses were hurt.”

“Nor you, Mr. Kent. Nor you.” Mr. Goulding nodded slowly.

“I could tell Mr. Rawlings was surprised at the skill of Mr. Bingley and yourself.”

Kent glanced at Rawlings. “True, he was not aware Bingley and I had raced each other for years. Neither of us are novices at that activity.”

“How so?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“Our uncles were in business together, and we have known each other all our lives. We both attended the same schools. Bingley would visit during the summer break. You may not be aware that my family builds carriages?” Kent refrained from mentioning all of the items his family manufactured.

“No. I was not aware. But, how did this help you learn to race?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“Why, someone had to test them!” Kent laughed. “We gladly raced one another. We broke many carriages, as a result. That is why I was able to jump unharmed. I am most proficient at extricating myself from a tumbling carriage.”

“At the end, I believed Mr. Bingley was going to beat Mr. Rawlings at his own game. Now that would have been an interesting twist to this competition,” Mr. Goulding said. “As it was he came in second.”

“Perhaps but it would not be as interesting to me!” Rawlings chuckled.

“Mr. Darcy, you did well to come in third,” Sir William turned to the man standing slightly apart from the rest.

“My strategy is still intact to win the stallion,” Darcy said, coolly.

“What would you do if you won the animal?”

“Why, I might choose to gallop in the early sunrise every morning,” Darcy glanced at Blake.

“Darcy, tomorrow is the day we play your game. After today’s fourth place, I am now in last place for the stallion with only eight points, and I need a better finish tomorrow at least.”

Hearing the remark, Sir William decided it was a good moment to record the scores. He gained everyone’s attention. “Now that all the competitors are here, I shall annotate the journal with today’s results.” He waited for everyone to quiet down.

“Mr. Rawlings is in the lead with ten points.” Sir William raised his glass to Mr. Rawlings, and all the men cheered. “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Kent, and Mr. Bingley all have nine, and Lord Blake is close behind with eight. Anyone might win the stallion prize!”

“I must do well tomorrow, if I am to stay competitive.” With pleading eyes, Blake begged, “Will you not give a hint?”

“I gave you one.” Darcy remained expressionless except for the gleam in his eyes.

“When? What did you say?” Blake furrowed his brow.

“I advised you not to come naked.”

“Being naked is not a hint. You know I covet the stallion.” Blake laughed as Darcy rolled his eyes. It had become a game between the two. Blake would make the pronouncement, and Darcy would roll his eyes. Blake would laugh, and Darcy would sigh without comment. This time, however, Darcy did not let the statement go unchallenged.

“Heracles will be mine.” A smirking Darcy turned to Bingley.

The men continued to focus their conversations on the race just completed, speculation of the games left to play, and the possibilities for winning the stallion. Afterwards some men chose to sit in the chairs, others stood by the sideboard, and then, a few opted to peruse the bookshelves.

Yes, this going quite well, quite well indeed, Bingley thought as he watched the room full of men happy in conversation until he heard some loud voices by the library shelves. Everyone quickly joined Mr. Darcy and Mr. Goulding.

“Believe me, sir. I tried inbreeding many times. You will not succeed by mixing the two,” Mr. Goulding insisted with a voice louder than he had intended.

“You know horses. I know sheep.” Darcy eyes bore into Mr. Goulding, and he, unlike many, did not step back. In fact, he narrowed his eyes into tiny slits and glared just as powerfully back at the young man.

No one else listening understood the argument. They believed the two men were talking of breeding horses with sheep. The discussion was too technical for them. Time had not long passed before the talk turned to how modern methods were changing the country and the others responded to the discussion.

“Progress is not always the solution,” Mr. Goulding spoke in a forceful timbre. “Young men always want to change everything. Why cannot they just be satisfied? I have been successful in running my horse farm. There is nothing wrong with the methods I use. Young men!”

“These are different times. More people exist now, and the old ways will not be able to sustain this increased population,” Kent replied matching the forcefulness of Mr. Goulding.

“Perhaps, then, we should not train so many doctors?” Mr. Bennet suggested. “I see no need for many changes.”

“Are not the new inventions exciting? Will they not change everything? Mr. Goulding, we cannot remain stagnant. No great nation can survive without progress,” Kent said.

“Progress? I might have some say about progress. Is it progress to force families from their homes into the squalor of the cities? Now that is a step forward!” Mr. Bennet said.

Standing erect, with his hands balled into fists behind his back, Kent glared at Mr. Bennet. “You need to prepare for the day when machinery will replace most of your labor.” “The creation of new tools and more efficient farming methods will continue.

Mr. Long cleared his throat. “I doubt that. Laborers will always be needed. In addition, we do not use little ones mercilessly to tend our crops. You cannot say so at these new fangled mills.” Having traveled last month to a mill town, he spoke of the appalling conditions he witnessed on that visit.

“Not all mills are the same.” Darcy moved to stand next to Kent. Blake joined them.

“If the mill owners increased wages, families would live better. No. Progress will be the ruination of this noble nation.” Finishing his drink in a single gulp, Mr. Bennet stood beside Mr. Goulding and Mr. Long.

“This country will not be the greatest for long if we do not move forward. Other countries will not stand still as you propose we do.” Kent stared at Mr. Bennet.

“Stand still? I am not proclaiming we do that. I am suggesting we not move at a breakneck speed. Schemes abound everywhere.”

Rawlings moved to stand next to Mr. Bennet. “Not all speculations are virtuous; that much is true. You must choose the people you rely on when involved in some of the new industries.”

Mr. Bennet shook his head. “Even people we trust can prove unworthy. Money. It is greed. Furthermore we all are a greedy lot.” He glanced at the older men, and they all appeared to agree. “One day you will learn how money-oriented you have become.”

Everyone stood still at Mr. Bennet’s pronouncement. Barely breathing, Sir William and Bingley both stared at the men with widen eyes and mouths open. Neither man spoke, coughed or relaxed their eyes. They did, however, take a slight step backwards.

Mr. Rawlings placed his hand on Mr. Bennet’s shoulder giving it a small squeeze. After a few moments, he glanced at the others. The men had separated into the two age groups: the young ones on his left and older ones on his right. Excepting Bingley and Sir William, the men held rigid stances, casting cold stares at each other. Rawlings imagined a line drawn between the men, each side aiming modified Baker rifles at the others.

After a long wait, he spoke. “Unfortunately, Mr. Bennet is correct. Greed has moved the world ahead in every instance. On the contrary, I do not believe it is the reason men try to improve themselves. Sometimes the goal is to help loved ones.” He glimpsed at Mr. Bennet before turning to look at Darcy, and with a softer tone said, “Other times boredom is the incentive.”

When he felt the tension in the room relax, he continued. “Both reasons can be good. The actions you do not take are the ones you regret in life, and those are the thoughts that return time, and time, again to haunt you. Men must try new things. It is what we do.”

Mr. Phillips had been quiet throughout this discussion. He peered down at the wine swirling in his glass. When his hands started to shake, he returned to the seating area where he pulled out a worn and tattered message. His eyes darted from the letter to the young men several times before he leaned back with closed eyes.

When all the other judges departed, Darcy noted Mr. Phillips fidgeting in his chair before hesitantly returning a document to his coat pocket. After a moment, he again pulled it out to revisit its contents.

“Gentleman,” Darcy said, calling the others to attention. He inclined his head towards the seated area. “I believe Mr. Phillips lingered here for a reason. Let us allow him a moment to speak.”

Upon hearing his name, Mr. Phillips rose from the chair. He returned the letter to his coat pocket and joined the men by the beverage table.

“Mr. Phillips, is there a problem? Do you need something for the alliance?” Darcy spoke in a calm voice, which belied his anxiousness. His experience in dealing with distraught tenants had prepared him in the art of emotional concealment.

“Beg your pardon. Some paperwork is causing a slight delay. I am waiting for information from London.” Mr. Phillips did not raise his eyes.

“What can we do?”

“I have an issue that I cannot resolve, and I am not sure if I should even bring it to your attention.” Mr. Phillips raised his head, sighed, and then shifted his weight back and forth.

“Speak up, man. It is better to disclose problems than cover them up.” Agitation caused Rawlings’ voice to rise.

Mr. Phillips studied the men. All five were now in a semi-circle, staring at him with alarmed expressions. Reluctantly he said, “I received a warning. It is about Mr. John Cuffage.” He patted his pocket.

“Cuffage? What is it you have heard?” Darcy asked in quiet tones.

“He is not as trustworthy as you were led to believe.”

Darcy frowned. “Rawlings, did you not meet with the man?”

He answered with a slight shrug, “Yes, everything seemed in order.”

Turning back to Mr. Phillips, Darcy demanded, “From whence is this allegation coming?

“I cannot say. The warning came from a conversation about a wholly different contract. I am bound to remain silent. However, I fear that if this man is not trustworthy, you all may be hurt.”

“Perhaps there is a vengeful reason for this man to make this allegation?” Kent asked.

“No, sir. My source is not that type of fellow; he is honorable in all he does. He came across this information, and for reasons I cannot say, wished to make me aware of it. He sent me an express from London just yesterday confirming his suspicions.”

“What is it you want, Mr. Phillips?” Darcy asked.

“I sent word to my contacts to investigate the man, Mr. Darcy. You would be wise to also contact Mr. Rogers for a closer scrutiny of him, as well.”

“Is there anything else that can be done?”

“Nothing else is needed, except I have withheld preparing the papers for Mr. Cuffage. I wanted to speak to you first. I assume the delay is acceptable and will continue until we put this warning to rest.”

“Yes, yes. Very good, Mr. Phillips,” Rawlings said,

Darcy signaled for a footman to retrieve his writing papers and pens from the study. While Mr. Phillips spoke to the other gentlemen about a few miscellaneous items in their own legal documents, Darcy swiftly prepared an urgent request to his man. He sealed the letter, addressed it, and requested Mr. Whitson send it by express post.

“Mr. Phillips, we should be hearing from Mr. Rogers within a fortnight,” Darcy advised him as he glanced to the other men. They voiced their agreement.

“Thank you, sir. I am relieved.”

Bingley felt the need to lessen the tension in the room by offering Mr. Phillips another glass of wine. He agreed, sharing his wine with the gentlemen before leaving for his home.

Alone again, the partners put aside their concern over Mr. Phillips’ news, and congratulated Rawlings on his win. Opening a bottle of a special French wine sent to him by express post, Rawlings asked his friends to join him. The talk returned to the earlier discussion with the older men.

“Did you see the way none of them thought well of progress?” Kent asked, incredulous.

“We may be the same ourselves when we reach their ages.” Bingley laughed. “I cannot even imagine how we will appear when that time comes.”

“I, for one, cannot understand how they cannot see the future. Changes are coming, and even the old men of this world will be affected.” Kent finished his drink. “This is excellent wine, Rawlings, where did you find it? From the forbidden country, I assume?” He held his glass for a refill.

“Yes, Mr. Cuffage sent it in advance of my race. He assumed I would win.”

“How did he know?” Darcy asked.

“He did not say.”

“Rawlings, what was that gibberish you spouted about regrets and all?” Blake asked abruptly

“Gibberish? It was not,” Rawlings bristled at the insult before softening his tone. “I have my own reasons for my remarks. These men are of a different era, and they would not be as free with their choices as we are. Think on how life must be for them, Blake.”

“So, do you think our families may hold the same opinions? Has anyone worried about what how this alliance will set with them?” As Blake’s eyes circled the group, he observed his friends all looking down. “You know we will face harsher criticism when they present their arguments.”

“Not all families will look down on progress,” Kent said.

“We shall help one another if need be,” Darcy said quietly. “I will stand by my friends. We are in this together.”

“Here, here.” said Rawlings as he lifted his glass. “To the alliance.”

The others followed suit.

“To the alliance!”

Continued in Next Section