The Matters at Mansfield

She shook her head. “A much newer acquaintance of yours.”

“Lady Winthrop? Yes — I see from your expression that I am correct.”

“Indeed, you are. But how did you know?”

“I observed your earlier tete-a-tete. And why would I perceive such a thing while occupied on the dance floor? Either I could not help noticing a pretty woman, or I deliberately kept one eye on the mother of my partner. I shall leave it to your vanity to determine which.”

“My vanity can have no influence on your motives, only on my perception of them.”

Mr. Crawford had a charming manner, and after a few minutes’ further conversation with him she found herself regretting for Anne’s sake that her headache had forced her to retreat from his company. Conversation with him was easy, and Miss de Bourgh could benefit from greater confidence when interacting with those outside her most intimate circle.

They parted, and soon after, Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to the ballroom. He reported that by the time Anne had reached her room, she had already seemed improved.

Elizabeth was glad to hear it. “Perhaps Anne will yet return to the ball tonight.”

“I hope she does,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “I found her a surprisingly delightful partner, and should like to dance with her again. But in the meantime, I believe you agreed to stand up with me.” He extended his hand. “Unless you think we should go rescue your husband from the card room?”

“We ought to.” She imagined to herself the conversation at Darcy’s table, and could not quite suppress a smile. “After this dance.”

Four

“I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship…”

— Mr. Collins, Pride and Prejudice

Darcy shifted in his chair and stole what he hoped was a discreet glimpse at his pocketwatch. Midnight — a mere six minutes since his last covert glance. His suspicions were confirmed.

He would die at this card table.

Before evening’s end, his hair would prematurely grey, his muscles would atrophy in his chair, and his mind would utterly collapse under the exertion of attending Lord Sennex’s play as closely as his own. Quadrille had been the worst possible choice of game; the viscount was incapable of remembering not only the current trump suit for each hand, but also the resulting changes in card rankings. Indeed, his lordship, apparently unable to retain so much as which game they played, repeatedly attempted to capture tricks as if they competed at whist.

Darcy wished they were playing whist — at the next table, with the viscount’s son. Not only was it a more straightforward game, but Mr. Sennex could have shared the responsibility of keeping his father focused. A son might more easily correct a member of the peerage without constant apprehension over inadvertently giving offense. However, their party had entered the card room while Mr. Sennex was in the middle of a rubber, and Lady Catherine had seized the opportunity to form the only table devoted to the outmoded game of her youth.

A self-satisfied smile crossed her ladyship’s countenance as she led the final trick of the hand. Everyone waited for Lord Sennex, who sat on her right, to set down his sole remaining card. Play in quadrille, unlike whist, moved counterclockwise.

When it moved at all.

After eight hands, one would think Lord Sennex could retain at least that simple fact, but like most subjects, his grasp of it seemed to surface only at irregular intervals.

“My lord?” Darcy finally prompted.

“Oh — it is my turn! Of course.” He dropped his card onto the table. “Remind me again — which tour is this?”

“We are just ending the second.”

“Of how many?”

“Ten.”

Ten tours. Forty hands. Though the players could have agreed upon a shorter game, Lady Catherine had insisted upon the customary number. By the time they finished this contest, Darcy would be hosting Lily-Anne’s betrothal ball.

Miss Jenkinson played her own remaining card and Darcy quickly followed. He hoped his impatience did not show.

To compound the ordeal, it seemed Darcy’s lot to repeatedly draw Lord Sennex as his partner. Darcy had been dealt fair hands, but none strong enough to take the minimum six tricks solo. So each time he won the bid, he called a king to form a temporary alliance with whoever held the named card. The unknown ally’s identity was supposed to be revealed through play that supported the caller, but the instances in which the viscount helped Darcy capture tricks were entirely accidental. Lord Sennex’s inattention had caused Darcy to lose three hands — and considerable additional stakes in penalty.

Lady Catherine and Miss Jenkinson, in contrast, somehow managed to call each other’s kings each time either of them won the bid. Not only were the two ladies more practiced players of quadrille than the gentlemen, but their countless evenings thus spent at Rosings attuned them so precisely to each other’s particular style of play that when partnered they formed an unstoppable alliance. They had declared and won the vole — taken all ten tricks — each time, collecting bonus winnings in addition to the hands’ original pools.

While the secrecy and changing allegiances of quadrille utterly confused the viscount, Lady Catherine thrived on them.

Darcy understood why it was her favorite game.

Her ladyship collected the trick, adding it to the nine in front of her.

“We won another vole!” Lord Sennex exclaimed. “You may call my king again anytime.”

“My lord, I named a king I held myself — the king of clubs.”

“Did you now? I thought you called the king of diamonds.”

“That was the previous hand, my lord.”

“Oh, dear. Well, nothing to do about it now. So you called a king to make us think you had an ally, when in fact you secretly played solo? Very clever, I daresay. You are a formidable opponent, Lady Anne.”

An awkward silence followed. Darcy was unsure whether Lord Sennex had confused Lady Catherine with her sister, the late Lady Anne, or with Lady Catherine’s daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh.

His aunt’s expression indicated similar uncertainty.

No one ventured to correct the viscount outright.

“You will no doubt find my daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, an able cardplayer. I cannot imagine what prevents her from joining us. I begin to suspect that Mrs. Darcy forgot to inform her that we await her here.”

“Mrs. Darcy may be relied upon to deliver the message,” Darcy said. Whether she delivered it in a fashion Lady Catherine would consider timely was another matter entirely.

“Anne is very fond of quadrille. We play at Rosings whenever we can make up a table.”

“I cannot say that I care for it,” said the viscount. “Never knowing who is one’s ally and who is one’s foe, the rules changing with each hand, and one’s strength dependent upon the random collection of cards one is dealt. Now chess — chess is my game: a clear contest between two equally matched foes, facing each other across a defined battlefield where each man has his role and the challenge ends when one of the primaries falls. My favorite piece is the rook — the only one that can castle with the king. I do not suppose Miss de Bourgh plays chess?”

“No. But had she learned, I am sure she would be a skillful player.”

His lordship sighed. “She knows only cards, I suppose. Does she play whist? Neville favors whist.”

“She does. Mr. Sennex will find her a worthy partner in all respects.”