reached Mr. Darcy’s side of the board.
“Good for you!” exclaimed Hamilton. “Now we can be hopeful for at least a stalemate.”
“What happened?” asked Rosalyn. “What just happened?”
Darcy looked over at her, picking up a pawn. “The pawn is the most common of all the pieces on the chess board. As you can see, there are eight of them. But occasionally, one pawn, through some exceptional merit and proficiency, makes its way across the board and then can take on the higher qualities of another piece, for instance…” his eyes turned to Elizabeth as he said, “the queen.”
He slowly clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on the table. He then acknowledged her with a slight smile.
Elizabeth’s head swirled with a myriad of thoughts, and feelings of hope coursed through her that this time his words were meant as a compliment to her. While she was certainly not a commoner, she was considerably lower than he.
Within two moves, Darcy took her real queen with his rook. “You have sacrificed your queen, Miss Bennet.”
“Sometimes that must be done.”
Within two moves, Elizabeth had trapped Darcy’s king.
“It appears you have me, Miss Bennet. Congratulations.”
Elizabeth could not move, wondering again at the meaning of his words. “Thank you,” she said as she slowly took in a breath to calm herself. She stood up from the table, her heart pounding violently.
“You do not wish to play another? Give me another chance?” Elizabeth thought she heard a slight quaver in his voice.
“No, I fear not tonight.” She did not trust herself to remain in his presence one moment longer.
Rosalyn, who had been looking curiously back and forth between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy as they conversed, felt a slight stab of envy at their friendly banter. She determined that she must learn to play this game!
“Shall we play again tomorrow night then?” he asked, looking up with an expectant glimmer in his eyes.
“I am not altogether certain,” she said, feeling as though her knees might crumble at any moment. “I have plans to visit some friends of my aunt who live in Lambton, and I will be staying for dinner. I fear I might be returning late.”
Darcy skewed his mouth. “I see.” He turned to his cousin as his fingers drummed the table. “Hamilton? Shall we go at another match?”
“Oh, no! I shall not be made a fool of again. I see that even Miss Bennet is more proficient than I. Come, Miss Matthews, allow me to teach you the game, then perhaps I might have a slight chance to win.”
“I should like that very much!” she replied with enthusiasm.
Elizabeth stood up and bid everyone a good night. By now, the Goldsmiths had both departed to their room, leaving only Miss Darcy, who was reading.
Elizabeth walked over to her. “Good night, Miss Darcy. Thank you for a lovely day.”
“Miss Bennet,” Georgiana said merrily. “I do believe that my brother enjoyed his match with you. Our cousin does not play as well or as often, and when he visits, my brother does not feel as though he can play as strategically as he would like. His matches the past few nights could be described as fairly half-hearted, to say the least. Until yours tonight.”
“I am quite certain he was not playing his best. I know he allowed me some moves.”
“Perhaps,” replied Georgiana softly, “but I know he was enjoying himself, for he was smiling.”
“Smiling?” Elizabeth laughed nervously and turned her eyes toward him. She saw that he had taken up a book, but had not yet opened it. His eyes were turned toward them. Looking quickly back at Miss Darcy, she said, “Good night, Miss Darcy. Have a pleasant evening.”
As she walked to her room, she passed the library. She knew that sleep would not come any time soon, so she walked in, hoping to find something suitable to read. She returned to the area where earlier she had seen books of poetry. Her fingers trailed up and down the spines, reading the names of the authors until she found it. Cowper! She pulled it from the shelf and returned to her room, holding the book tightly to her heart.
Once in her room and dressed in her nightdress, Elizabeth settled herself comfortably in the rocking chair in the corner of the room and draped a coverlet over her lap. She picked up the large volume of Cowper’s poems and opened it to the first page. She began to read but found it difficult, for her heart still pounded and her mind still reeled from the recent events of the evening.
Looking over at the small table next to her bed, she stood up and walked over to it, opening its one small drawer. She pulled out a book, and from underneath, she picked up several pieces of folded paper. Her recent letter from Jane was on one sheet, and the letter Mr. Darcy had written to her over a year ago consisted of two sheets of paper covered on both sides.
She brought the two letters over to her bed, propped up the pillow and reclined against it. Carefully unfolding them, she reread Jane’s letter first, going over the portion about Mr. Darcy’s visit and how amiable she and the Gardiners had found him. She could now read her sister’s words with nary a concern for Miss Darcy’s heartache, since hearing her account of what had transpired between the two. She also no longer felt concern that Mr. Darcy’s friendship with Mr. Bingley had been jeopardized by his and Jane’s engagement, as he had appeared truly happy for them when he offered her his congratulations the day of the treasure hunt.
When she finished reading Jane’s letter, she slowly turned to the other. She looked at the meticulous handwriting, and knowing who it was from and all that had transpired between them brought about a wave of fluttering deep within her.
Elizabeth read his letter again. She knew not how many times she had read his missive since the day he first handed it to her, but she truly believed that with each reading, it had wrought a different state of her feelings. She found it rather unbelievable that she could now read his justification for separating Jane and Mr. Bingley with a modicum of understanding.
She placed the letter in her lap and lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. He had truly been looking out for his friend’s best interest. Elizabeth could readily concur that Jane did not overtly display her feelings of affection for Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy did not believe her to be in love with him.
She closed her eyes and clutched the letters to her heart. She had been so angry at Mr. Darcy that she had not even considered that the success he had in separating them should have reflected even more on Mr. Bingley’s weakness of character than any power of persuasion he had over him.
She took in a deep breath. Of course she would give Mr. Bingley the benefit of the doubt. He trusted his friend implicitly. He trusted his judgement, his opinion, and his guidance. She had seen the respect that others had for Mr. Darcy and now understood that he was a man who had earned and deserved it. Mr. Bingley had not just carelessly followed the advice of some foolish and thoughtless simpleton, or even someone completely unjust, as she once accused Mr. Darcy of being. She could at least credit Mr. Bingley with the good sense to put his implicit trust in someone of noble repute.
She smiled as she thought of her sister. Yes, she would allow Jane to love Mr. Bingley, despite the fact that she, herself, would find it difficult to love a man so easily swayed. While Jane had a generous and forgiving demeanour, she need not ever know all the reasons behind those months of separation, longing, and wondering.
She ran her fingers over his signature at the bottom of the second page.
A tap at the door startled her out of her reverie. As it opened, Elizabeth quickly shoved the letters under her pillow. Rosalyn poked her head in. Hands shaking, Elizabeth quickly reached for the book of Cowper’s poems, and she attempted to display a calm demeanour despite the alarm she felt instead.
“Elizabeth!” Rosalyn greeted her cheerily. “I am so pleased you are still awake. May I come in?”
Elizabeth nodded, her heart still pounding.
Rosalyn came over and sat on the edge of the bed. Elizabeth quickly looked down at her pillow to make sure
