His foot tapped against the carriage floor in an unceasing rhythm. He forced it to stop, only to find his fingers drumming against the window frame. Once he returned to the house, he poured a brandy. Quickly, he penned his note.
Richard,
Bring my pistols and my sharpest sword to Hertfordshire. I need them before dawn. Will you be my second?
Darcy
Calling for one of the grooms, he gave instructions that the note be delivered to Matlock House, where Richard recovered from a slight battle wound. Fortunately, his shoulder was almost healed. It should not pain his cousin too much to ride four hours north.
As soon as the express rider was on its way, Darcy paced.
Despite everything, he was struck by the lady’s courage and fire. She was willing to defend her honor with her life, whichsecretly impressed him. Frustrated with himself for having driven her to this, he wished he could have located her. Without hesitation, he would have apologized or at least explained himself.Blast!
Desperation crept into his bones. Beneath his concern was a sting that she found him so objectionable that she would rather risk harm than let his offense stand. He needed to stop this, knowing he was the cause of her fury.
Running his hands through his hair, he paused at the window, looking out into the blackness. Somewhere out there, she was very likely reconsidering her reaction. Was she weeping in fear at the potential for harm? Was she quivering in her bed, wishing the night would never end? Remembering her eyes, so like the sparkle of the sapphire stick pin in his cravat— No, she was more probably sharpening her sword.
He covered his mouth with his palm. What could he do to shield her from bodily injury and social destruction? Would her father be reasonable? Surely, he would fear for his child.
Darcy would never draw blood deliberately against a woman. The idea was so repugnant to him that his stomach threatened to empty itself.
Reluctant admiration, guilt, misplaced protectiveness, and wounded pride fought for dominance, leaving him in anguish.
The clock was ticking, marking the hours until dawn. He finally pulled a chair close to the window in his bed chamber, resigned to face whatever came, unable to even consider sleep.
At Longbourn,Elizabeth Bennet crawled under the bedclothes and was asleep before her head hit the pillow, a small smile on her lips.
2
When her father tapped on her door, Elizabeth woke refreshed. Moving the curtain away from the window, not a glimpse of light appeared on the horizon. Lighting a candle, she took her time washing, selecting a practical, comfortable garment in her favorite shade of blue, and braiding her hair simply. Peering into the mirror, confidence reflected back. And anticipation. Squaring her shoulders, she could not help but wonder how well Mr. Darcy slept. Was he as rested, eager to duel? She thought not.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she easily recalled the instant Mr. Darcy walked into the assembly. He caught her eye. Thick hair and eyes so dark they looked black. Broad shoulders, large hands, and chiseled features that matched the man of her dreams, whom she eventually hoped to marry. His words crushed her heart and those dreams.How could he be so handsome and cruel at the same time?
The more she thought about Mr. Darcy, the more her ire rose. Breathing deeply to calm herself, she refused to let her emotions get the better of her. The task at hand required her to be sharp.
Mr. Darcy had found her tolerable at best. Today, she would prove to him what a woman of no consequence could do. Satisfaction curved her lips.
Gathering her shawl, she joined her father in his library, where he was enjoying a steaming cup of tea.
“If you do not mind satisfying my curiosity, I wondered, did anyone other than you happen to hear Mr. Darcy’s insult?”
Elizabeth easily recalled the setting. “I heard the whispers. Likely the tale spread throughout the room before I departed. The music was starting for the next set. Charlotte had crossed the room to speak with her sister, Mr. Bingley was talking to Jane, and Mr. Bingley’s family were by the drinks table.When I issued my challenge, I made certain I whispered low enough that only he might hear.”
He nodded. “Very good. We would not want a crowd to appear at Netherfield. Nor do I desire your mother and sisters to know. This situation needs to remain between the two of you and the seconds.”
Elizabeth pondered his wish. “I cannot know if he spoke with Mr. Bingley.”
“If so, we will deal with it accordingly.” Pushing himself up from his chair, he held his arm out to Elizabeth. “Your weapons are already in the carriage, my dear girl. I checked them thoroughly. Are you ready?”
“As I will ever be.”
Her father chuckled under his breath. “I wonder what weapons Mr. Darcy will bring to the field. No doubt, whatever they are, they will be the best money can buy.”
“No doubt.”
Kissing his cheek, excitement built in Elizabeth’s chest as they rode in comfortable silence toward Netherfield Park. In the pre-dawn darkness, mist rose from the ground. They arrived early, using a lantern to locate the exact area in the field theyneeded to set up. Their driver and a groom helped them carry all they needed to a table they brought. Elizabeth carefully arranged her weapons, positioning them for easy access. This would be civilized warfare, though the swirling fog around the table and themselves created an eerie atmosphere that bespoke of secret strategies and schemes.
The field was empty. Fortunately, their wait for Elizabeth’s opponent was not long.
