“Think nothing of it,” Mr Bingley assured her. “It was a stretch of the truth in any case. I have no idea where Colonel Forster’s regiment is today. I did not invite them.” He leant closer and lowered his voice. “I did not wish to give Mr Wickham any occasion to importune you.”
“Why, that is most considerate of you but not necessary.”
“Pish posh!” He offered his arm, and they ambled back towards the picturesque array of beribboned tables and chairs where Jane waited. “Besides,” he went on, grinning, “I am more than tired of being shone down by a hundred red coats at every gathering.”
“Yes! A gentleman ought to be allowed the advantage at his own picnic,” Elizabeth agreed, drawing an undignified snort of laughter from him.
“Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet burst forth from the midst of a nearby huddle of matrons. “Mr Bingley did not invite us here so you could run on at him all afternoon.” Grabbing her elbow in much the same manner as Elizabeth had grabbed Lydia’s, she tugged her away. “Leave him alone to speak to Jane.”
With an apologetic grimace, Elizabeth excused herself from her host and went in search of the promised games. At the other side of a little folly, she was delighted to discover a quantity of targets had been set up for archery.
“Do you enjoy the sport, Miss Elizabeth?”
She turned. Mr Greyson had followed her from the seating area.
“Very much, though I cannot claim any skill, and I am quite sure those targets are at least twenty yards too far off for me.”
“That will never do!” he declared, marching to the nearest and hefting it a good deal nearer. “Will that suffice?”
“It most certainly will not!” Mr Bingley called, coming around the folly with Jane on his arm and a large grin on his face. “I will stand for none of your nonsense, Greyson.” He walked to another of the targetsand brought it level with Mr Greyson’s—and then another two feet forward. Thereafter, the pair took turns shuffling their targets ever closer until they were directly in front of the ladies. Elizabeth raised her arm and poked her target with a finger.
“Bulls-eye!” Mr Greyson shouted.
“Foul play!” Mr Bingley replied. “I insist on a proper tournament!”
Thus, the targets were returned to a distance agreeable to all, chairs were set out for the gathering spectators, and refreshments were provided for the ladies. Mr Bingley paired with Jane, of course. Elizabeth supposed it was fitting Mr Greyson should remain with her since he had instigated the game, though she could not have said why the arrangement made her so uncomfortable.
It was not much of a contest, for neither sister played well. Elizabeth’s first three arrows all landed in the grass, much to everybody’s amusement. She laughed heartily when her next hit the target lengthways and bounced onto the ground. “Oh dear, I am even worse than I recall!”
“Allow me.” Mr Greyson stepped forward and placed a hand around the bow directly below hers, mumbling about how best to grip it. Elizabeth remained very still, intensely aware of his nearness. From the corner of her eye, she regarded his profile. He was a touch taller than she and had straight, light brown hair and elegant features. Indeed, he was not an unattractive man. Neither was he Mr Darcy, of whom her memory was vivid and in comparison to whom no man fared well.
She flushed hot to have caught herself comparing any man to Mr Darcy. Mr Greyson further flustered her by turning his head towards the target, all but resting it on her shoulder. Her fingers twitched, and the arrow loosed, shooting in a straight line to the bulls-eye—of Jane’s target. Whilst everybody else delighted in the happy accident, Elizabeth stepped away from her companion and drained her glass of lemonade dry.
Jane’s next arrow flew so far off the mark it was lost in the shrubbery.
“Jane, that was terrible!” Kitty cried. “Even Lizzy does better than you!”
“Yes, so it would seem.” To Elizabeth’s great surprise and greater disappointment, Jane then handed Kitty her bow and added, “You had better play for me, for I cannot compete.”
Mr Bingley’s objection to her withdrawal coincided with Elizabeth’s own, but Jane would not be swayed. Claiming fatigue, she begged everybody to play on without her and went to sit with Mrs Hurst at the end of the row of chairs. Elizabeth thought she looked more piqued than fatigued but could not fathom why that should be—over a lost arrow! Whatever was becoming of her sweet Jane?
Kitty called everybody to attention, impatient for her turn. Yet, with Jane now sitting down, Elizabeth found herself flanked by both Mr Greyson and Mr Bingley, both offering advice and both disturbing her equanimity with their closeness.
Mr Bennet chuckled as Elizabeth’s next arrow landed in the same bush as Jane’s. The two gentlemen flanking her were evidently more hindrance than help, but then, had Mr Bingley spent more time watching his own partner rather than Mr Greyson’s, he might not have scared her away, and Elizabeth would not presently be thus encumbered.
“I know not how you can laugh,” his wife whispered heatedly. “You must stop Lizzy flirting with Mr Bingley this instant.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Nay, my money is on Mr Greyson. He at least is consistent. Mr Bingley seems unable to decide whom he prefers. Be not surprised if he offers for Mary next week, my dear.”
“I am in earnest, Mr Bennet! Mr Greyson prefers Lizzy and will not have Jane—therefore Lizzy cannot have Mr Bingley, for otherwise, Jane will have no one!”
“And, um, who will Mary have?”
Mary would have to wait, it seemed. Her mother had stormed away in a cloud of smelling salt vapours without nominating her a beau.
After her mother’s third instruction to leave Mr Bingley alone, Elizabeth stole away from the main party in search of solitude. She had only spoken to him in an effort to disguise Jane’s reluctance to do so—an increasingly difficult endeavour. She comprehended her sister’s unwillingness to surrender her heart too easily, but Jane’spresent guardedness was beginning to look like indifference. At this rate, there was a real danger she would frighten Mr Bingley off before her mother had the chance.
Elizabeth settled herself beneath a tree and took out the letter she had received that morning from Mrs Gardiner. She had not long been reading it when Mr Bingley himself came upon her, breathing heavily and looking excessively hot.
