Kitty turned to me, clearly expecting me to confirm my brother’s words to be in jest, but everything he had said was true. It was all I could do to suppress a sheepish smile, and in return she grinned, surprised and perhaps a little impressed.
“You are a constant enigma, Miss Darcy,” she declared. “I daresay we could sell you to a travelling curiosity fair. So you have not been playing me truly?”
I shook my head, rubbing my thumb along a familiar ridge down the edge of the chessboard.
“Do you want me to play fair?” I asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Are you sure?”
“Should I not be sure?” Kitty asked with a laugh, already resetting the pieces.
I won in six moves. She stared at the board, checking what I already knew was certain. When she confirmed for herself there was no way out, she grinned—and that was almost better than the endearing focus she’d shown in the first three games. She swiftly reset the board again, thatsingle-minded concentration returning as she tried her best to defend against my attacks. I had never imagined one could be jealous of a chess piece, but I’d never seen Kitty Bennet devote all her attention to something before and I desperately wanted to take the place of the queen, to feel Kitty’s gaze on me and her elegant fingers touching me so assertively. Distracted, it was ten moves before I took the game. It was almost disappointing, but Kitty still looked impressed.
“How do you do it?” she asked.
“Chess is an excellent equaliser. You cannot win with superior strength or physical fitness. I was determined to best my brother in something, and this seemed far more realistic than shooting or fencing,” I explained, blushing at the memory of my childish competitive spirit.
“That may be the why of it, but it is not the how,” Kitty said, leaning forwards as if there were a string pulling her in.
I had to disappoint her. There was no trick I’d learnt, no single key to unlock the skill. Chess had simply always made sense to me—I could see the path to a checkmate far more easily than I could read the tone of a conversation or judge a character. Once I had realised I might have a manner of skill, it had just been a matter of practise. It was a thoroughly boring answer to give, but instead of politely changing the subject, Kitty listened to every word, enthralled. Then she reached for the pieces to reset the board.
“Again,” she demanded, before wincing. “If you want to keep playing, that is. I don’t wish to force you to perform against your will like a circus animal.”
If she thought she was going to learn to beat me genuinely after observing a few games, Darcy’s ongoing refusal to play against me should have shown her otherwise. But she seemed keen to try again regardless, so I started setting up my line of pawns. It had been a long time since anyone had willingly sat through more than one game with me.
Sleep evaded me again that night, despite my lack of rest the day before. That alone wasn’t a rare experience, but it was unusual for me to know exactly what was keeping me awake.
Kitty.
I wondered if she was in the library again, tracing soft leather spines with gentle fingers. If she was there, did she want my company? I lay there considering it for almost an hour before I climbed out of bed. Even if Kitty was not there, the books still would be, and they were perfectly adequate company on their own.The Disposition of an English Ladywould not be enough to settle my thoughts.
Pausing to look in the mirror, I took in the old shift and my unkempt hair, loose around my shoulders. Usually, I had little chance of seeing anyone, but knowing I could stumble across Kitty, I felt more conscious than ever of my pitiful state. Short of waking Emma for help dressing, I’d likely only make myself look worse. I didn’t even own a dressing gown, which had never felt like more of an oversight than as I pulled on my secondhand tailcoat. It would just have to do.
My first stop was down to the kitchens, where I carefullywrapped some leftover gingerbread rounds up in a cloth. If I added a few more of the biscuits than I usually would bring for myself alone, there was no one around to notice or pass judgement.
The library was empty when I crept inside, and I tried to suppress the disappointment in my chest. The room was a comfort regardless of the absence of blonde-haired girls within its walls. I pulled out one of the most familiar books and curled up on a sofa, not in the mood for the cold floorboards. My candle burned cheerfully beside me, and I’d left the door to the room open. For absolutely no reason at all.
I got more absorbed in the book than I’d intended to, losing track of the material world around me. My reminder of it came in the form of two hands clamping down heavily onto my shoulders and a voice loudly announcing “Boo!” right beside my ear.
It was impossible not to jump. I held back a scream but dropped my book as the muscles in my body pulled tight against one another. I knew there was likely no real threat—the now-familiar giggling behind me was my biggest clue—but my heart was far less logical than my head. It raced laps as I tried to persuade it to calm down.
Kitty dropped onto the sofa beside me, stealing a gingerbread biscuit. Her laughter trailed off when she noticed the heaving of my lungs.
“Forgive me,” she said. “It was supposed to be in jest. I think sometimes I forget I am not at Longbourn anymore. Lydia and Lizzy were quite used to a few scares, but I imagine you are not. Are you all right?”
With the question, she reached out to touch my cheek. I wasn’t sure entirely what possessed her to do it, but she traced the back of her fingers across my skin as I fought to regain control of my breathing. Her proximity was doing little to help the matter. For my lungs and my sanity, I shifted away just a little so her hand fell away. I missed the contact immediately.
Seemingly just as displaced as I was by the moment, Kitty nibbled on my gingerbread and scanned her eyes around the room in the search of something on which to fix her attention. When they landed on the book now resting in my lap, she reached out for it. I didn’t stop her.
“This,” she declared, as she tried to read the first line, “is not in English.”
“No,” I agreed, hiding my smile. “It is not. It’s in Latin.”
Kitty’s look of surprise had my heart crashing into my ribs, and I had never been more grateful to have it so confined, or it would surely leap even closer towards her. Her eyes were wide, her lips drawn together in the slightest of gasps. It was a picture I wanted to paint.
“You cannot read this,” she said, her disbelief evident in every word.
