"Four touches to Lady Frances."
Ashcombe spun round. "She struck me from behind."
"You turned your back upon her," Mr Pritchard said. "The touch stands."
Lady Hortensia leant forward upon her cane. "You cannot expect your opponent to wait politely while you recover from your own mistake."
The ladies applauded this judgement, though the gentlemen had grown noticeably quieter. Ashcombe stood with his back rigid and his foil lowered, his anger visible even beneath the mask.
Lady Frances waited across from him, breathing deeply but giving no sign that she had been unsettled. Darcy found himself admiring her calm. Ashcombe had expected her to be embarrassed by the attention as well as a poor swordswoman. Each expectation had proved wrong, and he had not known how to adjust.
The next touch was his. He fenced with greater care and used his reach properly, keeping Lady Frances at a distance until he found an opening against her shoulder.
"Four touches each."
The entire company had fallen silent now. Lady Frances rolled her wrist once before raising the foil. Ashcombe returned to his place without speaking. Their final exchange was the longest of the bout. Ashcombe did not rush forward this time, and Lady Frances made no attempt to draw him into doing so. Their blades met several times as each tested the other's defence. Lady Frances moved lightly despite the weight of her skirt, but Ashcombe kept her from coming within reach and forced her to retreat.
He feinted towards her shoulder. Lady Frances reacted, and Ashcombe immediately changed the direction of his blade. For a moment Darcy believed he had caught her. She twisted aside just in time, turned his foil away and stepped inside the advantage of his longer arm.
Her point landed against the centre of his padded jacket.
Mr Pritchard's hand rose. "Five touches to Lady Frances. The bout and two points to the ladies."
The ladies were on their feet before he had finished speaking. Miss Harriet Sitcombe cried out and threw both arms aroundher sister, while Miss Grey hurried forward to receive Lady Frances's mask and kiss her delightedly on both cheeks. Mrs Cartwright applauded with unexpected vigour and Miss Bennet's pleasure was answered by Richard, who cheered almost as loudly as any member of the opposing team.
Miss Elizabeth turned in the midst of the confusion and found Darcy standing directly behind her. Forgetting herself, she caught both his hands. "She did it!"
The force of her delight brought her closer, and Darcy closed his fingers around hers before he could think better of it. Her face was flushed from cheering and her eyes were fixed upon his with such warmth that for a moment the lawn and the people around them receded from his notice. "She did," he said.
Elizabeth's smile widened. "You do not sound nearly disappointed enough."
"I find I am not."
His voice had lowered. Her expression altered slightly as she became aware of their joined hands and the small distance between them. Darcy felt her fingers tighten once around his before she released him.
"We are only one point behind you now," she said, though she did not step away at once.
"So you are."
"You should be concerned."
"I am." The answer had very little to do with the score, and from the sudden colour in her cheeks, he thought she understood him.
A fresh burst of cheering broke out behind her as Lady Frances removed her fencing jacket and accepted the congratulations of her team. Elizabeth glanced towards the others, then back at Darcy. Her smile had softened, but before either of them could speak again, Richard appeared at Darcy's shoulder.
"Seven points to the gentlemen and six to the ladies," he said. "A narrow lead, Darcy. Though I confess you do not look especially troubled by it."
Elizabeth withdrew her hands completely and went to join Lady Frances. Darcy watched her go, still feeling the pressure of her fingers against his own.
Chapter Sixteen
The ladies gathered in Elizabeth's room before dinner, and if their last meeting there had felt like a council of war, this one bore far more resemblance to the evenings she and her sisters spent together after a ball, when every conversation was repeated and every gentleman judged with greater freedom than would have been permitted downstairs.
Although the gentlemen now led by a single point, the mood was decidedly triumphant. Lady Frances had been installed in the best chair as guest of honour, while Miss Harriet Sitcombe stood behind her fashioning a crown from lavender gathered in the gardens below. Miss Lacey had already completed a drawing of the final touch. In it, Lady Frances stood tall and composed with her foil raised, while Mr Ashcombe turned away with a fierce scowl that made him appear like a villain from the gothic novels Elizabeth loved.
"You have made him too handsome," Lady Frances said with a completely straight face when the picture was handed to her.
The ladies laughed, and even Miss Harrington joined them. She had arrived with a very sincere apology, offered without excuses or any attempt to lessen her fault. The apology had been accepted with equal sincerity, and the matter had then beenset aside. Jane now sat beside her near the window, carefully unpicking a row of yellow rosettes from the skirt of her dinner gown while Amelia held the discarded decorations in her lap.
