Elizabeth glanced up at the name. That was Darcy’s friend, was it not? The memory of his injunctions in the carriage was already hazy, but that sounded like the right name.
Mrs. Bennet was shaking her head, clearly put out. “It is such a puzzle to me. He likes company so well, and yet he has not given any of my girls the proper attention they deserve. And heaven knows, I have given him every opportunity—why, the number of times I have invited him to supper!”
Elizabeth cut into her food carefully, watching as Jane, seated beside her, clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
Interesting.
Elizabeth might not know much about Miss Jane Bennet, but that slight clench of the fingers, the way her gaze did not lift from her plate as her mother spoke—
She was not indifferent to Mr. Bingley’s inattention.
Elizabeth turned her focus back to Mrs. Bennet, who was still lamenting.
“And such a fine, handsome young man, too,” she continued. “If only he would choose properly! But men are so dreadfully fickle—one never knows where their affections truly lie.”
Mr. Bennet, having so far remained silent during this entire lament, took a slow sip of wine and murmured, “Perhaps he is simply terrified of being welcomed into such a… warm and enthusiastic family.”
Mrs. Bennet huffed.
Kitty and Lydia snickered.
Jane’s hands tightened further.
Elizabeth quietly took another bite of her food.
After dinner, the family retired to the sitting room, where Elizabeth had expected to be left to her own devices. The ale’s effects no longer troubled her overmuch, but she could have done with a bit of time to simply sit back and observe this new “family” of which she was suddenly a part. But before she could attempt fading into the furniture, Mr. Bennet cleared his throat.
“I hear from my cousin Daniel that you are quite skilled at chess.”
Elizabeth, seated in a small chair near Jane, nearly choked. “Cousin Daniel.” Right. Her imaginary father.
How delightful.
Mr. Bennet gestured toward a small table in the corner of the parlor, where a wooden chessboard had already been set up. “Would you favor me with a game, Miss Elizabeth?”
A pause.
The entire room seemed to go still.
Then Mrs. Bennet blinked rapidly, looking rather confused. “Chess? Why, how perfectly unaccountable. My dear, I wish you paid better attention to your daughters’ playing and singing than that tedious game.”
Kitty and Lydia stifled giggles, as if their father playing chess with a female was the most astonishing thing they had ever heard. Jane, beside her, offered a small, encouraging smile.
Elizabeth hesitated—then, realizing she had little choice, rose from her seat and nodded. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”
Mr. Bennet’s lips curled faintly, as if amused by something only he understood. Elizabeth had the distinct impression that she had just stepped into a different kind of game entirely.
The chess pieces were worn from years of use, their edges smoothed by countless fingers moving them across the board. Elizabeth traced her fingers lightly over her own set of pieces, considering her first move.
Mr. Bennet made his opening play without preamble. Pawn to e4.
Elizabeth lifted a brow and met his gaze. “You are bold, sir.”
“Some would call it recklessness. But I find it rather depends on one’s opponent.”
“Rather.” She advanced her own pawn, feeling his eyes on her as she did so.
“I confess,” he murmured, his tone idly conversational as he moved his next piece, “I had wondered what sort of young lady would arrive on my doorstep, sight unseen.”
