Sir William clapped his hands together, beaming at the assembled guests. “Now, my dear friends, I have devised a most delightful variation for our game this afternoon! Rather than each of you competing alone, I propose we engage in a friendly contest of pairs. A gentleman and a lady shall form a team, alternating strokes through the course. This way, we may ensure both lively conversation and a fair chance for all.” He winked broadly, clearly pleased with his ingenuity.
“This is most irregular,” murmured one of the older gentlemen, though not with any real complaint.
“Indeed!” Sir William said cheerfully. “But we must allow for a bit of amusement in life, must we not?” He gestured to a waiting footman. “The names shall be drawn at random.”
The guests assembled as Sir William Lucas enthusiastically read out the game pairings. One by one, names were called, players matched, the crowd bubbling with excitement as friends and flirtations alike were thrown together for the afternoon’s sport.
And then—
“Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”
Darcy’s stomach dropped.
He turned his head sharply toward Sir William, as though hoping he had misheard.
But no.
There stood Elizabeth, already stepping forward with a sweet, slow smile—one that made something in his chest rip apart and caused his toes to curl in dread.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said pleasantly, dipping into a perfectly polite curtsy.
Trapped.
He could feel Bingley’s silent laughter beside him, could see Caroline’s visible irritation, could sense the general hum of interest among the gathering crowd.
It was a perfectly innocent pairing. A random one. So why did he feel as if Fate were trying to torment him?
Thewoodenballrolledacross the grass, Darcy adjusting his stance before striking it with his mallet. The crack of impact was sharp, clean, precise—the ball sailing neatly through the metal hoop ahead.
A perfect shot.
Elizabeth, standing beside him, hummed thoughtfully. “A fine start, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy ignored her tone, stepping back as she moved forward for her own turn.
She studied the ball, gripping her mallet lightly, her posture relaxed, almost careless. Then, in one smooth motion, she struck—sending the ball gliding effortlessly through the next hoop.
Darcy’s eyes narrowed.
Elizabeth met his gaze, all innocence and mirth.
“Oh dear,” she said lightly, swinging her mallet onto her shoulder. “Did I do that correctly? You shall have to forgive me, sir, I am ever so unfamiliar with these country amusements.”
“You seem to be managing well enough,” Darcy remarked as evenly as he could, lining up his shot.
Elizabeth lifted her mallet, her expression all bright-eyed innocence. “How very reassuring. I would hate to put my partner at a disadvantage.”
Partner.
Darcy adjusted his grip on the mallet, trying to hide how his hand flinched. He struck, sending the ball rolling cleanly through the hoop.
She stepped forward, taking her turn, barely sparing a glance at the ball before striking it with casual perfection. Dash it all, she was even good atthis.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, watching her progress, “I trust you are settling in well at Longbourn?”
Elizabeth’s mallet paused just slightly before she swung. Not enough for anyone else to notice—but he did.
“Oh, quite well, sir,” she replied smoothly, stepping back as her ball cleared the hoop. “Your concern is touching.”
