Elizabeth’s body tensed. This sentiment was not the least bit affectionate. It was not a promising beginning. “Indeed, sir. Even though I live near Meryton, I never dreamt of meeting you here.” At her emphasis on the word “dreamt,” he met her eyes, and it seemed clear that he, too, remembered all they had faced together.
Maître d’Orval exclaimed, “Monsieur Darcy, your arrival is most fortuitous! My excellent pupil needs an opponent to test her mettle. I am teaching her the theory of fencing, but only an opponent can teach her the practice.”
MrDarcy opened and closed his mouth once before he could form an utterance. “Forgive me, but I have never fenced against a lady. It is not done in London. I have no wish to injure her.”
“I understand your objection, monsieur. Here, the good people of Meryton permit their daughters to indulge in this pastime. We do have proper equipment here, as you see. You will both be safe…from physical harm at any rate. I cannot speak to the consequences for anyone’s pride.”
MrDarcy demurred. “Oh, no, I could not countenance bruising a woman’s delicate skin.”
“Sir, did you not tell me that you fenced Miss de Bourgh when you were younger?” Elizabeth inquired.
“Why, yes. But she is my cousin, and we were but children. I have certainly outpaced her since then in strength and height.”
Elizabeth, amused, raised one eyebrow but remained silent. She would wait to see what sort of hole MrDarcy might dig for himself if she let him continue.
Maître d’Orval chuckled. “Taller and stronger you may be, monsieur, but in fencing, those traits may be overcome by speed, cunning, and wiles.”
Elizabeth tired of MrDarcy’s protestations. He did not like her long walks. He did not like her family (as he had made painfully clear in his ludicrous proposal at Hunsford). And, as he had demonstrated in many of her recent dreams, she simply did not meet his standards. Despite all this, they had begun to grow closer. Elizabeth felt a saucy urge to test their rapprochement and move from words to action. “If you are afraid of a possible defeat, sir, then you are quite right. It would be better not to try at all. I know that what you most fear is being laughed at.”
MrDarcy made a disapproving noise, as Elizabeth knew he would. So she pressed the point. From previous dreams, she knew exactly how to goad him to action. She deliberately removed her glove, one finger at a time, and playfully slapped MrDarcy’s cheek with it. She knew she had crossed the line and achieved her desired effect. Maître d’Orval’s face gave way to mirth.
Stunned, MrDarcy finally allowed his annoyance to overcome his priggishness. “Very well, Miss Bennet. I will give you your wish.”
Having heard him say those exact words in her dreams but in a very different context, Elizabeth lowered her eyes as heat rose from her chest to her face. MrDarcy and she must resolve their differences either in the fencing salle or out of it, and perhaps the sparks flying between them would spur Elizabeth on to an extremely satisfying victory.
Maître d’Orval handed her the birdcage-like face protection. The mask was as uncomfortable as it looked. It was unclear how much protection the wire mesh would actually provide in the event of a wayward hit to the face, but some protection was certainly better than none. Maître d’Orval provided Elizabethwith a jacket, padded in the front, that buttoned near her left side. It was comically large on her, but at least Elizabeth could put on the jacket without removing any clothing. MrDarcy seemed quite uncomfortable about removing his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat; he turned his back to put on his own fencing jacket and change his shoes. His jacket fit properly and made him look, Elizabeth thought, unfairly handsome.
Elizabeth put on the glove she had used to slap MrDarcy. MrDarcy donned his own glove and picked up his foil. He asked to practice before their little contest. During MrDarcy’s preparations, Maître d’Orval murmured, folding his hands behind his back. “Open with the attack, s’il vous plaît. Provoke Monsieur Darcy. Observe how he answers. He will hesitate. A gentleman seldom fences a lady. You must exploit his unease.”
“And if I land the first touch?” Elizabeth’s heart fluttered with excitement.
“Then press him. Attack in various lines until he parries. He will answer with a riposte. Expect it.”
“And what should I attempt, sir, when my attacks grow ineffective?”
A faint smile touched Maître d’Orval’s lips. “Then, mademoiselle, you abandon the offensive. Yield the initiative. Let him come to you…and punish his confidence.”
MrDarcy had the advantage of height and reach. Despite her petite size and smaller target area, Elizabeth would need speed, correct distance, and, most of all, wiliness to win against him.
Elizabeth executed the fencing master’s strategy to the best of her ability. Her lesson had reawakened her muscle memory of all the fencing actions she knew. But she had no memory of ever having fenced a male opponent before and was thus unsure whether she could prevail.
Elizabeth and MrDarcy came to the piste already wearing their masks, faced off, and saluted. Maître d’Orval said, “En garde! Allez!”
Elizabeth immediately executed a direct attack to MrDarcy’s flank, using a deep lunge, and landed a hit. Mr. Darcy reacted by extending his arm, but too late. Maître d’Orval awarded Elizabeth the first touch.
MrDarcy would not allow her a second touch so easily. She again made a direct attack, this time to his shoulder. He parried and riposted, and it was Elizabeth’s turn to discover that he, too, could cover plenty of ground with his lunge. Maître d’Orval awarded that touch to MrDarcy.
MrDarcy also scored the next touch, using his longer legs to propel himself forward and land an attack before Elizabeth could parry or retreat out of distance.
Elizabeth knew she ought to switch to defensive tactics, as Maître d’Orval had told her, but decided to try a more complicated attack with disengage. She first aimed towards MrDarcy’s flank, as she had done with her successful touch, and skilfully disengaged around his attempt to parry. She landed that touch on his chest. MrDarcy’s expression through the metal mesh was dour.
MrDarcy then scored two counter-ripostes in quick succession. The second of these hits landed quite hard against Elizabeth’s sternum, and she gasped. She was sure it would bruise. MrDarcy attempted to stop the bout to apologise and ascertain whether she was injured, but Elizabeth waved off his concerns. Now was not the time to be missish.
Elizabeth remembered the master’s compliments on her septime and octave parries. She raised her arm and stepped forward, attempting to draw MrDarcy into attacking her in the low line. He obliged, and she deftly retreated while taking anoctave parry. She was able to take advantage of his continued forward momentum to land her riposte.
On the next touch, MrDarcy attempted to draw Elizabeth into repeating her use of octave,but instead she executed a flawless septime, riposted, and scored again.
Maître d’Orval announced that the bout was even, and the next touch would carry the honours.
