Page 45 of Sweet on Mr Darcy

“My son dislikes simplicity in all forms.” Mr Darcy laughed in amusement. “He never entertains casually. It is hereditary, I think.”

Charlotte was, by common agreement, settled into the most comfortable pile of cushions.

“Now, Mrs Bennet, you are at the seaside for your health, so if anyone makes any practical request of you, you must refuse, no matter what” Priscilla instructed. “Our footman James will assist you with anything you require.”

Charlotte made no disagreement as the young ladies spread out and began to claim their favourite locations for sketching with all speed before returning to dine with the others. The young men present followed the ladies, doing all they could to ensure their comfort and be the first to serve them plates of the comestibles of their choice.

Darcy was no different, seating Elizabeth in the location she preferred in the sun, bringing her one plate after another of savoury and confectionery morsels until she begged, laughing, to be fed no more.

Mr Bennet, Mr Darcy, and the other fathers, Messrs Hatton and Osbourn, sat under one canopy sipping ale and discussing their estates, books, and other mature masculine interests. Charlotte enjoyed the company of Mrs Hatton and Mrs Osbourn as they spoke of their households, their children, and some upcoming parties that all of the families were looking forward to.

After more than an hour of dining like kings and queens, Darcy announced, “It is time for the men to play cricket, that is, if we are all so inclined. There are not enough of us for a formal match, but that ought not stop us from displaying our talents for the ladies.”

“I quite agree that our lack of numbers is a detail unworthy of further attention!” Mr Bingley cried in enthusiasm. “The weather is fine, and there is nothing like a game of cricket on a perfect day!”

This was instantly met with enthusiasm. Wickets were improvised by the footmen, and coats were discarded by the men.

Mr Bennet refused to participate. “I see no merit in perspiring intentionally.”

“I retired from sportsmanship many years ago,” Darcy Senior agreed.

Mr Osborne and Mr Hatton declined on the merit that they had each brought two sons that would play in their stead.

Darcy took command with all the seriousness of a general, and divided the players with methodical efficiency as the men rolled up their shirtsleeves to the titters of the youngest ladies.

“Cricket was never this fun to watch in Meryton,” Lydia announced. “I believe that there ought never be a match again unless the men are prepared to exert themselves so attractively.”

“Lydia!” whispered Mary, who was scandalised, but not scandalised enough to look away from Mr Jasper’s forearms.

Elizabeth had participated in her share of private, informal cricket games in the garden with her sisters in her youth. She had never cared much for watching the formal matches enjoyed by the local gentlemen in Meryton, but as she watched Mr Jasper bowl to Darcy, who stepped forward to bat with the sort of confidence that she suddenly found deeply interesting, she thought perhaps she had not appreciated the game as she ought before.

Mr Darcy struck cleanly, and the ball sailed impressively across the grass as the young ladies clapped and cheered. As the game continued, he continued to perform exceedingly well.

“I declare that this is intolerable.” Elizabeth folded her arms in mock irritation.

Jane glanced at her. “What is, Lizzy?”

“He appears to be good at everything.” Elizabeth frowned.

“A terrible fault.” Jane smiled. “You sound like Lady Barry.”

“He cannot whistle,” Priscilla whispered to Elizabeth in mischief. “It causes him no end of irritation.”

“Thank you, Priscilla, I shall endeavour to whistle for the rest of the day,” said Elizabeth.

“But not while they are playing, Lizzy!” Mary objected. “You could never be so improper!”

Could I not? Elizabeth watched in interest.

Mr Bingley approached the game with enthusiasm rather than skill or elegance. He managed one elegant stroke, appeared delighted with himself, and was immediately bowled out on his next attempt.

“I fear I was overconfident,” he laughed.

“That suggests that confidence is merited, Bingley!” Darcy called out tauntingly.

The Osbourne brothers played with cheerful competitiveness and no dignity whatsoever, while the Hatton brothers played as if their father’s estate had been wagered on the game. Mr Underhill bowled a ball so impossibly off course that a footman flinched and saved a bottle of lemonade from disaster.

As all unofficial games must, the match ended in confusion. Scoring became a matter of theory. The gentlemen lost track of whose turn it was to bowl. Mr Hatton accused Mr Bingley of inventing rules. Eventually, a halt was called to the activity, and the men returned to the others, comically satisfied with themselves.