Page 30 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
“Your sister is quite right, Miss Lydia. I overestimated her skill, basing it on your enthusiastic commentary the other day,” Darcy said. “Perhaps you might assist her?”
Lydia stepped closer, and Elizabeth caught the flicker of interest in her eyes. “You’ve left your queen completely undefended,” she observed, her voice carrying a note of the old Lydia—the one who never hesitated to point out others’ mistakes.
“Have I?” Elizabeth peered at the board. “Oh dear, you’re quite right. I hadn’t noticed.”
“And your castle is trapped by your own pieces,” Lydia continued, warming to her theme. “Really, Lizzy, did Papa teach you nothing?”
“He tried,” Elizabeth said, watching her sister’s face. “I fear I was a disappointing pupil.”
Lydia made an exasperated sound. “You’re going about it all wrong. Chess is not just about moving pieces—you need to think several moves ahead. Papa always said—” She stopped abruptly, as if suddenly remembering her anger at their father.
Elizabeth held her breath, but after a moment, Lydia continued more quietly, “He always said that chess was like life. You have to consider the consequences of every move.”
“I am thinking ahead,” Elizabeth said. “I’m thinking about how quickly Mr Darcy will achieve checkmate.”
Mr Darcy chuckled but said nothing.
Despite herself, Lydia’s lips twitched. “At this rate, very quickly indeed.” She leaned closer to the board, and Elizabeth saw the familiar spark of competition in her eyes—dimmed but not extinguished. “You’re playing right into his hands.”
“Am I?” Elizabeth looked between the board and her sister. “I suppose I should surrender then.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Lydia said, and for a moment she sounded almost like her old self. “Move your queen here.” She pointed to a square. “Then your knight can support it, and you’ll have a much stronger position.”
Elizabeth moved the piece and was rewarded by seeing Darcy’s eyebrows rise in surprise. She caught his eye and saw the hint of a smile there.
“Much better,” he acknowledged. “That was quite a good move.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Lydia said with satisfaction, and Elizabeth felt a surge of hope at the pride in her sister’s voice. “Now, Mr Darcy, you’ll have to work a bit harder for your victory.”
“Indeed,” he replied. “I had not anticipated such able counsel.”
The game continued, with Lydia becoming more invested in Elizabeth’s success. She leaned over Elizabeth’s shoulder, pointing out opportunities and pitfalls, her voice growing more animated with each exchange.
“No, no, Lizzy! Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s setting up a fork with his knight. Move your bishop to block.”
“Here?” Elizabeth asked, pointing to a square.
“Two spaces to the left,” Lydia corrected. “There. Now you’re threatening his rook.”
Elizabeth made the move and was surprised to see Darcy pause to consider his response. Perhaps Lydia’s coaching was more effective than she had expected.
“You know,” Lydia said after another few minutes, “you’re hopeless at this, Lizzy. Papa may have despaired of teaching you, but at least he tried. You must be boring Mr Darcy to tears with such tentative play.”
“On the contrary,” Darcy said, “Miss Elizabeth shows admirable persistence.”
“Persistence, perhaps, but no skill whatsoever.” Lydia shook her head in exasperation, but Elizabeth noticed the slight softening in her expression when she mentioned their father. “Here, let me show you how it’s done.”
And with that, she slipped into Elizabeth’s chair, her eyes bright with challenge as she surveyed the board. “Now, Mr Darcy, let’s see what you can do against someone who actually learned Papa’s lessons.”
Elizabeth stepped back, catching Darcy’s eye over Lydia’s bent head. The warmth in his gaze made something flutter in her chest—gratitude, certainly, for his kindness to her sister, but perhaps something more. She found herself studying the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair caught the candlelight, the gentle concentration in his expression as he considered Lydia’s more aggressive style of play.
When he looked up and met her eyes, his smile was soft, and Elizabeth felt those butterflies take flight in her stomach. For a moment, the room seemed to hold just the two of them, connected by their shared concern for Lydia and their successful conspiracy to restore her spirits.
She forced herself to look away, to focus on her sister’s animated commentary on the game. This was about Lydia, she reminded herself. Whatever foolish fancies she might be developing about Mr Darcy’s character were beside the point.
But as the evening progressed and Lydia’s voice grew stronger, more confident, Elizabeth couldn’t quite suppress the warmth that bloomed in her chest every time she caught Darcy’spleased smile, or the way her pulse quickened when their eyes met across the chessboard.
Some feelings, she was learning, were difficult to ignore. But tonight, seeing Lydia’s first genuine smile in days, Elizabeth thought that perhaps some risks were worth taking—for her sister’s sake, and perhaps for her own.
