Page 59 of The Briar Bargain
The silence that followed was not long, but it was deep.
Jane shifted in her seat, her brows drawn ever so slightly together. Mr. Bingley glanced from one sister to the other. Mrs. Hurst, expression smooth as porcelain, lifted her glass without a word.
Elizabeth pointedly didnotlook at Mr. Darcy.
Miss Bingley gave a light, musical laugh.
“How very serious we have become! I believe that signals the end of the game. Too many questions and not enough merriment.” She rose, her smile firmly in place. “Shall we have the card tables brought out?”
She did not wait for agreement but swept to the bell pull and summoned the footmen with such vigour it might have been a call to arms. The silver bowl of forfeits was quietly removed by a servant. The moment, whatever it had nearly become, was deftly snuffed out.
Elizabeth exchanged another glance with Jane, who looked relieved.
Miss Bingley fluttered back into the room as the tables were being arranged, all graciousness and clipped pleasantries. She was in command once more.
But Elizabeth could not help thinking that Mrs. Hurst’s question had been written in warning, not in jest. And she hoped that Miss Bingley had recognised the difference.
Chapter Nineteen
The soft click of ivory against ivory was the only sound in the billiard room as Darcy watched Bingley attempt what could generously be termed a stroke. The mace wavered in his friend's grip, the leather tip catching the felt at an unfortunate angle before sending the cue ball careening wildly across the table. It struck the red more as a result of luck than skill, though the subsequent trajectory fell disappointingly short of the intended cannon.
Darcy suppressed what would have been an unseemly display of amusement. Though if there were ever a cause for inappropriate mirth, Bingley’s billiards attempts might qualify.
"I maintain that this table possesses an unnatural inclination towards the eastern wall," Bingley declared, stepping back to survey his handiwork.
"The table," Darcy replied, accepting the mace from his friend's reluctant grasp, "maintains perfect equilibrium. The fault, I fear, lies elsewhere." He positioned himself carefully, considering the angle. The red ball sat at a distance that required both geometry and accuracy rather than force.
The mace moved smoothly through his fingers, leather tip connecting with the ivory sphere in a motion his father had drilled into him throughcountless games much like this one. The cue ball rolled with satisfying precision, struck the red at precisely the intended angle, and sent it gliding towards the yellow in what even Bingley would be forced to acknowledge as a proper cannon.
"You are determined to make me appear hopeless," Bingley said with good-natured resignation.
“It would be redundant to assist you in that effort,” Darcy responded.
"Room for a third player?" Hurst inquired from the doorway, moving to the brandy decanter. "I find myself in need of male company."
Bingley gestured at the table with his mace. "By all means.” He assessed Hurst’s smug expression. “You appear uncommonly pleased with yourself.”
Darcy had noticed too. He chalked the leather tip of his mace with deliberate care. Bingley was rather adept at reading the subtle shifts in his companions' dispositions, even when they were not so obvious as Hurst’s. The problem was that he did not always consider what his response ought to be.
"Do I?” Hurst asked with an unusually pleased chuckle. “How gratifying to know that contentment shows so plainly upon one's countenance."
Bingley scrutinized his brother-in-law. "Contentment? You?"
A small smile played upon Hurst’s countenance. "You might attribute it to a restoration of order."
“Do not tell me Louisa finally locked Caroline in the linen cupboard?” Bingley quipped.
“Not yet,” Hurst replied.
Bingley shook his head. “Caroline did that to Louisa once, you know. Left her there for hours until a servant happened by, and then said Louisa was only attempting to cause trouble for her by making up such a story. My parents believed her too.”
Hurst frowned. “Louisa has never told me that story. Poor girl.”
Darcy was intrigued. The Hurst household had long operated according to principles that defied his understanding—Mrs. Hurst’s devotion to her sister's increasingly questionable schemes balanced against Hurst's determined retreat into his wine and bitterness. That such an arrangement might be subject to alteration seemed as unlikely as Bingley suddenly developing the ability to win at billiards.
"I noticed," Bingley continued, moving to line up his next stroke with characteristic optimism, "that Louisa seemed quite different this evening."
Mrs. Hurst had indeed displayed a marked departure from her usual behaviour. Most remarkably, she had failed to support her sister's plans regarding the questions, had even laughed with the rest over Miss Elizabeth’s playful proverb and had been complimentary when it had been her turn. And she had boldly brought her sister’s ambitions up short. Darcy had applauded that directness even though it had embarrassed him.
