His reverie was interrupted by Jane and Bingley taking their seats. Bingley continued to grin. Jane was her usual poised, serene self, although her color was definitely pinker than normal. With a small smile, Darcy spoke purposefully, “Mrs. Bingley, you slept well also, I trust? Refreshed and prepared to meet the day's activities?”
His peripheral vision noted Elizabeth biting her lip, a gesture he well distinguished as one employed to prevent laughing. Bingley coughed, blushed scarlet, and hid behind his napkin. Jane, surprisingly, engaged Darcy's eyes with a calm, albeit mildly teasing smile, replying, “Why, yes indeed, Mr. Darcy. I believe I slept better than I have in months. Thank you for inquiring.”
Georgiana noted the strange semblances on all the adult faces at the table, perceived the undercurrent of jesting, but could not divine the cause. Mary decreed them all mad and categorically dismissed them. Breakfast proceeded from there in a predictable and customary fashion. The gentlemen ate heartily, discussing with enthusiasm the planned billiard tournament to commence at mid-morning. The women planned an excursion into Meryton for shopping and lunch at the Raven Inn, Mrs. Bennet and Kitty to accompany them.
They parted shortly thereafter, Darcy sequestering Elizabeth in the library for a private farewell. “Are you over your nausea, dearest?” Lizzy had eaten halfway through her breakfast and then been unexpectedly hit with a severe aversion to eggs, inducing her to hastily rise and exit the room for the nearest chamber pot. Fortunately, she had not been ill, but it had teetered on the edge for a spell. Now, she felt almost completely restored, as long as she did not envision eggs.
“Yes, love, I am fine. If my oddly wavering stomach contortions were not so incredibly bothersome I suppose I would find it comical!”
He laughed and kissed her. “Do not tax yourself, Elizabeth. I will not be here to paddle you if you overdo, so I trust you to care for yourself and our baby.”
“I promise to behave. Now,” she said, straightening his flawlessly arranged cravat, “you enjoy yourself. I want to hear all the details of how my handsome husband prevailed at billiards, leaving a collection of crushed egos in his wake.”
The gentlemen of Meryton and the surrounding areas, when not gathering for smaller private socializations in their homes, met informally at the two pubs or the lone coffeehouse for gaming and to discuss politics and business. A large, red brick building located on the main street and annexed to the Ox Horn pub was humorously and pretentiously called the Reading Room, due to the cozy parlor in the rear dedicated to gentlemen's intellectual concourse while smoking imported cigars and drinking fine liquors. However, it was the billiard room that drew the largest crowds most days.
The large space housed several billiards tables, along with a few chess and backgammon tables. Darcy and Bingley had visited a few times during Darcy's previous sojourns; however, Darcy, unsurprisingly, had preferred the quiet solitude of Netherfield. Bingley adored socializing and frequently passed afternoons and occasional evenings with the young men of the community.
Last evening, during the dinner party at Lucas Lodge, Darcy had been invited to partake in the billiard tournament scheduled for today. Apparently, his reputation as a skilled player had preceded him; several of the local citizens were familiar with the name Darcy being whispered with reverence through the billiard halls of Town. Mr. Darcy was by no means the preeminent player in all of London, but he ranked among the top twenty. As a guest in the area, it certainly was neither expected nor necessary to include him, so he was honored by the inclusion. If it were any other contest, Darcy may have felt obliged to decline the offer or to curb his mastery. Not with billiards, though. After horseback riding, and of course his private activities with his adorable wife, there was no pastime Darcy loved more than billiards.
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were greeted primarily with enthusiasm. Sir Lucas, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Phillips were already present as the designated officials for the tournament, busily organizing the equipment and records required for the matches.
“Mr. Darcy! Mr. Bingley!” Sir Lucas exclaimed, beaming at them. “What a delight it is to have you both join us in our meager entertainment.”
Bingley bowed. “Thank you, Sir Lucas. However, my occupation shall be that of a spectator. My billiard skills are minimal. For cert not a match for Darcy here, so it would be futile for me to attempt besting him.”
Darcy bowed deprecatingly, nonetheless noting several perturbed expressions amongst the gathered men. Apparently, not all the competitors were delighted to have an expert challenger. Those gents who chose to participate in the contest signed the ledger and their names were placed into a hat. The simple expedience of having Sir Lucas, as the highest ranking man in the region, draw the individual names for the first round hailed the commencement of the tournament.
The hall was packed. Chairs and stools were placed along the walls and the game tables removed for extra space. A long side bar was erected with a steady supply of finger foods provided, while beverages of all varieties, alcoholic as well as tea, coffee, cocoa, and juices, were kept flowing in a steady supply from the pub. The atmosphere was jovial and casual, remarkably dissimilar to such events at the billiards rooms in London. Darcy might have been distressed by this, but as a frequent rival of his cousin Richard, who took nothing except his military career seriously, Darcy was immune to constant chatter and distractions.
Darcy was paired with a Mr. Denbigh, a man of some fifty years whom Darcy had met previously. Denbigh, an adequate player offering Darcy a few challenges, was affable and talkative, clearly enjoying himself immensely regardless of the outcome. In the end, Darcy attained the required points with a wide margin, effectively eliminating Denbigh from the match. After a brief respite, Darcy paired with a Mr. Heigt. Heigt was in his early twenties, ruddy faced with flaming red hair, and nearly as tall as Darcy. In appearance, he resembled Bingley, but in temperament was comparable to Darcy. He also left no doubt that he took the match seriously and was not at all pleased to have Darcy partake. With an icy smile, Darcy attacked. No quarter asked and none given, the two men played with careful regulation and intensity. Darcy won with ease, despite Heigt's pose of expertise, and the loser's anger was obvious. Thankfully, he retained his composure and did not make a scene, although he departed shortly thereafter.
His third opponent, Mr. Ravencraw, was a distinguished man in his fifties. Darcy ascertained instantly that here was a first-rate player. In his first true challenge of the match, Darcy called on every skill he possessed. The game was twice as long as the previous two, and Darcy won by a slim margin, thus allowing Ravencraw to remain in the tournament.
Ravencraw bowed. “Excellent game, Mr. Darcy. Your reputation is well reported. I rarely travel to Town; however, even I have heard the name Darcy. I do believe I was fortunate to best your father once or twice at Whites. He was a supreme player as well, although I daresay you surpass him in skill.”