Scotch and Sirens

Chapter Thirty Seven

 

The grounds on the field behind the church were packed with people. To a more metropolitan eye, it was hardly more impressive than an ordinary street scene, but for the local populous it was the most exciting event of the season, and the mill of fellow villagers, kin and friends from farther away was heady.

The amount of displays, amusements, refreshments and sights – not to mention the fights and the drunks and the fools, gave the participants the knowledge and assurance that the village fair would provide them with ample cause for discussion and gossip for a long time to come.

Since the fencing contest was quite a singular event, and the distance to the great town of Edinburgh was not too daunting, there were a fair number of curious guests from there too. All of them, the local aristocracy and gentry even more than the others, keen on reviving the old Scottish traditions and customs, proudly showed off their well tailored kilts.

 

 

The Tournier household had left for the fair a few hours before noon. Mrs. Tournier had opted to go as well, her passion for amusements of every kind seemingly stirred by her nephew’s appearance in a newly procured kilt. Vian seemed equally content with his purchase. Both his own crest’s colours included in the tartan’s pattern, and the ladies’ animated reaction to the sight of him wearing it, pleased him. They took his carriage, and en route there was much talk of the duelling exhibition, as nothing like it had ever been seen in the area before. It was the first year that the fair had ever had it, Mr. Steele having organised it after taking fencing lessons himself for the last two years. Lizzy herself had no expectations one way or the other about what she would see, but knew she would of course root for Monsieur Vian and Lord Brougham to win their matches now that she was certain Mr. Darcy would not attend.

Upon their arrival they spent some time looking at the wares on offer and catching up with neighbours. Much to Lizzy's and Holly's dismay, the first neighbour to spot them was Lucy Steele, who immediately made herself a part of their party, claiming that she would not enjoy herself in any other company that day. They walked along together, the five of them, eyeing the wares on offer.

 

 

Brougham took a last look in his chamber’s mirror, making sure his kilt was lying well on his hips, before he descended down to the hall where his housekeeper was ready to see him off. At the sight of him Mrs. McLaughlin gave him a motherly smile full of pride, and they both looked up when the sound of steps on the stairs was heard again.

Their astonishment was apparent if judged by their gasps, for otherwise they both became speechless at the sight of Mr. Darcy presenting himself in a kilt as well. Brougham’s surprise, soon overcome, turned into an ironic smile playing on his lips, but that of Mrs. McLaughlin was more powerful, and she would be horrified to know that she blushed like a young lass as her eyes slowly moved up and down the figure of her master’s guest. Darcy caught her look and smiled bashfully.

“Shall we go?” he said as he passed by them, heading straight outside to mount his horse.

Brougham followed him, still smiling.

“I thought you were against wearing a kilt.”

“I was against wearing your kilt.”

“What was wrong with mine, once again?” Brougham seemed a bit hurt by this rejection.

“Nothing is wrong with yours, Brougham. The Darcys do not wear someone else’s coat of arms. That is all.”

“And so you have brought your own to avoid that sad fate?”

“It seemed only natural to bring mine since I was at home anyway.”

“Certainly.” Brougham carefully smoothed the plaits of his own kilt so they would not wrinkle while riding in the saddle. “I am only surprised that you have one at all.”

“Why should it surprise you? If I can dance a reel, I can very well wear a kilt.”

“My meaning exactly. I do not ever recall seeing you dancing a reel.”

“That is only because you rarely see me dance, Brougham. I am sorry if I have not entertained you enough.”

“And yet you chose to entertain everyone today.”

“So did you,” Darcy said curtly, but after a moment added, “I believe everyone will wear his kilt. There will be nothing unusual in our appearance.”

“Maybe not in mine, but judging from Mrs. McLaughlin’s reaction you may bring far more attention than your usual.”

“I would say she was simply surprised, as were you.”

“Think that if it suits your disposition and allows you to wear it with dignity and ease, but if the first rows are crowded with ladies today you should be aware that is all for yourself. Obviously there must be something very distracting in the cut of your kilt, or maybe it is due to the shape of your legs?”

“Brougham, if it is an attempt at distracting your opponents today I would advise you to rather worry about your fencing skills. There may be many men there today far more used to performing in a kilt than yourself.”

After they arrived and left their horses with a boy to have them stabled, they leisurely strolled among the tents and stalls. Brougham smiled at all the interested looks cast at them as they passed while Darcy pretended not to notice them at all. Eventually, Brougham pointed out various curiosities and wondered rather persistently where they could be displaying all the animals.

“One should inspect the prize cows and hogs, not to mention the bulls! Why, last year there had been a true ogre brought up from somewhere south. Ugly as sin, too, but naturally impressive.”

Darcy regarded his friend’s easy chatter with a tolerant expression. He interjected a word here and there but mostly seemed distracted. Suddenly Brougham caught his arm and removed his hat in a gesture of polite recognition of someone further away.

“Aha!” he said and smiled broadly. “Acquaintances, Darcy! Pucker up!”

While the other three ladies were admiring a few beautiful scarves brought in by travelling merchants Lizzy's eyes wandered down the row of booths. She found herself startled to see Lord Brougham and Mr. Darcy coming toward them. She could not help but notice the gentlemen’s attire, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks when she found her eyes lingering on Mr. Darcy’s calves, their shape accentuated by his hose and gaiters, which only seemed to draw her attention in a straight line to his knees. Jerking her head upward to break the spell, her gaze was instantly captured by the sporran he wore – most strategically located at the front of his kilt – as it swayed ever so slightly with the swing of his hips as he came toward her party.

The other ladies appeared to be similarly distracted and it was only Mrs. Tournier’s cheeky remark about the effect a pair of fine legs could have on a girl that brought their eyes up to the level proper for conversation.

The gentlemen approached and Brougham was first to acknowledge everyone, while Darcy’s somewhat stern civilities followed. After brief greetings were exchanged, Mrs. Tournier excused herself and wandered off with her friend, Mrs. Cotton.

While Brougham engaged Miss Lucy and Miss Tournier in conversation, Darcy’s look was directed at Elizabeth and Vian, who stayed closely by her side.

“I hope you are well, Miss Bennet,” he suddenly ventured.

She was overjoyed to see him, but still somewhat startled that he was even here. She kept her composure, however, and answered his enquiry.

“I am well, I thank you, Mr. Darcy. Lord Brougham had informed us that you had urgent business at Pemberley. We had assumed that you would not return to the area at all. I am happy to see that we were incorrect in our assumption. You were able to conclude your business then?”

“Yes, I was, thank you. I see that Lord Brougham forgot to inform you that I would by no means disregard my former engagements.”

He nodded his head in the direction of Vian by way of greeting.

“Did you have a pleasant time, Miss Bennet?”

“If you mean in your absence, then I will admit that I worked very hard in helping Miss Tournier with harvesting and preserving goods for the winter. Manual labour was my occupation, and I think I gave a fair account of myself, only my cousin may disagree,” she smiled, and glanced toward Holly who was now occupied with Miss Lucy and Lord Brougham.

“Yes, Miss Bennet, you worked far too much, definitely. It was quite insupportable, and I am very glad for all the distraction I could offer you. I find you were in a constant need of my care. Otherwise you would have put yourself in trouble quite thoughtlessly.

“Now I feel obliged to take you to the best seat for viewing the upcoming contest.”

Vian took her arm and looked directly at Darcy, “You will excuse us, Sir.”

Lizzy had no choice but to follow Vian’s lead as he took a hold of her elbow quite firmly and quickly led her away, giving her time to utter a short goodbye only. She looked back as Vian pulled her along, extremely vexed that the Frenchman would take such liberties, and she became even more distressed when she looked back a second time only to see Miss Lucy had stayed behind and was now moving in closer to Mr. Darcy.

Pulling against his forward motion, she forced him to slow down a little.

“Monsieur Vian, what is the hurry?”

“I am sorry if it seems so. I only saw that the stands were filling quickly and I thought you would wish a prime seat in the front to watch from. Did I make an error in judgement, Miss Bennet? We can go back if you prefer.”

Since there was little to say to that, and knowing that returning would only be all the more awkward, she acquiesced. “It was only that your pace was so swift and our departure so abrupt that we have left Holly behind, and Miss Lucy as well,” she said more quietly and calmly.

“I was rather of the impression that you were not so eager for the company of Miss Steele, and as to Miss Tournier, as you see, she is even now following after us.”

He was correct, indeed, as Holly was coming along behind and they slowed to allow her to catch up.

“Is there a fire, Monsieur?” she asked, rather put out. “In one moment I am looking at a shawl and in the next I find myself running along the fairway.”

Lizzy, now realising he was probably excited for what was to come, made his excuses for him.

“Monsieur Vian is very eager to deposit us ladies in seats that will allow us to watch his prowess with a sword to the best advantage. In fact, I think he may be so eager to duel that he simply wishes to have us out of his hair.”

Nodding in understanding, Holly replied, “Well, if that is the case, then we shall forgive you Monsieur, for I do dislike sitting way in the back.”

Vian only smiled. He so loved women. They were always eager to see the cup half full and rarely looked for ulterior motives – accept from other females.

 

 

Lucy was content to give up Monsieur Vian to Miss Bennet, for she was sure that the Frenchman had staked his claim there already, but she would definitely use it to her advantage.

Noticing his gaze was still following Vian and Miss Bennet, she began, “Mr. Darcy, how nice to see you again. Do you not think they make the sweetest couple? The whole neighbourhood is in agreement on that.”

Darcy glanced but briefly at Miss Lucy and turned his eye back to the pair.

“Indeed?”

She knew she had to be careful here. He would more than likely speak to Lizzy at some point about this matter. Even if he did not approach her directly, he could easily find out if she herself lied to him, and she could not have that.

“Well, of course nothing has been announced officially, but they do spend a great deal of time in each other's company – and Miss Tournier never appears to be with them – so one only assumes that an understanding is not far off.”

Darcy stiffened. “Excuse me,” was all he managed to utter, and he looked around in search of his friend.

“Brougham, I believe we have wasted enough of our time here. It is time to prepare.”

Lucy was pleased with the effect her talk had had on him. She would now bide her time and speak with him at length after the fencing was over. He would surely be more amenable to conversation with her then, especially if Monsieur Vian still cooperated so unwittingly and kept by Miss Bennet's side. Next time however, she would not mention Lizzy at all, but only pleasant things about himself, of course. Perhaps she would compliment his skills as a fencer?

She followed Holly at a distance, and seated herself close enough to the cousins to overhear anything they might say and to be able to speak to them if it was warranted. She then set her mind to work, for she suddenly realised that if worse came to worse there was always Lord Brougham to think about in terms of a fall back position. She had not even begun to explore the possibilities regarding that man. What a lovely day it was, she thought.

 

 

Brougham looked around him as the gentlemen and other hopefuls were gathering in the enclosure to be partnered during the first round. There were perhaps two-dozen men standing about, and a rather small, stout gentleman and his helpers ran around frantically seeing to the procedures. A rather taller, gangly man – obviously with some claim to military experience, Brougham thought – wandered around at a rather more leisurely pace and shook hands with the contestants. It turned out the gentleman was a retired army sergeant by the name of McCluskey and he had indeed consented to the refereeing of the procedures.

His own name was called and he was introduced to his first partner. It was a rather nervous boy, whose face lit up considerably on being informed that he was to fence with a baron. Brougham’s heart instantly warmed to this youth and decided to give him his attention and to make sure his imminent defeat would rather be a cause for celebrity than embarrassment. They shook hands, and Brougham chatted amiably to him without receiving much in the way of answers beyond monosyllabic mutterings, but he was smiling, so the match came off to a friendly start.

In the lull before the announcements of the first matches and after having exchanged pleasantries with his opponent, Brougham looked around to take in the rest of the scene. On the opposite side were the roofed stalls, and he could see Miss Tournier and Miss Bennet, accompanied closely by Miss Steele, take their places.

A very pretty picture they made, he thought, and it was evident from the smiles and brief exchanges they caused in the other aspiring gentry seated around them, that they were noticed by more than himself as such. He made an exaggerated bow and gesture towards them and the ladies laughed. Miss Bennet and Miss Tournier then let their eyes wander further over the gathering. Miss Steele on the other hand, did favour him with a coquettish smile and a small wave of her gloved hand, and he bowed to her, too. It was Mrs. Tournier though, that gave him by far the best response, for as she was just making her way into the stands, she noticed his attention and gave him a small curtsy followed by an imaginary yank of her skirts in a downward motion. He could not keep from laughing at her obvious efforts to disconcert him about his attire, nor could he help giving an involuntary glance at his kilt to make sure it had not somehow ridden up on his legs.

After winning several matches, Brougham found he had some time on his hands before his next one, so he wandered over to the ladies of his party, who were sitting and enjoying the still ongoing trials of Vian and Darcy, each fighting their own opponent, one with ease and flair, the other with grace and precision. The ladies were apparently so enthralled by what to his eye was a singularly tedious and badly matched display of fencing because of the inequality of the odds, they did not notice him until he leaned against the railing.

“Ladies,” Brougham greeted them, “How are you enjoying yourself?”

They all confessed they were having a grand time. Miss Bennet did look slightly serious for someone admitting such a pleasure, but she complimented Brougham on his excellent and generous performance so cheerfully he had no cause to enquire further. Miss Steele could not seem to quite decide whether to keep the fencers under her observation or give Lord Brougham her full attention, and so she satisfied herself with leaning slightly forward towards the railing where he stood and aimed her smile in his direction while she scanned the matches taking place on the field. Miss Tournier was amiable enough, consenting to a few polite words to him about the progress of his library before taking her attention back to the fencers. Mrs. Tournier, however, gave him a long lecture on how he seemed a little stilted in his movements and far too concerned about the state of his kilt for his own good in the sword play, and that if he expected to continue winning he might bear that in mind. He gave his pledge to follow her advice, but not before remarking that the display of his kilt must have been no less important than his fencing skills if one were to judge it by how close to the stage the ladies chose to sit.

He eventually returned to the field where Ned McMahon, the local hero, stepped up to him with considerable authority and dignity in order to introduce himself, and their match began.

 

 

Some time later, Vian stood along the side of the arena, leaning against a fence post while awaiting the outcome of Mr. Darcy’s last match. It would be the deciding factor in who he would fence for the championship. He had high hopes that the man would prevail, for he looked forward to duelling him. In fact he was only waiting to see if Mr. Darcy was going to give the match away or take it for himself, for it was obvious to his own trained eye that he only let it go on for the sake of the show and his opponent’s honour. It was admirable, he supposed, but he himself would not have taken as much care where that was concerned. A man should not enter a fencing contest if he could not hold his own, so he deserved his defeat as quickly as it naturally occurred. In fact, he thought, if Darcy did not prevail in this match it would be only because he feared facing himself for the championship. Perhaps he thought it would be less embarrassing for him to lose to this man than to his rival. It would be disappointing if that was the route he chose, but it would not be surprising, especially after other examples of his behaviour were taken into consideration regarding his dealings with the fair lady.

He peered over to the stands and observed how Miss Bennet watched it. She appeared both enraptured and full of worry. Of course she could not know that Mr. Darcy was in no danger of losing unless he made the choice to, but the fact that Lord Brougham had received a small cut on his arm from Ned McMahon and was now sitting among the ladies in the stands, and, if he were a smart man, was now milking it for all the attention it was worth, it was of little surprise that she would be so concerned.

He sighed softly. Someday soon, he thought, when she stopped hoping her lover would overcome his own self-importance and do the right thing – when she finally realised he never would – she would then see the man who was right before her eyes for more than a visitor to be entertained on behalf of her aunt, the man who waited patiently, always steady and there for her. He had time on his side.

Suddenly, he heard loud voices being raised behind the building he stood in front of. The sounds were of someone in distress, so he quietly headed in that direction to see what might be amiss. He reached the corner of the back of the building in time to see a man being pushed behind a pile of bricks and debris, landing in a heap on the ground at the feet of two men.

“I said I wanted my payments promptly, Fisk!” a gentleman with dubious right to claim that title hissed, and then carefully cleaned off his hand with his handkerchief while he looked down at the man. “I hear you have been avoiding me these many days. Quite silly of you to think I would not seek you out here. Would you not agree?”

The man did not answer, but only stared at his feet while he slowly picked himself up from the dirt.

“Not very prudent of you to not have sought some source of revenue to make your payment in a more timely manner,” the gentleman continued.

“Sir, I was not avoidin’ ya. I was off in Edinburgh tryin’ to find some work so I could pay ya all I owe at once and have done with it.”

“Were you now? And how did you fare? Did you earn the whole seven pounds?”

The man flinched and replied. “It was five, Mr. Tidwell. Even with the mountin’ interest, but that I have here. I came looking for ya to pay it.” He timidly dug into his pocket and pulled out the contents in a wad, then held it out reluctantly before him, hard earned money to be taken away by scoundrel.

Tidwell snatched up the notes. “Well I would say was is the operative word here, since late fees have now managed to increase the amount. You have a week to come up with the other two pounds if you want to wipe the slate clean, Fisk, or I shall have my associate take it out of your hide. Of course we might work it out in favours granted by your pretty daughter. Say one favour per half a shilling? I am sure Mr. Gordon here would agree to such an arrangement.” He grinned at his rather large companion, who nodded in return.

“I will have the money, one way or another, but you will stay way from my young un! She has nothin’ to do with it.”

“We shall see, Fisk. We shall see.” And with that parting remark, Tidwell turned and walked away around the other side of the building from where Vian stood in plain view but unnoticed by any of them. His silent henchman followed him, but only after pausing menacingly in front of Mr. Fisk, his fists balled and at their most threatening.

Vian turned and walked back. He thought it disgusting that some people, apparently left to fend for themselves without the protection of the nobles, had to resort to borrowing money from the likes of such men. And the fact that usurers seemed to find general acceptance among society here seemed, to him, to indicate the moral fall of this country. For surely Mr. Tidwell enjoyed the privileges and respect that are due a gentleman here. He shook his head over the collapse of the religious principles of decent men, given way to those of the calculating middle class that seemed to be overtaking the isle. Had he felt it necessary he would have stepped in to aid the fellow – it was two against one after all, hardly fair odds – but in this case it really was not his concern. Yet he could not help but briefly wonder why this particular man had put himself in such a position. The need might have been great, or it could have been as petty as overextending himself at the local pub.

To him it was of little importance though, and he quickly put it from his mind as he realised Darcy’s match was now over and he had missed who had been declared the winner. He quickly looked over to Miss Bennet to figure out the outcome from her countenance.

 

 

Vian had been informed that there would be a short interval before the final match in order to give the two final contestants a chance to relax and prepare and to give the spectators an opportunity for refreshments, and so he headed in the direction of the pavilion he had last seen Miss Bennet entering. However, when he arrived there the open tent was rather crowded and he could not find her immediately. Settling himself near the entry in order to make a more thorough search of the crowd, which was full of people milling about from table to table, he chanced to overhear Miss Tournier’s name mentioned. He turned in that direction, expecting to find her, and thus Miss Bennet as well, but instead found himself standing close enough to Mr. Tidwell and Mr. Gordon to realise it was one of them who had spoken. He followed the direction of their eyes and found the object of his own hunt was also the object of the two gentlemen’s stares, for Miss Bennet, along with the Tournier ladies, were sitting at a table there. Miss Tournier looked rather worse for wear and her mother was clearly incensed. He was about to go to them when an impulse held him in his place. Why, he wondered after all, was Miss Tournier the topic of conversation of such men.

Tidwell was speaking, his voice hushed and angry. “I will triumph here, Gordon. I swear it! How dare she make a fuss in front of others. There is her cousin as well to work on. I know things that she would not want made public…”

Mr. Gordon, obviously employed to watch over Tidwell’s interests, coughed loudly at that point, stopping his friend from either being heard or saying anything more.

“Perhaps it would be better to speak more of it later and not here where what you might say in anger could be misconstrued. Hold your head up, Sir, for you know full well who is thought of more highly of in the area. It is certainly not a lady – with a dead French revolutionary father and an overly opinionated and independent English mother – whose reputation is in question.”

“Yes! My point exactly!” Tidwell replied, still put out, “But I take your meaning…”

The conversation continued, but nothing more was said about the subject that interested him most. He was frustrated once again by Mr. Darcy’s carelessness with Miss Bennet’s feelings and reputation, for it seemed more than himself and Mrs. Tournier knew of their trysts based on what Mr. Tidwell had said about her. He would need to deal with this man, there was no question about that, but not here and now. He needed more information first, but it seemed none would be forthcoming here.

He went over to where the ladies sat, noting that Mr. Gordon’s eyes followed his progress across the tent. That same gentleman whispered something to Tidwell, whose head snapped over to look at him in an instant, appearing to access any possible threat. Vian steadily returned the look until Tidwell averted his eyes.

“Ladies,” he greeted them and took a seat, “it was not easy but I have finally found you, and happily so for me. But I fear things are amiss here, for my Cousin Holly seems most distressed. Are you feeling well? Might I be of assistance in any way?”

Holly sat there, despondent, like a wounded animal. “I am fine, Monsieur. It is nothing you need to trouble yourself with. Really, I…”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Tournier curtly interrupted. “Of course he should trouble himself if he is willing to. We cannot deal with this on our own any longer, Holly, it only gets worse. It is clear to me we need a man to stand up for us, for it may be the only thing that will make that bully see reason and stop this harassment!”

Whatever the matter was, it obviously distressed Miss Tournier, that was clear to him not only from her countenance but also from the firm grip she had on Miss Bennet’s arm, so tightly held he feared it would be bruised. Her mother saw it too and, taking both her daughter’s hands in her own, made her look directly at her, before gently whispering, “Tell him everything, my dear. It will make you feel better to have it all out, and if you do not, I will, for we need his help if he will give it in order for this to ever have an end.”

With that encouragement, Holly poured out her dealings with Mr. Tidwell, telling Vian about how that man had been the cause of her losing her job at the school where she had worked and Mr. Tidwell’s sister attended. How, after many long months of cornering and harassing her there, when he did not get what he sought, he had finally saw to it that her reputation was called into question enough to cause her dismissal.

Unable to stop her outpouring, and encouraged by Vian’s concerned look, she continued.

“But that is not all. The man will not desist in his degrading behaviour towards me. This is the second time he has insinuated himself upon me. Recently at a party, Lord Brougham came to my aide there, and again just now while we watched the tournament.” She visibly shook with revulsion at the memory of both events.

“What happened today?” Vian asked, his concern and outrage evident. He knew it troubled her to talk of it but he needed information in order to decide how he would deal with the man.

“He whispered the most revolting things to me so that only I could hear them, and when I tried to move away he made it impossible to do so, until I had no choice but to make a public display and yell at him to go away. It was mortifying. And then he had the audacity to act as if he had no idea what had happened and that I had gone crazy or something. And what is worse, I think everyone assumed I was at fault, for surely rumours of my dismissal have reached here. He would have seen to it.”

“Oh no, Holly,” Lizzy tried to reassure her. “It was clear you had done nothing wrong. Everyone had to know his behaviour was to blame.”

“Maurice,” Mrs. Tournier broke in. “It is all a moot point what others’ might think today if this sort of behaviour continues, and I have no doubt it will. The man is clearly a scoundrel and I begin to worry not only for my daughter’s reputation but for her safety as well. What is to stop him from attempting something when she is alone and defenceless if he would be so bold as behave this despicably in public? Can you do something?” She had worked herself into a quiet fury. “Will you beat the man to a pulp for us!”

Vian would certainly intervene, not just for Miss Tournier, but for Miss Bennet as well, even if she did not know she needed the intervention.

“I will take care of it. You can trust I will deal with it in a manner that will be more detrimental to the man than a mere beating would ever do. But for now I think it best for Miss Tournier if you took her home. She is far too upset to stay here any longer.”

“Yes, that was my intention. I had hoped you would let us take your carriage, since you still have an obligation here to fulfil. I will send it back for you.”

“Certainly, I shall arrange it immediately.”

He sent for the conveyance and escorted them to it, but at the last minute managed to talk Mrs. Tournier into letting Miss Bennet stay behind so he might have some family member witness his last duel for the championship. After all, he pleaded with her, his victory would only be a shallow one if it were not appreciated by someone he knew.

 

 

When Sergeant McCluskey entered the stage, the audience fell silent.

Lizzy sat anxiously in the stands, trying to be pleasant to any who spoke to her, but having a great deal of difficulty in concentrating on what was being said around her. Aside from her worry for Holly, was the additional situation of Monsieur Vian fencing Mr. Darcy next for first place. Having discussed Mr. Vian’s philosophy on duelling with him before, she became worried that one of them would be hurt. She did not want either harmed, but particularly Mr. Darcy, and she felt guilt that she would think in such terms when two innocent people were involved, especially after Monsieur Vian had so gallantly offered his services to aide her cousin’s cause. She felt as if she betrayed family in some way by rooting for someone other than Holly’s champion.

When the final duel was announced, and Mr. Vian was leaving her and Miss Steele, who she now sat next to, Lizzy impulsively held him back for a moment and quietly pleaded with him that no one should be harmed in this last match, and to please remember that winning was not everything. He only bowed, smiled broadly, and quickly, without asking her permission, reached up, stole a ribbon from her hair and turned to leave in the same motion. Quite appalled, she could do nothing about it. All eyes were on her and he was already half way out to the middle of the arena by the time his actions registered in her confused mind. She had no recourse, so she tried to smile weakly, but inside she was aghast with mortification. Surely this branded her as Mr. Vian's property in the eyes of those all around, and Miss Lucy’s exclamation of, “What a romantic gesture, and how sweet!” only confirmed it. But she cared only of what Mr. Darcy would think. She tried to catch his eye out in the field, but he did not look her way.

 

 

Mr. Steele now raised his voice to be heard above the crowd. “I have the honour to announce the last and final duel of the First Harvest Fencing Contest. After an unexpected, although entertaining display of skills presented by Count Vian du Poitou in causing defeat to Captain Ned McMahon, Count Vian du Poitou will stand against Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, who,” he gave a deliberate cough and grinned, “made me work very hard for my own defeat.”

The crowd was still laughing gaily and commenting on Mr. Steeles's humble admission when Vian made his way over. Darcy looked sternly into his eyes, which were glittering with amusement and joy. Vian stood in the centre of the stage and slowly tied the yellow ribbon to the handle of his sword. Darcy groaned.

“Are you ready, Monsieur Vian?”

“Yes, I am quite ready, Mr. Darcy.”

“Very well, then.”

Darcy waited for Vian to make the first attack, which came quickly. Vian pressed him, first making multiple feints and waiting until the final second to select his target. Darcy patiently waited for him to choose and then riposted. His anticipation of the direction of the move surprised Vian, who, however, parried it easily enough and then came at him again.

It was obvious that Vian was a very well trained fencer. His moves were light, and taken with grace, though bold and showy at the same time. Each of his attacks seemed designed to capture the attention of the audience. It was not a duel it was a performance. His movements were taken with infallibility and perfection, but Vian did not seem to put much thought into them. The man seemed to be so used to his winning being assured by his skills and nimbleness, he did not have to bother with applying planning and creativity.

Darcy’s style was rather the opposite. Where the Frenchman was showy, Darcy was more analytical and restrained, his moves confident, decisive, and precise. He stood back, defending where necessary with quick and graceful moves, while he studied his opponent. After gleaning all the knowledge required, it was then that he would begin to make his own inroads toward ending of the match in his favour. And so it was that Darcy matched Vian move for move and waited for his moment to come.

The crowd, mesmerised by the ongoing battle, occasionally cheered one or the other, some making bets on who would prevail.

Finally, Vian realized he had underestimated Darcy and found himself working harder to simply hold his own. It would take more to beat this man than he had originally assumed. Yet he was enjoying the challenge and sought to take it even further. Neither had spoken a word thus far, and Vian decided it was high time to break the silence and bring the play to another level. Pitching his voice so that only Darcy could hear it, he combined his next move with his sword with an attempted assault on his opponent’s mind.

“Miss Bennet has asked me to be gentle. She does not want me to hurt you now that it has become so obvious to her that I have the better skill. She is at least fond enough of you to not want to see your blood shed. I have promised her nothing, of course. We shall see who is the better man the proper way after all, shall we not?” That said, he went at his physical attack with even more vigour.

Vian's words brought his conversation with Elizabeth to Darcy’s mind, when they had first spoke of the duelling. He had promised her that he would hurt no one, and seeing that yellow ribbon dangling from Vian's sword hilt only served to remind him that it mattered little if he won this match or not. He would at least keep his promise to her as a last gift.

The duel continued, with Darcy now making the attack and Vian defending, and then the roles would reverse. Darcy was slowly aquatinting himself with Vian’s technique, but his pledge to Elizabeth kept him from drawing first blood, and thus he had to resign himself mostly to a defensive position and waited for his rival to tire himself. Finally, Vian's sword struck him at a crucial moment. The match was over in an instant with very little blood shed from where Vian's point had nicked his arm.

 

 

Lizzy watched the duel with very mixed emotions. She could not stop thinking about the effects of Vian’s taking of her ribbon. She was vexed with herself for not doing something about it, but there had been nothing she could have done then and nothing to be done about it later unless she wanted to cause public display. At present, she felt more a part of the show than part of the audience. If being notable already for being associated with the two wealthy gentlemen from England, having Vian's presence around them as well, and the Tourniers’ own association with the French were not enough entertainment for the ready eyes of this community, gentry and non gentry alike, one only had to add a disturbing public scene between Mr. Tidwell and her cousin, and then couple it with a French nobleman donning her ribbon on his sword handle just before the final duel. A fine show indeed, and one to rival any planned entertainment!

The duel had began in earnest before she could even begin to concentrate on it, her mind so filled with turmoil over Mr. Vian’s actions, but once she did turn her attention she became caught up in the excitement of it, noting how fine and brave Mr. Darcy looked wielding his sword, and it was difficult not to focus on his attire, especially when his quick and agile movements caused his kilt to swing about around his knees, accentuating his muscular thighs. She cheered for him under her breath so as not to bring any notice to herself, yet it was hard not to jump to her feet and cheer every time he scored a point or made an impressive move, but she managed to refrain from it.

When he lost she was instantly nervous for his arm, wondering if the cut was deep, and how deep the cut to his pride might be as well? Would he be alright with not winning against Monsieur Vian? She thought he might, for winning was not the most important thing to him in a duel. He had said so himself, but the reality of a situation was sometimes different when it stared one in the face. Yet when she tried to catch his eye to discover what she could, he would not look her way.

 

 

The only thing Darcy could see was the Frenchman’s triumphant smile. He put out his hand to shake Vian’s and then left the scene. He was in no humour to watch Elizabeth give his rival her cordial felicitations. Without even one glance in her direction, he took his jacket from the boy who held it and ordered his horse brought immediately.

 

 

He galloped recklessly, striving to calm his senses. He would leave Scotland tomorrow morning. That was decided. But he would not run away. He would go to Rosefarm to bid his farewell and wish Elizabeth every happiness. He only needed to calm himself down first.

And after a most tiring ride he did feel calmer, but also empty, indifferent, and passive. He strove to kill time before Elizabeth returned home from the fair. He slowly walked his horse, designedly avoiding all the places that might remind him of her and bring painful memories to mind.

 

 

This story is written by Laura and Sylwia, and they own full © copyrights to it.

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