“I warn you, madam, I have survived cannon fire.”
“Then I am certain you shall survive being defeated by a grandmother.” She weighed the quoit once in her hand, adjusted her stance, and sent it clean over the peg.
Miss Atherton exclaimed loudly. Young Henry shouted for another throw. Lady Carstairs gazed at Richard over the top of her spectacles, bright-eyed and satisfied.
“Cannon fire, was it?”
Richard bowed. “A lesser peril, clearly.”
Within minutes, Mr. Pelham had been recalled, teams had formed, rules were disputed, and Lady Carstairs had taken command of the field. She instructed the children and allowed them to stand closer, corrected Bingley’s elbow, accused the rector of obstructing her line of sight, and informed Richard that confidence was not the same as aim.
Miss Elizabeth’s toss dropped wide.
Lady Carstairs looked at the abandoned ring, then at Elizabeth. “No, no, Miss Bennet. That will never do. Darcy, my dear, do come here and make yourself useful.”
Miss Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, eyes alive with mischief. “I assure you, Lady Carstairs, I am perfectly capable of losing without assistance.”
“But you must learn to win,” said Lady Carstairs firmly. “When I am not competing, of course. Darcy?”
There was no escaping it, not that he truly wished to. He took the iron quoit Miss Elizabeth offered him, their fingers brushing as he did so.
A small thing. Nothing at all, and yet his breath caught. “If you will permit me,” he said, grateful his voice did not betray him more fully.
She lifted her hand. “By all means, sir. Improve me.”
The words, the smile, the arch of her brow, everything about her destroyed his peace of mind. Darcy stepped behind her, close enough to see the warm pink colour in her cheeks, close enough that the faintest movement brought his sleeve againsthers. He adjusted the angle of her wrist and felt the pulse there leap beneath the edge of her glove.
“The trick,” he managed, “is not to force it.”
“No?” she said.
“No. A steady hand is required.”
His hand covered hers for one brief demonstration. He meant only to guide the motion. He meant only to release at the proper moment. But for one foolish, impossible instant, he forgot the quoit, the field, the spectators, and every claim to sense.
The ring flew from their joined hands in a clean arc and settled neatly over the peg.
The children cheered. Bingley applauded.
“Well done, Miss Bennet! Darcy really is an excellent instructor.”
Lady Carstairs agreed cheerfully, accepting their success as confirmation of her superior management.
Darcy heard none of it clearly.
Miss Elizabeth’s hand had fallen from his, but she had not stepped away. Neither had he. Her smile had altered—only slightly, enough that he could not be certain anyone else would see it—and her breathing was as uneven as his own.
Then Richard coughed and lifted his eyebrows, all wounded virtue. Beyond him, Mrs. Gardiner had observed them both with a softened, thoughtful gaze before turning tactfully towards the children.
Darcy stepped back. Too late, he suspected.
“Another round?” Richard asked, clapping his hands together.
Lady Carstairs took up the next quoit, failing entirely to conceal her delight. “Certainly, Colonel. You must improve somehow.”
“Yes, well, perhaps Darcy can teach me.” Richard lifted his brows before turning back to the game. “Come, Lady Carstairs, I submit myself again to your superior command. Bingley, attend me. I require a witness.”
This was enough to draw the party’s attention back towards the game. Bingley laughed. Lady Carstairs gaily declared that witnesses would not help him, for they were all, other than the children, quite without hope. The children giggled and called out their agreements.