Sharon Lathan - Loving Mr. Darcy - Journeys Beyond Pemberley

“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy inquired, “which man is Mr. Simpson?”

Lizzy's father nodded toward a table by the window. “The fellow to the right of Sir Lucas.” Darcy identified the indicated man with staggered surprise.

“Are you certain?” he blurted, setting Mr. Bennet laughing.

“Quite. I have known him all my life. His eldest son was my closest companion, until he passed on some five years ago.”

Elliot Simpson was five and eighty if he was a day. He was a stooped, frail man closely resembling a sparrow in his fragility and delicacy. Darcy had noted him earlier in the day but had promptly dismissed the tremulous elderly gent. Frankly, he could not imagine how the same hands which currently experienced difficulty lifting his wine goblet could manage a billiard cue! He was honestly entertaining the notion that a jest was being played on him when Mr. Bennet spoke.

“I fancy the picture before you renders the erroneous conclusion that you have been misinformed. Let me assure you, my boy, place a cue in Simpson's hands and a new creature emerges. In all my days, I have never seen anyone with his mastery. He is a true wizard at billiards.” He glanced at Darcy's frowning mien, chuckling softly and smiling inscrutably. “Of course, there are few certainties in life,” he said, repeating Darcy's own words to Ravencraw, “so chin up!”

Darcy snorted but smiled faintly, privately anticipating the challenge, as hard as it remained for him to credit. Thankfully, after luncheon Darcy earned a respite for one round so was able to witness Simpson in action. He had sincerely never witnessed the like. The old man shuffled to the table assigned him, wheezing mildly, and took hold of his cue. Instantaneously, twenty years fell from his bearing. He straightened considerably, although still bowed, quivering hands settling around the thin wood steady and confident. He wielded the cue as if it were an attached appendage, his hand-to-eye coordination magical in its accuracy. His opponent, the aforementioned Mr. Dashwell, put up a good fight but lost by a fair margin.

Suddenly, the friendly match took on a note of true challenge for Darcy. In all the years of playing the finest players in London, Darcy had encountered only four men who could honestly be considered supreme masters of the sport. Even Darcy, as excellent as he was, did not fit into that magical realm of the gifted artisan, the virtuoso. That Mr. Simpson was such a man was without dispute. Therefore, it was doubtful that Darcy could defeat him, and he knew it. Nonetheless, like any legitimate lover of billiards or contests of any kind, he intended to try. Win or lose, the test of one's abilities was the paramount trial, not to mention what made it fun!

Now that the tournament was in its final stages—with the poorer players eliminated, leaving only the chief competitors—the excitement level had risen. With each round, as the total number decreased from eight then to six then to four, the atmosphere was feverish. Darcy attacked his next three bouts with all his might. The first two he won handily by wide point spreads. The third, the determinate playoff before the final game, was against Mr. Dashwell. It was Darcy's toughest challenge thus far, Dashwell being on an equal par with Darcy. It was a close game, each scoring readily after the other; however, Darcy won eventually by a mere twenty points.

Enraptured by the charged climate in the room as Sir Lucas solemnly announced the Championship Game between Mr. Elliot Simpson and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Darcy could not resist smiling inwardly. He experienced the same electricity as all the spectators whenever involved in these sorts of events; nonetheless, it amused him how men became transported by a simple game as if the world's continuance depended on the outcome.

Simpson and Darcy bowed to each other, exchanging pleasantries as the officials prepared the table, cues, balls, and scoreboard. The spectators gathered around, clamoring for the best viewing locations after procuring their preferred beverages.

Darcy won the string, choosing the white ball and earning the first strike, scoring a point easily. Thus, the game began. It ended up, not surprisingly, being the longest game of the entire tournament. Darcy had the time of his life and Simpson did not disappoint. He was one of the finest players Darcy had ever opposed. All his skills were put to the test as the two men fought ferociously for each point. Simpson, to Darcy's amazement, never once fouled, an accomplishment in itself. The scoring was close for a time, but eventually Simpson's mastery ruled and he pulled ahead. Darcy followed on his heels, yet never managed to supplant. Simpson triumphed, as they all expected, the elderly man maintaining his reign as Hertfordshire's billiard champion for practically all of the past fifty years. The end point spread was a slim twelve points, the smallest in recent memory. This exploit alone garnered Mr. Darcy of Pemberley a place in tournament history.

The crowd erupted in jubilant congratulations. Simpson was gracious and Darcy effusive in his praise. The drinks flowed freely, Darcy now happily sharing in a couple of glasses. For another hour or so, he and Bingley conversed and made merry before finally breaking for home.

While the gentlemen socialized, drank, and frolicked, the ladies strolled through Meryton. Elizabeth's queasiness had finally abated and they all had a marvelous afternoon. Mrs. Bennet delighted in reintroducing Elizabeth to every person they encountered—all of whom Lizzy had known since infancy—as Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley.

Meryton is a small village, roughly the same size as Lambton. Fine cuisine or fashionable merchandise was difficult to attain, but Lizzy, despite her newfound status and comfort with opulence, was not too far removed from the country girl of her youth. She had worn her simplest gown, a lightweight muslin frock of forest green, and no jewels other than her wedding rings and dainty diamond drop earrings. As inconspicuous as she deemed herself, the truth was that she stood out in the crowd. However, she remained oblivious to this for the most part, simply enjoying traversing through her old haunts.

Memories assaulted her senses every step of the way. Naturally, the majority concerned exploits of her youth. Although she had only been away for half a year, she discovered bizarrely evocative reminiscences invading her consciousness every step of the way. All the thousands of sites that she had no longer heeded in her day-to-day jaunts suddenly emerged in stunning clarity with vivid images attached. What surprised her further was how many of the visions involved her husband! She could distinctly recall walking with her then fiancé through these dusty streets, pointing to places as she disclosed childhood memories, glancing upward into his stoic face with the glittering eyes that revealed his pleasure in her silly stories. She smiled happily now, filing additional absurd tales to share with him later, knowing he would highly delight in them.

In need of nothing, she purchased little for herself. Her ample purse was put to better use by purchasing various odds and ends for her mother and sisters. By the end of the afternoon, they had each received several new ribbons and clothing items; Mary had also received new sheet music and four books, and Kitty embroidery essentials and perfume. Her mother was lavish in her thanks while expressing equal exuberance to all regarding her daughter's wealth. Lizzy was embarrassed and profoundly grateful that her husband was not present. Fortunately, the shopkeepers and unlucky patrons were rather accustomed to Mrs. Bennet's vocal recitations regarding the matrimonial victories of her eldest daughters.