The next day both dressed with excruciating slowness, both due to their soreness from their odd sleeping arrangements and their sullen attitudes towards the still stormy day. Darcy insisted on tying his own cravat and Elizabeth was adamant about doing up the sixty or so buttons on her outfit without her usual servant. Both emerged with reluctance, though happy to descend to a surely dreadful breakfast together.

They emerged the breakfast table with everyone's eyes trained on them. Some watched for a reaction and the rest were looking expectantly at them so that the meal could commence. Elizabeth forced on a smile to say her 'good mornings', while Darcy gave a single nod accompanied by a 'good morning' only directed to his cousin and the Gardiners.

The rest of the meal was decidedly strained and very awkward. Conversation was flat and lifeless. Those who could make conversation were not inclined to do so and those who simply gossiped inevitably ran out of it.

Fitzwilliam, feeling duty weighing heavily upon his shoulders, felt obliged to end the agonizing silence and offer some sort of diversion to his undoubtedly suffering cousin.

"How well have you been keeping up your fencing skills Darcy? I know have been busy since your Cambridge days, but I cannot see you allowing your talents to go to waste."

"My regularity for practice has certainly waned, but I do make an effort to continue my skills seeing as that my talents with a foil are one of my few conceits," Darcy said, making no room for doubt as to the implication he made.

His wife smiled at her husband's jest, but chose not to acknowledge it in front of the company. Elizabeth instead chose to further the subject in the valiant attempt to continue conversation.

"Is there any way to vouch for these skills that you so proudly claim sir?"

"Actually yes, Darcy here made the Cambridge fencing team in his first year and later became captain," Fitzwilliam answered, taking note in the way Darcy looked pleased with the praise, but colored all the same.

Seeking to recover some humility Darcy added, "But of course that was only after the colonel graduated."

Fitzwilliam chuckled. "Indeed, I had not been allowed more than two hours before my title was given to my cousin, who received his captaincy only in his upon graduating from his second year. Nearly unheard of in all of Cambridge history."

"Yes, it was one of the chief legends told to oncoming students," Bingley jumped in, "I had joined the fencing club, but never made the team unfortunately. When I arrived Darcy was in his final year of Cambridge and his captaincy and was determined to make a team as flawless as he. I had only gone for social reasons and could never live up to those standards."

Jane put a loving hand upon that of her husband's. "Now dear, don't be too hard on yourself."

"No indeed, if I recall I could never have survived latin without your tutoring," Darcy agreed quickly.

"I had also made the fencing team," Wickham interjected ungracefully.

"Ah yes, and as I remember you were taken off it for your many drunken outings with the younger sisters of most of the team's senior members," Darcy commented drolly.

Lydia giggled guilelessly. "Oh but there is no doubt who had the better time!"

"Quite so," said Mrs. Bennet.

Fitzwilliam sighed inwardly. His help seemed to be needed constantly. Whether appeasing his aunt or accommodating strangers or fending off the general idiocy it was always he, as the good soldier, to bear. His cousin owed him and was grossly overdue. He would be good to mention it on the next April Fool's trick he planned to attempt.

"Yes well why don't we give the ladies here a little exhibition here. Good breeding is more often than not only overcome by the strife of young men to prove their masculinity."

There was a general agreement to the proposal, subtly sprinkled with excitement from the women. The men folk, Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bennet, however rolled their eyes and thanked the heavens they were not so young anymore to be so susceptible to the idiocy of youth.

Being an enormous house, it was no surprise that the Darcys kept a large practice room on the second floor. It had very high ceilings, several circular practice rings, multiple windows to let in sunshine at every hour of the day, and a raised platform (piste) for formal matches. The room was decorated extravagantly. The walls were lined with ornamental shields and magnificent swords that had been collected for generations. Some were worn, their brass handles smooth to the touch, molded by time and use, fitting the hand that held it. Others were obviously only for show casing purposes. Those ones shined brilliantly in the morning sun, the jewels inlaid into to the hilts glinted within their glass cases, red tassels hanging off the pommel.

Those who entered were in awe. Elizabeth, although loathe to admit it, had never had the privilege of being inside the fencing room. Darcy had merely informed her of its existence and simply stated that it was 'unsuitable' for women to visit. For some reason, Elizabeth was deeply enchanted with the room. She could almost see a younger Darcy, stressed or angry, coming down and practicing as an output for his emotions.

Elizabeth conjectures were not so far off. Darcy did indeed go there for those reasons. This room alone had seen his true feelings. Whether it was his loneliness, when he sat alone polishing his various weapons in the corner or when his stress controlled his strokes, wildly spinning off course, his focus diverted. He had taken out his anger there with furious tactics and aggressive strikes, wishing only to exhaust himself and forget. He remembered spending hours fencing the year he had met Elizabeth.

Darcy looked to his wife, who unlike all the other women dawdling still at the door, was quickly bouncing from place to place, examining everything and much to his dismay picking up any relatively pointy object and swinging it with hardly pent up enthusiasm.

"Elizabeth…Elizabeth please!" Darcy exclaimed worriedly as she started mock fighting with a genuine court sword.

Laughing, she ceased her battle with imaginary foes.

"Do you fear for me or perhaps the safety of your lovely drapes?"

Rushing to her side and promptly wrenching the sword from her hand, despite protests and glares, he replaced it on its stand. Trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice he addressed Elizabeth with a forced calm.

"Elizabeth dearest, these drapes have seen enough abuse, but I would rather you not--"

Wickham cut across Darcy. "Yes, I remember when Darcy had a horrendous fit when he was twenty or so and slashed those drapes into pieces."

Darcy grit his teeth and gave no response, his fists clenching at his sides.

Seeing his reaction, Wickham smirked. "Temper, temper Darce! Still can't control yourself I see."

"And I still see you have problems restraining yourself as well," Darcy snarled.

Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. Old habits die hard. It was always a fight for them. In their youth the two of them competed over height, horses, women, ect. Being married adults their foolhardy competitions only altered in that…they were married.

Bingley was staring decidedly at the draperies.

"Darcy why in the world would you even consider harming these? They must be the equivalent of a Peruvian tapestry," he ejaculated a little too emphatically.

Jane turned her head before rolling her eyes. Her husband had the heart of an angel and could not stand dispute among those around him, but most of the times his efforts turned to blunders. It was either sorely lacking subtlety or refinement, his questions blunt or blatantly obvious that he wanted to change the subject. Fortunately, already in an indelicate situation, any distraction was welcomed.

Darcy looked only mildly peeved at being asked such a personal question, however he got over it quickly, knowing that Bingley was the certainly the lesser of two evils.

"When I had just turned one and twenty my favorite horse, Roden, died. It had weathered years of sickness without revealing a single symptom. On my birthday, the years finally catching up with him, his health's deterioration had reached its peak. He had been the last horse that had been gifted to me from both of my parents," Darcy answered quietly, though was secretly pleased with the way Elizabeth's eyes sparkled when she bestowed upon him a look of deepest sympathy.

Fitzwilliam, sensing the opportunity for a scathing comment from Wickham, made haste to divert conversation and back to his original intent.

"Come Darcy! I ache for a good bout! My blood runs hot with the want to beat you," Fitzwilliam exclaimed, brandishing a foil from a specific set situated near the fencing platform.

Darcy smiled determinedly as he did in kind, removing his waistcoat and then jumping up to join his cousin on the platform, for all the world the two of them looked like the swashbuckling characters of the novels each woman secretly stashed away under their pillow.

"Pray, are we not to fully dress in proper gear?" Darcy inquired.

Testing his blade, Fitzwilliam shook his head. "No, let's not go through the bother. After all this is merely a friendly competition."

"I do believe that is just an excuse to make your loss less humiliating," Darcy countered, beginning to move to his proper position. "I am surprised you chose to start with foil as your aim is rather poor and the foil presents much less of a target."

"Ah, but had I started with an épée, its heavier weight surely would have tired you much quicker, seeing as that your tender hands have recently only been employed in letters and women things."

Elizabeth gazed upon the two with fascination as their banter continued through their positioning, setting of their stances, salutes, and then finally to combat. Each formality was done without the need to address each other and was deftly executed. They could talk with ease while fencing, their skill compensating for their focus. Darcy's hand wrapped around a gold hilt with red streaked through, while Fitzwilliam held one that was dark blue with silver dusting, almost like stars. Indeed both were custom made. As a testament to their friendship Fitzwilliam had his very own personal fencing set kept at Pemberly and likewise, Darcy had one at Whitemore. The entire set included five foils, three épées, and two sabres, naturally sporting matching handles. As testament to Darcy's wealth, he kept a specific custom set just for the occasions when he fenced his cousin.

Observing all this and trying not to roll her eyes, Elizabeth watched, intrigued. Her husband had a fiery temper, she knew, but even when being insulted and attacked by his cousin he would only smile and continue on with a sportman's spirit. Darcy nor Fitzwilliam seemed to care about how their performances were perceived by those around them. This match really was a game between the two of them. Elizabeth smiled. They were the very best of men. Darcy was the courageous Romeo and Fitwilliam, Benvolio, noble and just. The two of them both a relative and a friend to each other.

As they fought, Elizabeth was sorely disappointed. All there seemed to be was a few jabs and a lot of shuffling away. Bingley explained to the other ladies that fencing was like a dance. Elizabeth could not see anything less akin to the delicate maneuvers.

Then, in a flash it changed. It was Darcy who initiated the change the pace in speed. He was quickly on the offensive, pushing his cousin back with quick, concise strikes. Fitzwilliam did not seem unprepared however and his dodges and blocks were agile and his defense expertly kept.

Everyone could feel their heart quicken along with the match, their ears full of the song of battle and their eyes filled with what could only be described as a warrior's dance.

A fiery glint in his eye, Fitzwilliam allowed his cousin to back him to the very end of the piste. With infinite smugness, Fitzwilliam held his own there without having to move another inch. Elizabeth and Georgiana could not keep from laughing when Fitzwilliam gave them a quick wink and cocky grin. It was evident the good colonel was showing off.

Darcy ground his teeth together as he saw the display and doubled his efforts to break through his cousin's seemingly inpenetrable defense. No one, not even his cousin, would be allowed the liberty to flirt with his wife (as he had already proven on several occasions). Immersed in his attack, Darcy's strikes were light, hardly more than taps, in order to allow him speed. Knowing this Fitzwilliam waited until a swing to his knees before putting extra arm into his parry. Darcy's arm was shoved to the side, leaving his body open for a point.

Several of the women gasped, while the men raised their brows in anticipation.

Fitzwilliam made no further move, while Darcy moved back into a normal stance.

Darcy nodded. "A hit acknowledged."

Elizabeth was dumbfounded. Did she miss it? She was so absorbed in the match. It was like she was drinking in all their facial expressions, the arch of their weapons, the placement of their feet, the clink of metal meeting that upon its abrupt climax she stood almost in wanting. She expected there to be at least some kind of bell tolling in the distance to signal the end of the spectacle if not a brigade of marching red coats with ribbons raining from the ceiling.

"Is-is that it?" Kitty asked entranced.

"You didn't hit him!" Lydia seemed less disappointed than indignant.

"That, my dear, is why fencing is called a gentlemen's sport," Wickham commented dryly.

He was not pleased by the outcome, not at all. Not only did Fitzwilliam not devour his cousin in his state of vulnerability, but both had shown talent far surpassing Wickham's meager expectations. Fitzwilliam, though a colonel, was a cavalry man and up to this point Wickham was sure that he gained his position through his wealth and reputation. As for Darcy, Wickham was counting on his skills to have worn away since his mastership of Pemberly. Understandibly, Wickham was sizably upset.

Darcy and Fitwilliam agreed to play for three points, where then Bingley volunteered to jump in with Darcy for a single point match and begged that he be allowed a tutorial from Fitzwilliam. Wickham made no offer at all.

Their match commenced, easily falling back into rhythm. Fitzwilliam scored yet another point, but Darcy, finally falling back into stride, scored two points, one after the other. As Elizabeth continued to watch with rapt fascination, she began to pick up patterns and recognize both player's separate styles and habits. Probably born from using a cavalry sword, Fitzwilliam's strokes were broader, while Darcy primarily kept to the stab and jab motions most common of the sport. Darcy usually made specific combos of four to five moves for a steady flow of attack before switching to the defensive. Fitzwilliam switched after every two maneuvers. Elizabeth also understood the positioning the two used. They constantly stayed quite linear to each other, standing side-on. This created great difficulty in scoring since most hits only grazed across the chest instead of the dead on accuracy required.

At long last, Fitzwilliam received the title of victor. It was a close match and both competitors could not hide their fatigue. Darcy was very thankful that his next match was with Bingley. He did not think he could further exert himself with as good as a performance as he had just done. Even though he had tried hard not to, he had wanted to impress his wife. He smothered his disappointment and dispatched Bingley with ease.

While Bingley was being tutored by his cousin, Darcy made his way back to his wife's side. She had once again taken to investigating the various objects of the room, but Darcy was relieved that she refrained from swinging them albeit she still felt the need to take them in hand or partake in some form of touch before passing each item by.

"Bored already my love?" Darcy inquired.

"No, of course not," Elizabeth smiled up at her husband, "It is just that there is no one else worth watching."

Darcy sidled up closer to his wife, but did not make any move to kiss her. They were in company after all.

Elizabeth caught sight of a very peculiar fencing set. It was made up of seven foils and three épées, but what made it so odd and so strange was that they were very, very…small. They could only be as long as her arm at least! They also were very much bent and battered looking, more so than any of the other things in the room.

"Darcy, what are these?" she asked quizzically, picking one up to confirm its miniaturized status.

"These were my sets when I was growing up. I started when I was seven," Darcy said, fingering the blunt tip.

"So young!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Of course and I plan to have our own children to start even earlier."

Elizabeth frowned. "Oh no, even younger would be far too dangerous. At least at seven your motor skills are dependable."

"Who says they will not be capable at an early age?"

"And who says they will be sons at all for surely you will never allow a daughter to take up the sport."

Darcy huffed. "Certainly not! She will dance and sing and…"

"Do all the things that is expected of her or that she is told to do," Elizabeth finished, scowling at her husband. "Just like everyone else in this household."

"Lizzie--"

"I am Elizabeth right now. Remember that we are in company," she stated icily.

She disengaged herself from him and went to sit near her sister. The only sign of Darcy's chagrin was a how his lips became pursed and that he did not take his place near his wife, instead choosing to take over the tutoring of Bingley, which was much harsher than what Fitzwilliam had engaged in previously.

Sensing Darcy's distraction and agitation, Wickham felt opportunity knocking.

"My word Darcy. I daresay you are tired of teaching. Can I perhaps persuade you in a match?"

Rather recklessly, Darcy took up Wickham's offer. He was angry with her. How dare she remind him of proper etiquette? As he chose one of his stiffer foils, he silently seethed. She always wanted to make things a fight, nay a battle between the two of them. She always wanted to argue could she not just accept his decisions and trust him? She knew nothing about life in his kind of society.

Just as those thoughts formed, he was immediately ashamed of it. Wasn't her imprudence the reason why he married her? He enjoyed her opinions. It actually kept him on his feet rather than what a mindless drone wife would have done for him. She did trust him. He was one of the few, in fact Elizabeth's trust circle contained only he and Jane. It was the last thought that made him shudder. Was he still the prideful ass he had promised Elizabeth he was no more?

He was a lot sloppier now, his thoughts occupied. Wickham pressed his advantage, but even in his state of mind Darcy was the superior fencer. Wickham decided to do what he did best: cheat.

He swung fast and hard towards Darcy's middle. Darcy went to counter it. In that split second before Darcy's blade connected with his Wickham stiffened his wrist. This caused the base of the blade to halt and straighten, but the flimsy tip continued to bend with the momentum of the swing. The impact was immediately known with a resounding thwack against Darcy's unpadded chest. Darcy dropped his foil in surprise at the sudden stinging pain across his skin. Wickham had used what was commonly called a 'flick'. It was a cheap trick that could only be used by flimsy practice swords. In real combat it was be impossible to do so. Darcy clenched his jaw and looked up at the triumphant Wickham, who was being applauded by several of those in the room.

Refusing to look into their faces, Darcy bent down to pick up his fallen weapon. He cursed his cheeks that burned with the humiliation. This was worst than bowing to Wickham himself. As he straightened himself once more, he could feel the intensity of her gaze upon him. He chanced a glance over in her direction and even though he had meant to look away soon after, he found himself continuing to meet her eyes. She did not look away, not even when Fitzwilliam and Bingley began to protest in outrage against Wickham's conduct. She was not one of those who applauded his failure or praised Wickham's cunning. Her eyes were on him and only on him.

"…there is no one else worth watching."

Darcy felt his muscles loosen and his mind clear, feeling his security return. He turned back to Wickham with new vigor.

"So are we playing by those kinds of rules."

Wickham could not help but grin broadly, exulting within his own smugness. "Oh lighten up old chap. It was only in jest."

Then let me have a joke of my own, Darcy thought as he stood back in a ready position.

The attack was relentless and Wickham was hard put to stop the onslaught of sudden ferocity and focus. He managed to defend himself, but just barely. He got quite a few knicks along his arms. Soon he was being backed up further and further to his end of the piste. Darcy swung high and Wickham met him midair and pushed his weight and strength into it the block, forcing close engagement. Damning the rules, Wickham grasped Darcy's hands as they grappled, their hands far above their heads, leaving their bodies wide open. Wickham kicked out at Darcy's exposed abdomen, forcing him back and fled to the very end of the piste, ready to make his stand there and gaining the advantage of having Darcy need to come to him.

Darcy was pushed almost past the halfway point of the piste. With grim determination he began a fast sprint to the other end of the piste. Wickham widened his stance to ready himself for the impact. Darcy's course of action took him by surprise however. They were somewhat rasher than he would have ever thought of Darcy. Charging the way he was doing seemed out of character. Wickham watched Darcy's progress with alarm. What was Darcy doing? His sprint was beginning to make an obvious slant. It did not even seem like he was going to meet Wickham head on.

He was nearing very quickly. He was but nine paces away and on the very edge of the piste when Fitzwilliam Darcy did the unthinkable. As he ran he planted one of his feet on the wooden frame of Fitzwilliam's fencing set that had been placed against the piste, and with god-like strength he pushed off it and using the extra height, began to fly through the air towards the utterly flummoxed Wickham. Wickham watched in horror as Darcy, still in midair, drew his sword back and thrust it forward. The fencing set crashed upon the ground just as Darcy landed, tip at Wickham's heart, his face hardly inches away from his opponent's, his sword bent as much as it could go.

There was an immediate uproar from the small crowd gathered there in the fencing room who had witnessed the impossible. Darcy laughed at Wickham's feeble attempts to bring himself out of his shock.

"That was an obvious violation of--"

Talking around his laughter, Darcy gave Wickham a hardy slap on the back. "Did my feet ever touch the ground outside the piste? You see when I cheat Wickham, I do it right. That is categorized as a flying lunge, as you well know. I merely used a rather unconventional way of executing it."

Darcy jumped down from the piste and shared another good laugh with Bingley and Fitzwilliam. The women gushed and when he found himself standing back next to his wife, he felt a hand slip into his. He turned his head, but she did not look at him, only smiling off into space. Darcy could see it in her eyes though. The pride of her husband and her pride in herself for believing in him so fully.

It was proposed that those who had participated retire from the company, while the rest went into the drawing room for cards. Though Lydia and Jane left their husbands for the card table, Elizabeth followed her husband into the hall. When Darcy pulled his hand away from Elizabeth's, she finally looked up into his face and searched his eyes for a glimpse into his thoughts, but it was his turn to look resolutely forward. Instead, his hand found a much more pleasing placement. One that made Elizabeth color around the cheeks.

That was an authentic Darcy apology…well, except for the little afternoon tryst in the bedroom, but that of course is a private matter.

-O-

Um, I will take this time to thank you for your wait and apologize for having such a nothing-ness chapter. This chapter hardly had any plot value…but it was cool right! Oh god, please say yes. I just wanted the chapter out cause I know I've been keeping you guys waiting. I also put a lot of effort into the fencing scenes. I hoped they turned out okay.