Master Darcy Meets Little Lizzy

How old were you when you learned this game? Lizzy was 4, and she had a wonderful teacher!

Rock, paper, scissors? In Regency England? Why, yes, although the name of the game has changed a bit over the years. Master Darcy will explain how he came to learn it in this preview of the first chapter! I hope you enjoy it!

Pemberley, 1796
 
Fitzwilliam Darcy bolted from the parlor, tripping over his feet at the bottom of the stairs.
“Let him go, Anne.” His father’s voice echoed over the marble floors.
Darcy scrambled up the steps, clipping the edge of the banister with his arm. He pressed his hand over his aching flesh, tears that had nothing to do with his injury soaking into the carpet. 
He wished he could start the day over. He would walk down to the breakfast parlor. He would kiss his mother on the cheek. Father would ruffle his hair and suggest a ride over the estate. Darcy loved riding over their property. He loved every inch of Pemberley, knowing that generations of Darcys had cared for the land and its tenants just as he would do when he was of age. He knew every rise and stream. It was a part of him. An inheritance his father had taken pride in teaching him to manage one day.
When would that day come now?
Darcy stumbled forward, catching himself before he fell to his knees. Blasted feet! Father told him he would grow into them eventually, that he would be as tall as him someday. Darcy wanted to believe him — to grow up to be just like his father.
But he did not know what was true anymore.
Balling his fingers into a fist, Darcy rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, squinting and blinking until his vision cleared.
Besides the library, Father’s study was Darcy’s favorite room. He stepped inside and found the solace he sought. Darcy’s life would never be the same, but this room was unchanged. Morning sun gleamed off the rich mahogany desk, warming the leather chair positioned behind it with its light. Darcy had imagined himself sitting in that chair, pouring over ledgers and meeting with their land steward just as his father did. Had done. Would do no more.
Hopelessness gripped his chest and reached for his throat. Darcy gasped for breath, the tears he held back clogging his nose and clouding his vision. He rubbed his eyes, angry with himself for acting like a child when he must think like a man. 
Mother’s portrait smiled softly beside the window, encouraging him. All will be well she seemed to say. It was an empty reassurance frequently uttered by other mothers, but Darcy’s mother was so wise and so often right, he trusted her. She had not wept when Father told them the news. “All will be well,” she had said, only Darcy had not seen how it was possible.
Until now.
He could fix this. He would fix this.
Bound with staunch resolve, he turned to the bookshelves lining the wall to his left, running his fingers along the spines until he reached the section nearest Mother’s portrait. It was not for nothing he had rushed to the study. Somehow, he had known to come here. Some hidden logic had guided him.
He looked up.
Vibrant colors gleamed six shelves high. Darcy stretched to his full height, his fingers brushing against the base of the Chinese vase. Not quite.
Dragging a chair across the carpet and climbing on top, Darcy wrapped his hands around the delicate porcelain.
This was it. The solution.
Cradling the vase to his chest, he lowered himself from the chair and tiptoed down the hall.
Two footmen carried a trunk down the stairs. Darcy waited for them to pass. Maids chattered as he walked by bedchamber doors. He heard his parents’ voices outside the parlor. For a moment, his step faltered. Father would be proud of him for thinking of a solution so quickly.
But Father had made this mess.
Bunching his quivering chin determinedly, Darcy ran past the parlor, past the servants carrying luggage out of the entrance door, past the carriages sitting in the drive, and out to the stables.
“A horse, please. And hurry,” he said.
The weathered groom regarded him with sad eyes. He knew. Of course, he knew. The entire household knew. The maids packing, the footmen carrying, the groom harnessing…. Everyone but Darcy had known. Father had told the servants before he had told his own son. What else had he told them? Would he prevent them from helping Darcy when he was the only one doing anything to stop this awful thing from happening?
For a panicked moment, Darcy feared the groom would refuse. Or worse, he would rest his gnarled hand on Darcy’s shoulder. His resolve was not so firm he could endure a display of sympathy. It might make him crack.
Sucking in his breath, Darcy took a step away and returned the groom’s steady look, willing him to allow Darcy to try. He had to try. Darcys did not quit. They did not surrender. Why had Father surrendered? How could he allow this?
Darcy blinked hard, his throat swelling and his eyes burning. He held his breath as though his dignity depended on it.
“As you wish, Master Darcy.” The groom slipped inside the stables, returning minutes later with two horses — one for Darcy and one for himself.
Darcy jutted out his chin. When would his father learn to trust him to ride without a nursemaid? For Heaven’s sake, he was hardly a child! He was nearly twelve.
Carrying his precious cargo close to his chest, Darcy rode slowly into Lambton, where he was forced to admit the value of the groom’s company when he was able to hand the fragile vase to the man while he dismounted.
Taking the vase and scraping his boots clean, Darcy straightened his shoulders and entered Mr. Selkirk’s shop.
Mr. Selkirk was an honest man who filled his shelves with objects of beauty from other countries to sell. He would know what to do with the valuable vase. “Priceless,” Darcy’s uncle had called it.
Only, everything had a price, did it not? Even things which should not be sold — or lost — had a price.
The shopkeeper leaned against his counter, his spectacles perched partway down his nose and one hand cupping his chin as he listened to a young man standing on the other side. They were deep in conversation. So much so, Mr. Selkirk greeted Darcy distractedly.
Darcy looked around, his boldness rapidly deflating.
“Master Darcy. How good it is to see you,” said a sweet voice to his side. “Is there something with which I may be of assistance?” Miss Madeline Selkirk stepped out from behind a cupboard full of knickknacks.
Sweet relief. Miss Selkirk was as knowledgeable as her father. And she was kind. She always had a friendly word and sincere smile ready.
However, like her father, she, too, had company. Two little girls Darcy had never seen before clung to her skirts.
One peeked behind Miss Selkirk with wide, blue eyes. Her hair was neatly braided, unlike the girl beside her. She had dark hair and large, brown eyes trained on the Chinese vase he held. Wisps of hair fuzzed free of her braids and her ribbon dangled lopsided over her ear. She walked around Miss Selkirk, her inquisitive eyes examining both Darcy and his vase.
When his gaze met hers, she pulled her lips into a smile revealing a full mouth of milk teeth lined up like the string of his mother’s pearl necklace. She could not have been a day over four years of age.
“That is a beautiful vase you have, sir,” the brown-eyed girl said articulately.
It was not every day he was addressed as a grown man when everyone around Pemberley had known him since his birth. Now that he noticed, he was nearly as tall as Miss Selkirk. He stretched his legs, straightening his back and neck as high as they could go.
“Thank you,” he replied, holding his treasure out to give the little girl a closer look, and only then remembering why he had come into the shop bearing his uncle’s treasured gift.
Shaking his head at himself, he turned to Miss Selkirk. “It is a precious vase my uncle brought back from his travels in China. See how vibrant the colors are, even after centuries of age?”
The little brown-eyed girl gasped. “Is it really so old?”
“Do you know how long a century is?” he asked. Perhaps he had underestimated her age.
She lifted her chin saucily. “A century is one hundred years. Everybody knows that.”
It felt wrong to smile. People in the throes of despair did not smile. Minutes ago, Darcy would have sworn the expression impossible and resigned himself to a life of stoic solemnity. But the curious child with the curly hair and the crooked ribbon looked so charmingly stubborn and adorably offended, he could not control the corners of his mouth when they turned upward.
Darcy did not realize how widely he smiled nor how long his gaze had lingered on the child until Miss Selkirk spoke. “Centuries, you say? How extraordinary!”
Pulling his attention away from the curious girl, determined not to lose his focus again, he pointed to the design on the widest part of the vase where a red and a brown carp swam together. “Fish are often used by Chinese artists as a symbol of wealth and abundance. These two signify a happy marriage.” Darcy racked his brain for more tidbits he might use to convince Miss Selkirk of the vase’s worth, to secure her assistance. “The painter’s use of red is significant in Chinese culture. It symbolizes happiness and success.”
“They made a mistake with the fish,” said the child’s voice rather forcefully.
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy looked down at the girl sharply. Her brow furrowed, and her tiny lips pinched together. He pulled the vase away from her, shielding it from her criticism.
“Lizzy,” the shy one whispered, “remember what Mama said about keeping some thoughts to yourself? I think that was one you ought not to have said aloud.”
Lizzy. Lively Lizzy. The name suited her, though Darcy heeded her sister’s warning and kept the thought to himself.
Lizzy looked up at him, her mouth twisted. Heaving a sigh, she said, “You are right, Janie. But it is hard for me to be quiet when I see something so horribly unfair.” She crossed her arms, ensuring that they understood how firmly held her opinion was … and how unwillingly she yielded.
Darcy blinked between her and the vase, his own curiosity growing despite his offense. “What is unfair?”
“Why should only one fish be happy in its marriage? Should they not both be happy? I would rather not marry at all than live most of my life unhappy. Is that not rea-son-able?” She stretched out the big word, pronouncing it as though it were still new to her, and looked at him expectantly.
Darcy looked at the fish.
One brown, one red.
He had seen the vase perched on his father’s study shelf his entire lifetime, and he had never concluded that the artist’s choice of color bore any significance. That this little waif of a girl had took him quite by surprise. That she had engaged him in a discussion requiring him to state and defend his view on marital bliss stunned Darcy even more. She expected a reply, but he hardly knew what to say to the child.
A child. She was a young child. Why was he defending a precious artifact to a child when he must determine its value and attempt to sell it? He had no time for distractions.
Darcy held the vase closer to Miss Selkirk, trying to ignore Lively Lizzy (which was exceptionally difficult to do when her honey-brown eyes loomed at the edge of his vision). “Surely, such a valuable item would fetch a large sum.”
“Are you seeking to sell your vase, Master Darcy?” Miss Selkirk glanced at the counter, catching her father’s attention before returning her concerned expression back to Darcy.
He felt his face warm, but he pushed aside his shame. Of what use was pride to him now? He replied, “To the highest bidder, yes. That is why I came here. I had hoped you might be able to give me an approximation of its value. You are the only family I know with knowledge of such things, and I am in need of a large sum.” He shuffled his feet, adding in a burst, “Immediately.”
Father and daughter exchanged another look.
Darcy reminded himself to breathe.
Mr. Selkirk mumbled to the man in front of him, who stepped aside eagerly enough, then asked, “How large of a sum?”
Darcy took a deep breath. “One hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
Mr. Selkirk coughed.
The young man the shopkeeper had been talking to spun around to face Darcy. “Pray forgive my boldness, young man, but perhaps I might be of assistance. My name is Edward Gardiner. I have established a successful business exporting goods from England and importing precious items of interest from foreign lands, items similar to the vase in your hands.”
“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pem… of Pemberley.” How would he introduce himself from now on? He was a Darcy. The Darcys belonged at Pemberley.
Mr. Gardiner motioned toward the vase. “May I?” he asked.
Darcy hesitated. He did not know this man. He did not know if he was trustworthy. On closer inspection, Mr. Gardiner looked to be in his early twenties. His waistcoat did not quite match his coat, and he had certainly tied his own cravat, but his shoes were polished and his collars were stiff and neat. He seemed reliable, but Darcy did not trust his own opinion.
He glanced at Mr. Selkirk, who had finally recovered from his coughing fit. “Mr. Gardiner is a reliable businessman. I am looking to invest in his company myself. A look cannot hurt.”
Mr. Gardiner’s gaze flickered briefly to Miss Selkirk, the pink in his complexion deepening. “I am grateful for your patronage. I will not disappoint you.”
If the Selkirks trusted Mr. Gardiner, then Darcy could too. He handed the vase to the tradesman.
Holding the delicate porcelain by the rim and base, Mr. Gardiner turned it slowly and carefully — much to Darcy’s satisfaction — inspecting first the bottom and then the design. “May I consult with Mr. Selkirk for a few minutes?” he asked.
The delicacy with which the gentleman treated his uncle’s gift, and his complete lack of condescension, persuaded Darcy to consent.
He would have stood nearer to the counter, anxiously awaiting their assessment, but Miss Selkirk placed her hands on the girls’ shoulders, saying, “These young ladies are Mr. Gardiner’s nieces.” She smiled down at them. “Master Fitzwilliam Darcy, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Miss Jane Bennet and her sister Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire?”
Mr. Gardiner colored, apologizing for the oversight in his enthusiasm to appraise an antiquity.
Darcy could hardly fault Mr. Gardiner. Introductions had been far from his mind when he had entered the Lambton shop.
The Bennet sisters curtsied, saying in unison, “It is our honor to meet you, sir.”
Darcy sensed that politeness came naturally to the fair-haired miss, while it required more effort from Miss Elizabeth. Not that she was without manners. But it was clear that, like Darcy, she would rather have listened to Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Selkirk’s conversation about the vase than engage in courteous chatter. She was a curious creature, unintimidated by adult discussion.
Miss Selkirk smiled at Mr. Gardiner, adding, “Ladies, if you have time, you must convince your uncle to take you on a tour of Master Darcy’s home. Pemberley is the most beautiful estate you are likely to ever see.”
Darcy swallowed hard. She did not know. And he could not tell her without humiliating himself.
He felt a tug on his coat sleeve and looked down to see two lively eyes dancing up at him. “Have you been to China, Mr. Darcy? I should like to go when I am bigger.” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes looked about the room as though she was about to share a great secret. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think they really have dragons there? Uncle promised to take us to the caves later today, and I hope to see a dragon. They live in caves, you know?”
Leaning down so he was not towering over her, he answered, “I have not been to China, but my uncle is a great traveler. I—” Darcy’s throat went dry. He had been about to say he hoped to travel as extensively as his uncle had, but Darcy would have to alter his plans. His future had changed. All his plans, his dreams… They were gone now.
“Just like my uncle!” Miss Elizabeth beamed. “He is traveling to the colonies soon. I shall miss him dearly, but he promised to write us letters every week. My father is helping me im-prove my reading so I can read them for myself.” Her mouth puckered and her cheeks bunched. “I am not very good with the big words yet, and he says I must be patient when I am not at all patient.” She shrugged, clasping her hands together and twisting from side to side in a solitary dance. “But he lets me borrow his books so I can practice, and for that, I am thankful. I do not understand most of them. But I will.”
Darcy struggled to control his smile. The girl was so serious, he did not wish for her to think he was laughing at her when he found her utterly charming. If he had a little sister, he would very much like her to be like Miss Elizabeth — Lively Lizzy.
He looked at her sister. Miss Bennet still stood behind Miss Selkirk, but she smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. How different the two sisters were.
Glancing over his shoulder at the counter, Darcy saw Mr. Gardiner examining the signature at the bottom of the vase while Mr. Selkirk flipped pages in a book. If more time ensured a better assessment of his prize, then Darcy would ensure the gentlemen got all the time they needed.
He turned to the ladies. “Would you like to learn a game my uncle taught me?” 
Miss Elizabeth clapped her hands, clasping them together as if she suddenly remembered that she was not supposed to do that either. But her excitement would not be contained. She bobbed up and down on her toes and said very politely, “Oh, yes, would we not, Janie?”
Miss Bennet agreed. “We would like that very much, Mr. Darcy. Thank you.”
“I admit I am intrigued,” Miss Selkirk added. “We would be delighted to learn your game.”
Darcy rubbed his hands together, readying his reflexes. “My uncle learned it from the children where he stayed as he traveled. It is called Rock, Cloth, Scissors. You close your hand into a fist like this.” He demonstrated. “Then, you pulse it in the air two times while counting aloud. One, two.” He paused, continuing when they nodded understanding. “On the third pulse, you either keep your fist tight like a rock, flatten your hand out like a piece of cloth, or shape your fingers into scissors.” He showed them the figures with his hand.
Miss Elizabeth twisted her lips to one side, her eyebrows bunched together. “How does one win at this game? Would not the rock always win? It would crush the scissors and dirty the cloth.”
She was clever. Darcy explained, “The cloth covers the rock, the scissors cut the cloth, and the rock crushes the scissors. You see? All three have an equal chance. Would you like to play a round?”
The ladies agreed, and they all pumped their fists in front of them as they counted. “One, two…!”
Darcy figured Miss Elizabeth would choose the rock, so he chose the cloth. He would let her win the next round, but surely the master was allowed to best his student on the first try.
“Three!” they said in unison, revealing their chosen figures.
Miss Bennet and Miss Selkirk’s hands were flat like a cloth, just as his was. 
Miss Elizabeth, however, had formed her fingers into scissors and giggled as she took turns “cutting” everyone’s cloth. “You thought I would choose the rock!” she said between trilling laughter.
Appreciative of the brief reprieve her lightheartedness granted him, Darcy said, “That was a fair win and deserving of a prize.”
Before he could settle on a suitable reward worthy of the grin covering Miss Elizabeth’s face, Mr. Selkirk called him over to the counter.
Right. The vase. Expectation wrestled with fear, but Darcy shoved them both aside to hear the gentlemen’s conclusion.
Pointing at a model with a similar shape to his in the book, Mr. Selkirk said, “I am afraid your vase is not going to fetch the price you seek, Master Darcy. According to this reference, this vase seems to be from the Qianlong Dynasty, which means it is only fifty years old, give or take a decade.”
Darcy leaned against the counter. Tears surged like floodwaters choking his throat, and all he could do was nod at the gentlemen.
He had failed.
They had not given him reason to hope, but they had been kind to assist him as much as they had. He would not forget them for that.
Mr. Gardiner said gently, “Only the porcelain from the more ancient dynasties have a chance of fetching such a large sum, and even then, they would not likely sell for the price you require.”
Darcy’s head felt too heavy to hold up, but it was not in him to admit defeat. The only business he knew was estate management, but he would learn more. He would learn how gentlemen increased their fortunes.
A hand settled on Darcy’s shoulder, the pressure comforting. Darcy looked up. Mr. Gardiner met his gaze directly as he spoke. “However, we are not the experts. I would be happy to make inquiries when I return to London in a week’s time. I have acquaintances at Sotheby’s auction house. They will know for a certainty. I will ask before I leave, and I will find a way to let you know what they say.”
Darcy was convinced Mr. Gardiner meant what he said. He would keep his promise. “Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. That is very kind. I thank you for your time, Mr. Selkirk.” Darcy hated how his voice cracked and squeaked like a girl’s. He reached for his vase to make a hasty retreat before he could no longer conceal his disappointment.
Mr. Gardiner removed his hand. “If your father is available, I should very much like to meet him. I have some ideas which might prove beneficial to you.”
Darcy straightened so abruptly, Mr. Gardiner stepped back. “My father has nothing to do with this,” he snapped, embarrassed by the violence of his emotion and the forcefulness of his reply. “What I meant to say is that I came here of my own volition.”
Mr. Gardiner nodded. “I will keep my promise.” He pulled a card out of his waistcoat pocket. “Would you do me the favor of presenting my card to your father? Otherwise, I might not be able to get word to you.”
Darcy tucked the card into his pocket. He would keep it. If Mr. Gardiner had more ideas, he was eager to hear them.
Just as Darcy had finished giving the address to Darcy House in London, the bell over the door rang.
It was his father. He stood tall and proud in the doorway. Darcy did not know how. How could he face his tenants? Their neighbors? Society? What of their family?
Father motioned for him. “It is time to go, Fitzwilliam. Your mother is waiting in the carriage.”
People often remarked on how similar they were in appearance. He studied his father’s face. He looked as he always did, but Darcy struggled to think of him the same. Darcy wished he favored his mother.
His feet refused to budge. Voices buzzed around him, and logic told Darcy his father was greeting the Selkirks and their new acquaintances. Still, Darcy stood rooted in place, his gaze fixed on the floor.
If he got into the carriage, they would leave Derbyshire for good. He would be Fitzwilliam Darcy of … where? His home would be gone. Everything he knew and loved, his family’s legacy, gone.
Gambled away at a toss of the dice. 
Darcy’s vision blurred. His heart hammered against his skull.
His father crossed his arms.
Darcy felt his disapproval, but he could not move.
With a growl, his father stomped over to him, pushing him forward, shoving Darcy toward the door. “Your mother is waiting,” he said tersely.
If only his father had thought more of Mother — more of him. How could he have been so selfish? Darcy dug in his heels and shrugged his shoulders free.
They stood there facing each other. Motionless. Speechless. Darcy watched the blood pump through the veins poking out on Father’s forehead. He had never seen him so angry.
Darcy looked around the shop for any excuse not to follow his father into the carriage.
The Selkirks bade him farewell. Mr. Gardiner’s nieces curtsied politely. Lively Lizzy waved.
Darcy gasped. “Your prize! Pray forgive me, I almost forgot.” He clung to the excuse for the precious minutes it granted him.
Father tightened his arms over his chest. “Fitzwilliam, your mother is waiting and my patience is wearing thin.”
Darcy turned to the counter, scanning the shelves behind Mr. Selkirk for something appropriate for a small girl.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy—” Father seethed.
Darcy glared at his sire. “I am paying a debt of honor. You, of anyone, should understand the importance of that.”
The bell over the door rang and a villager entered the shop, sending the ribbons hanging above the counter fluttering.
That was it! Girls liked ribbons. Turning to Miss Elizabeth, Darcy asked, “What is your favorite color?”
“Green.” Her definite reply, confidently spoken, almost made Darcy smile again. She was a happy lass.
“A length of the green for Miss Elizabeth, please,” he said, pulling a coin out of his pocket to pay before accepting the satin ribbon from Mr. Selkirk.
“Your prize, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a bow.
She plucked her prize from his hand and curtsied, as if he were bestowing some great honor upon her. “I hope we meet again, Mr. Darcy. I should like to play that game with you again.”
“Me too,” he said, and he meant it.
Her smile widened. “You are a good sport, Mr. Darcy, but I am too. I will give you the opp-or-tu-nity to re-deem yourself.”
Darcy chuckled until he saw her scrunch up her face.
“Did I not use the word correctly?” she asked, her face turning a pretty shade of pink.
“You used it perfectly. I was only surprised. For such a young girl, you have an impressive vocabulary.” And a whole lot of spirit, he added in his own mind.
Her smile restored, he bowed his farewell and walked past his father and out of the shop where their carriage awaited.
Darcy kept his emotions in check remarkably well. Nary a sniffle or a tear. Until they reached the rise which offered the best view of Pemberley out of the window. His home was so close, he thought he could reach out and touch it. He tried to wrap his hand around Pemberley; press it against his palm.
But Pemberley slipped through his fingers. He craned his neck back, but it was gone.
Father glowered silently, his expression hard and unapproachable. He was a stranger to Darcy. 
Mother rubbed his back. “All will be well. You will see. We are together, and that is all we need.”
Darcy struggled to believe her. He needed his father back. He needed Pemberley.

Little Elizabeth was a breath of fresh air to young Darcy, helping him find his smile in the midst of the saddest day of his life. I don’t think he’ll ever forget her. Do you?

Coming to Amazon in November: Fitzwilliam Darcy’s Wager!