When Elizabeth swiftly closed the door of the ballroom, Mr. Darcy had been there for five minutes and had prepared two training swords that were laying on a side-table. So she hasn’t change her mind, he felt a wave of relief washing over him. Yet he still had an embarrassing mission to accomplish, "Miss Bennet," he said, "I think that the best way I can teach you how to fence would be to show you the movements; indeed that’s how my Master taught me. But, I cannot really do so, dressed as I am. Therefore, " his voice faltered slightly, he gulped once and went on, "and, although I know it is not proper, I request your permission to remove my coat, my waistcoat and my neckcloth."

She was dumbstruck. She was asked to allow him to undress - even though he would remain absolutely decent! It seemed that, since her entrance in the library, her complexion would not quit some shade of red. The idea of seeing him in his shirt was delightful, and this was no help in remaining poised; she was almost shivering in advance. As he was expectantly looking at her, she agreed: "In our scheme, I fear that propriety is somehow forgotten. Please, make yourself comfortable." She smiled impishly, "After all, I need the best teacher!" As she felt it could be embarrassing, she then turned around to allow him to take off the said parts of his clothing out of her sight.

Mr. Darcy was aware that the Elizabeth who was now with him was one he had never met. She was still reserved but she was also teasing him! At last! He might be on the right path this time…

When she heard him put his clothes on a chair, she turned back to face him. O God, he was breathtaking! Such broad shoulders, such a flat stomach, just as she had been unable to refrain from imagining! But she was not supposed to stare at him like Lydia ogled the officers; she had to stop; she had to concentrate her thoughts on something else, such as… breathing! That was it; she had to remember that she needed to breathe. Look at the floor, breath in, keep your eyes on the floor, breath out, very good Lizzy, breath in, … This was better, her heart was not pounding too much by now and she could start to look at him anew.

Unaware of her reaction, he had gone to fetch the swords; he came close to her and handed her one. She took it cautiously. Its weight reminded her that she was holding something dangerous; her attention suddenly focused on this object, her love fancies fading away. It was heavy but she was not a weak creature and she could hold it easily enough. Mr. Darcy went on her side and said: "Shall we start?"

She looked at him, smiling and nodded her agreement.

He added: "I’ll do some basics positions, would you please try to imitate me?"

"I will do my best," was her answer.

Still on her side, he showed her how to hold properly the sword, how to her body, head, arms and legs. "Remember to always hold your back straight and to bend your legs. Most of fights are won with the legs, not the arms!"

She was surprised: "How so?"

"Touching your opponent is only one goal, not being touched is the other one. The faster you go forward and backward, the better you will achieve both of them."

"Indeed…"

Elizabeth’s and Mr. Darcy’s attentions had turned towards the lesson. He really had a passion for this fighting art and she could feel it through his voice and his attitude. She felt honoured and pleased to share his knowledge, and he sensed it. She was an eager pupil, and he was an even more eager teacher.

"I will now show you the "on guard" position", he said, as he took the position. She tried to do likewise, and he put down his sword to study her gesture. He turned around her and, with his hand, he lifted her right elbow a little. She felt the warmth of his fingers through her sleeve and a rush of memories came back to her. Every time they had been in physical contact, this warmth had spread through her body. It had been like that when they first (and last) had danced at Netherfield; it had been like that when he had handed her in her uncle’s carriage at the end of their first encounter at Pemberley; it had been like that when he had tried to comfort her in the Lambton inn; and it was like that now. She blushed because of the intimacy of the contact and because, for the first time since the beginning of the lesson, she remembered that they were alone in a room in a deserted house; but most of all, she blushed because she had to admit that she liked both circumstances very much! There was no way she could regret her agreement to this lesson.

Mr. Darcy had acted impulsively to correct her position; he now saw and felt the consequences of his act. He knew her rosy cheeks were not due to the exercise and the tip of his finger could still feel the soft fabric. Gentlemanly but embarrassedly, he said, "I beg your pardon."

She boldly stared right in his eyes, "Whatever for? I thank you for helping me to amend my errors."

Those eyes! How could he resist them? But what had she said? Amend her errors? Could she be speaking about that dreadful letter whose existence he would deny if he could? The subject was too painful for him, he decided to be deaf to her potential innuendo. "I assure you the pleasure is all mine. Shall we go on?"

"Oh yes, please. I’m enjoying this lesson very much," she replied, her smile genuine in her voice.

He showed her some other positions, and after a while, he suggested, "Shall we use all that theory in a little fight?"

"Really? We could?" Elizabeth was thrilled; her joy was childish, and Mr. Darcy nodded, overjoyed to be, somehow, the cause of this.

"On guard!" he ordered, and they were fighting. Her enthusiasm was not fading; on the contrary, she had never had so much fun and had quite forgotten that she was holding a dangerous object. Mr. Darcy was trying to hold on to his enthusiasm for the same reason but it was becoming more and more difficult. She was so beautiful, freed from the self-restraint a gentlewoman had to display in public! He was feeling his own reserve leaving; unfortunately, so did his attention and she hit him in the bicep.

"Ouch!" His left hand went impulsively on his right arm.

She felt her blood draining from her face. Immediately, she dropped her sword and was by his side. "O my God, I hurt you; I am so sorry. Let me see," and she was already unbuttoning his sleeve and lifting it. In doing so, she touched his bare skin; and it was as if she had been burnt. At once, she withdrew her hand and stood petrified. He had frozen likewise. She was staring at his arm, realising what she had been doing: unbuttoning his sleeve, lifting it… she had been undressing him! She didn’t dare lift her eyes and meet his. What could he think of her? Such an apt comparison she had made earlier, she was as wild as Lydia! She was so ashamed and so sorry. She broke her stare, cast it down, turned around and took several steps away from him.

Mr. Darcy had, by now, completely forgotten the light bruise on his arm but he could point the exact spot where their skin had met. He hadn’t had time to prepare himself for that contact, and that was the reason he froze. As soon as she had withdrawn her hand, his eyes had tried to reassure her. He was fine. In a few moments, his heart would have stopped its crazy beatings and he would even be able to speak! When she moved away from him, he felt that he had to talk to her and pretend nothing had happened. He was still a little bit out of breath but this could be the result of their exercise. "Miss Bennet, don’t make yourself uneasy, it’s only the smallest graze. It happens frequently in training matches. Would you please look at me? And anyway, it is my fault, I am the teacher, I should have been more cautious, I didn’t pay enough attention."

He was such a gentleman… How could she have doubted this part of his character? He would take the blame on himself, he would pretend she hadn’t acted as a… well, she would search for an appropriate word another time. She could not let him do that. She had pride also and she would be honest with him. She still couldn’t face him, but she had to answer, "Mr. Darcy, I do beg your pardon. I should have controlled myself. First I hit you, then I… acted very improperly-and that is an understatement! I have no excuse and you mustn’t take the blame on yourself."

Mr. Darcy felt he had to lighten the conversation or she wouldn’t dare go on with this experiment. And it had to go on; until that unfortunate incident, it had been very enjoyable; and for both of them, if he could be the judge. "Miss Bennet, didn’t I hear you say, not an hour ago, ’in our scheme, I fear that propriety is somehow forgotten’? And you should really not worry about my arm, I’m not even sure I will get a bruise. It has been a true pleasure for me to teach you the basic skills of fencing. And I hope it has been useful for you."

She couldn’t believe he was dealing with these events so casually. That was so kind of him. The gratitude she felt to him erased her shame; her courage rose and she turned to face him. "Of course it has! I am most grateful, how can I thank you?"

He answered with a small yet warm smile, "Well, I’m afraid we have to stop for today for it will soon be time to dress for dinner. But I would be honoured if you would allow me to give you another lesson in the next few days." There, he had said it and … she was blushing!

"The honour would be mine," was her soft answer; she curtsied and she quickly exited the room.

He stayed in the ballroom, staring at the closed door for five full minutes, trying to convince himself that all those things had happened. Then he shook himself, put back the swords and left. As he opened the door, he knocked his right arm against the door-frame and he felt an unusual pain. Yes, indeed, it had happened…

Author’s note: I hope I haven’t written too many silly things about the fencing art. May the connoisseurs forgive my mistakes (and me)!

The Fencing Lessons, Chapter 7