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nonetheless noting several perturbed expressions amongst the gathered men. Apparently, not all the competitors were delighted to have an expert challenger. Those gents who chose to participate in the contest signed the ledger and their names were placed into a hat. The simple expedience of having Sir Lucas, as the highest ranking man in the region, draw the individual names for the first round hailed the commencement of the tournament.
    The hall was packed. Chairs and stools were placed along the walls and the game tables removed for extra space. A long side bar was erected with a steady supply of finger foods provided, while beverages of all varieties, alcoholic as well as tea, coffee, cocoa, and juices, were kept flowing in a steady supply from the pub. The atmosphere was jovial and casual, remarkably dissimilar to such events at the billiards rooms in London. Darcy might have been distressed by this, but as a frequent rival of his cousin Richard, who took nothing except his military career seriously, Darcy was immune to constant chatter and distractions.
    Darcy was paired with a Mr. Denbigh, a man of some fifty years whom Darcy had met previously. Denbigh, an adequate player offering Darcy a few challenges, was affable and talkative, clearly enjoying himself immensely regardless of the outcome. In the end, Darcy attained the required points with a wide margin, effectively eliminating Denbigh from the match. After a brief respite, Darcy paired with a Mr. Heigt. Heigt was in his early twenties, ruddy faced with flaming red hair, and nearly as tall as Darcy. In appearance, he resembled Bingley, but in temperament was comparable to Darcy. He also left no doubt that he took the match seriously and was not at all pleased to have Darcy partake. With an icy smile, Darcy attacked. No quarter asked and none given, the two men played with careful regulation and intensity. Darcy won with ease, despite Heigt's pose of expertise, and the loser's anger was obvious. Thankfully, he retained his composure and did not make a scene, although he departed shortly thereafter.
    His third opponent, Mr. Ravencraw, was a distinguished man in his fifties. Darcy ascertained instantly that here was a first-rate player. In his first true challenge of the match, Darcy called on every skill he possessed. The game was twice as long as the previous two, and Darcy won by a slim margin, thus allowing Ravencraw to remain in the tournament.
    Ravencraw bowed. "Excellent game, Mr. Darcy. Your reputation is well reported. I rarely travel to Town; however, even I have heard the name Darcy. I do believe I was fortunate to best your father once or twice at Whites. He was a supreme player as well, although I daresay you surpass him in skill."
    Darcy bowed in return, "Thank you, Mr. Ravencraw. My father was a superb player; however, I would merely be reiterating what he himself proclaimed in that my expertise transcended his. Of course, he trounced me substantially in both chess and fencing, so I was forever humbled."
    "Perhaps I shall be redeemed in the subsequent games and we shall meet again at the play-off. Just a dream on my part, sadly, as I cannot win over Mr. Dashwell and no one can beat Mr. Simpson."
    Darcy smiled. "There are few certainties in this life, Mr. Ravencraw. Chin up!" The name Simpson had been bandied about as the preeminent billiard champion of the county, but Darcy had yet to deduce which man was he. Thus far, Darcy had been too busy with his own games to observe any of the others. As a guest, this was a handicap, as he had no ready knowledge of the strengths, weaknesses, or strategies of anyone. By the same token, they knew none of his, so it balanced out he supposed.
    Luncheon was served then, so all the gentlemen repaired to the dining room for a delicious meal served with the finest red wine from France. Darcy was historically not a heavy imbiber, except for a memorable handful of times in his life, and never consumed spirits during a match,