CHAPTER EIGHT
THE MORNING AFTER dawned clear and cold, and with it came the promise of activity.
After breakfast, the house was stirred into a gentle bustle as boughs of holly, ivy, and evergreen were brought in from the grounds.
The scent of winter greenery soon filled the lower rooms, fresh and sharp, mingling with the warmth of the fires.
Lady Catherine, as she had promised the day before, declared the air quite unsuitable for exertion and withdrew at once to the drawing room, taking Anne with her, whose delicate constitution was cited as further justification.
Mr Collins likewise absented himself from the undertaking, though his lingering glances toward the boxes of ornaments betrayed a desire to remain and participate.
Elizabeth suspected that his devotion to Lady Catherine had once again outweighed any inclination to join a scheme begun without her express sanction.
Mrs Collins followed her husband dutifully.
Yet as she passed Elizabeth, her expression conveyed a silent apology for her absence, and something of real disappointment besides.
Elizabeth could not doubt that Charlotte would have taken an active part had she been free to do so, for she well remembered the energy with which her friend had always assisted in the Christmas decorations at Lucas Lodge.
The activity itself quickly gathered momentum.
Jane and Mr Bingley set to work with easy good humour, laughing quietly as they attempted to fasten greenery above a doorway.
Kitty and Lydia flitted about with more enthusiasm than usefulness, eager to handle every ribbon and ornament they encountered.
Mrs Hurst lent her opinion freely, though her actual assistance was brief, and she soon declared herself fatigued.
Her husband didn’t join the party at all.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner assisted for a short while.
Mrs Gardiner tied greenery with careful neatness, but before long she pressed a hand to her temple and admitted she felt a little faint, her thoughts turning anxiously toward the children she had left behind.
Mr Gardiner at once insisted upon her resting, and they withdrew together, she protesting mildly even as she allowed herself to be persuaded.
Mr Bennet did not join the activity itself. He stationed himself instead in the drawing room with a volume from Pemberley’s library, observing the proceedings with detached amusement as the space around him was gradually transformed.
“My dear Elizabeth,” he remarked, as she passed with an armful of ivy, “I see we are improving Pemberley by degrees. A noble undertaking. I am glad to witness it from a seated position.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Your encouragement is invaluable, sir.”
“I encourage you entirely,” he replied. “From here.”
Georgiana Darcy moved among the decorators with quiet purpose, arranging garlands and wreaths with a shy confidence that deepened with each success, encouraged by the freedom her brother so evidently allowed her.
Elizabeth found herself trimming ribbon at a small table near the windows when Darcy came to stand beside her, holding a branch of holly steady while she worked.
Neither spoke at first. The silence was not uncomfortable, merely attentive, and Elizabeth was aware of the closeness of his presence in a way she could not entirely explain. Their hands brushed once, briefly, and both drew back at the same moment.
Elizabeth felt the warmth of that instant remain with her, gentle rather than startling, and she did not wish it away.
There was a quiet pleasure in standing so near him, in the unspoken understanding that passed between them without the need of words.
She bent again to her task, her movements calm, her spirits inexplicably lightened, and found that the nearness she had noticed a moment before now rested easily upon her, as though it belonged there.
“This will be sufficient, I think,” Darcy said at last.
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. It suits the room.”
Before either could say more, Caroline Bingley appeared at Darcy’s other side, ivy looped over her arm.
“Oh, Mr Darcy,” she said brightly, “I cannot decide where this would be best placed. Above the mantel, perhaps? Or the archway?”
Darcy considered it briefly. “Either would answer.”
Elizabeth returned her attention to the ribbon, though she could not help noticing that Caroline had positioned herself neatly between them.
Just then, Captain Ashford joined them, smiling as he surveyed Elizabeth’s work. “You are quite surrounded,” he said lightly. “May I be of assistance?”
Elizabeth looked up. “If you would hold this, I should be obliged.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as Ashford stepped closer.
Elizabeth caught the look in his eyes, and it pleased her more than she expected.
He had done very well to conceal his feelings in the face of Captain Ashford’s attentions, but this…
this she noticed, and the knowledge of it warmed her in a way she did not attempt to disguise.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Georgiana said softly as she approached the small group.
Elizabeth, glad of the interruption and the excuse it offered to step away from Captain Ashford’s attentive proximity, turned at once. “Yes, Miss Darcy.”
“Georgiana,” she corrected gently.
Elizabeth smiled, brief but warm.
“I wondered,” Georgiana continued, lowering her voice slightly, “if you might like this.”
She held out a modest ornament fashioned of holly and ribbon, arranged with simple elegance.
Elizabeth accepted it at once, her expression softening. “It is charming. Thank you, Miss Darcy.”
“I hoped you would accept it,” Georgiana said, visibly relieved. “I made it this morning.”
Elizabeth turned the ornament gently in her fingers. “You are very kind. I have not yet received a Christmas gift this year.”
Darcy, who had been only barely attending to Miss Bingley’s efforts to engage him, turned at once. His gaze rested on Elizabeth longer than before, thoughtful and intent, though he said nothing.
“I shall treasure it,” Elizabeth added sincerely. “I shall hang it in our room, and take it with me when the snow at last allows us to depart.”
Darcy watched the exchange in silence.
When Georgiana withdrew, Captain Ashford soon resumed his place at Elizabeth’s side, offering further assistance that was received with polite gratitude but without particular encouragement.
Darcy continued his work nearby, composed yet watchful, his jaw tightening now and again, though he made no attempt to interfere.
By the time the final garlands were hung and the rooms bore unmistakable signs of the season, the house felt altered—warmer, brighter, and alive with quiet satisfaction.
Elizabeth stepped back to admire the effect. Across the room, her gaze met Darcy’s. He inclined his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment that required no words.
Caroline noticed it too.
And Elizabeth, observing her carefully, suspected that Miss Bingley’s patience was beginning to wear thin.
***
Colonel Fitzwilliam Accepted the glass Darcy offered him and settled himself with easy familiarity. They were in Darcy’s study, the door closed against interruption, the decanter set between them upon the writing table. He had taken no more than a sip before his mouth curved into a smile.
“You know,” he said mildly, “if you do not cease clenching your teeth every time Captain Ashford so much as breathes in Miss Elizabeth’s direction, your jaw will soon be fit for military service.”
Darcy shot him a look and turned away, reaching for his own glass. “You imagine things.”
“I imagine very little,” the colonel replied. “I observe a great deal.”
Darcy said nothing.
The colonel leaned back. “It is quite remarkable, really. Bingley seems to have settled matters very neatly with Miss Bennet, if one may judge by the warmth of her smiles since their walk yesterday afternoon. And yet here you are, pacing your own house like a man besieged.”
“What has Bingley to do with it?” Darcy asked curtly.
“Only that he spoke when he ought,” the colonel said. “And you have not.”
Darcy’s expression hardened. “I have nothing to say.”
The colonel lifted his brows. “Nothing at all? That is curious, considering the very clear account you gave me the day before we left Kent.”
Darcy’s hand tightened around his glass. “That was—”
“—a confession?” the colonel supplied lightly. “Yes, I remember it well. The strength of it too. And I observe that it has not diminished.”
Darcy turned away again.
“You feel precisely the same,” the colonel went on. “It is evident whenever you see her. More so whenever Captain Ashford is near her. You may refuse to speak to her, Darcy, but your jaw is far less discreet.”
Darcy let out a short breath. “Ashford is of no consequence.”
“If that were true,” the colonel said, “you would not be watching him so closely. And if I know Ashford as I think I do, he does not waste time. Should his interest deepen, he will not delay long.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched.
“There it is again,” the colonel observed. “You see my point.”
Darcy said nothing.
“At some stage,” the colonel continued more gently, “you must speak to her. Otherwise you may find the decision made for you.”
A pause followed.
“I am aware,” Darcy said at last.
“And Lady Catherine?” the colonel ventured. “She will not be easily borne.”
Darcy turned back sharply. “This is my house. Her opinions have no authority over my actions… nor over whom I may choose to love.”
The colonel studied him, then smiled. “Then you should tell her that.”
Darcy did not answer. He lifted his glass, stared into it a moment, and drank.
***
Darcy And Colonel Fitzwilliam had continued their discourse some time longer, when the opening of the door announced Bingley’s arrival.
“Oh,” Bingley said, stopping short. “I hope I am not interrupting.”
“I was merely pressing a few obvious truths upon my cousin,” Fitzwilliam said with easy amusement as he lifted his eyes. “But I think a man newly reconciled with the object of his affections is exactly the person he ought to speak with now.”
With that, and a glance at Darcy that was far too knowing to be accidental, he took his leave.
Darcy watched the door close, certain his cousin had withdrawn less from necessity than design.
Bingley turned to him with a smile. “He left in a hurry.”
“He is inclined to efficiency,” Darcy replied dryly.
Bingley laughed and moved farther into the room. “I was in need of refuge,” he said lightly. “My sister had fixed upon me for a most determined lecture, and I thought it far better to seek you out and enjoy a proper conversation instead.”
Darcy allowed himself a faint smile. “Then I am glad you did.”
“In what manner?” Bingley asked, amused.
“In this,” Darcy replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I wished to offer you my congratulations.”
Bingley looked genuinely puzzled. “Your congratulations? For what?”
“It appears,” Darcy said, allowing himself a faint smile, “that matters between you and Miss Bennet are once again on a happier footing. I observed it. My cousin did as well, though he spared me a lengthy commentary.”
Bingley’s expression softened. “Yes. We spoke yesterday. Properly, this time.”
“I am very glad of it,” Darcy said, and meant it.
There was a pause before he added, more carefully, “Did Miss Bennet… speak at all of her sister?”
“Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes.”
Bingley studied him. “Before I answer that, may I ask you something?”
Darcy inclined his head.
“Are you prepared to admit,” Bingley said gently, “that you like her now? I could not help noticing your attention to her yesterday, even when Captain Ashford claimed her company, and Caroline was quite determined to engage you elsewhere. And today…” He smiled, not unkindly.
“You are not so indifferent as you suppose.”
Darcy did not answer at once. When he did, his voice was low and steady. “I more than like her. I admire her deeply.”
“I suspected as much,” Bingley said quietly.
“Well…” Darcy added, almost absently, as though the admission had surprised even himself.
“And yet,” Bingley continued, his brows lifting, “you did not wish to return to Hertfordshire.”
Darcy turned his gaze to the fire. “How could I? I was not kind to her at first. I allowed my pride, and a mistaken sense of duty, to persuade me she was not… tolerable enough to tempt me.” He exhaled slowly. “Time corrected that error. Circumstances only made matters worse.”
Bingley frowned slightly. “Mr Wickham and Miss Lydia… Mrs Wickham, I should say.”
“No,” Darcy replied. “My difficulty is closer to your own than you may suppose. Just as I persuaded you to doubt Miss Bennet’s regard for you, I have persuaded myself that Miss Elizabeth cannot feel for me what I feel for her.”
“She has not said so?” Bingley asked.
“No,” Darcy replied. “She has said nothing. Though I gave her reason enough, perhaps, to say far more.”
He fell silent, his gaze returning to the fire.
The memory of his proposal rose unbidden, his own words ill chosen, her refusal just, and keenly felt.
Yet it was not that scene alone which occupied him now, but another that followed it.
Her manner at Pemberley in the summer had been cordial, even easy.
She had spoken to him without reserve, without reproach, and he had dared to hope that the harshness of the past had not fixed her opinion of him beyond repair.
“Well,” Bingley replied thoughtfully, “that may be because you have scarcely spoken to her since her arrival.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I thought it better to be civil.”
“Civil is safe,” Bingley said kindly. “But one rarely learns much by being safe.”
Darcy did not answer.
“You will never know unless you try,” Bingley added, without pressing the point.
Darcy remained silent, his gaze fixed on the fire. The truth of that remark lingered with him, heavier than he cared to acknowledge, yet impossible to dismiss.