CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ELIZABETH HAD GONE upstairs for a few minutes and, upon returning to the drawing room, found it much quieter than before.
The earlier noise and laughter had faded.
Several of the party had withdrawn to rest—Lady Catherine to her chamber, her mother likewise, and her father taking a solitary turn through the gallery.
The Gardiners had also gone above for a short nap too.
Those who remained seemed content to speak softly.
Jane and Mr Bingley occupied neighbouring sofas, their heads tilted toward each other in an easy conversation that needed no audience.
In another corner Colonel Fitzwilliam was talking to Miss de Bourgh, who appeared less timid in his company than Elizabeth would have expected.
Captain Ashford stood by a window, his hands clasped loosely behind him, while near the hearth Mr Darcy sat beside his sister.
Elizabeth hesitated on the threshold, the small parcel in her hand seeming suddenly very foolish. Still, she crossed the room and approached Georgiana.
“I wished to give you this before dinner,” she said, holding out the parcel. “It was given to me by my aunt Philips, and since we cannot leave the estate to purchase anything new, I thought you should have it.”
Georgiana looked startled. “Indeed, Miss Elizabeth, I cannot take what is yours.”
Elizabeth smiled and pressed it into her hand. “You must. You have shown such kindness to me since we met during summer, and now to my sisters as well. I would like you to keep it. It is my Christmas gift to you.”
Georgiana accepted the parcel and untied the ribbon with careful fingers. Within lay a small silver brooch shaped as a sprig of holly.
“It is lovely,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
“I thought it suited the season. My aunt always said every lady should wear a little of Christmas upon her gown. That is why I brought it along from Longbourn.”
As Georgiana pinned the brooch to her bodice, Elizabeth took the chair beside her. Mr Darcy looked up from his place on the other side of his sister, and she turned to him with a slight, uncertain smile.
“I have something for you as well,” she said quietly. “I almost left it upstairs, but I should have regretted that.”
He appeared surprised. “For me?”
“Yes.” She placed the parcel in his hand. “It is only a trifle. I could think of nothing suitable, confined as we are. I began it yesterday without knowing whether I should finish it—or dare to offer it—but it seemed right.”
He undid the thread and unfolded the paper. Inside lay a narrow strip of linen, hemmed and embroidered at one end with a small sprig of ivy and the word Hope stitched in green silk.
“A bookmark,” he said after a moment.
She coloured slightly. “You are a great reader. It seemed appropriate.”
His gaze lingered on the gift before lifting to her face. “It is perfect. I thank you.”
“It is nothing of consequence.”
“Small things are seldom without meaning,” he replied.
For a few moments they sat in companionable silence, Georgiana’s quiet presence between them preserving every propriety. From the other side of the room came Jane’s gentle laughter and the colonel’s low, cheerful tones as he continued his conversation with Miss de Bourgh.
“At Pemberley,” Darcy said at length, “we give our gifts on St Stephen’s Day.”
“At Longbourn it is always on Christmas morning,” Elizabeth answered. “Had I made up my mind sooner, you would have received this at breakfast.”
He smiled a little. “Then I am fortunate in your delay. I had prepared small tokens for the company, though I fear none are remarkable. I only hope you will not think me remiss if yours is not the best. I had no notion that you—or your family—would be here for Christmas, and so I am ill-prepared.”
“You need not concern yourself,” she said. “I expected nothing, and you owe me nothing.”
“Still, I would not have you think me inattentive.”
“I could never think it,” she replied gently. “You have already done more than enough for us all.”
His eyes rested on her a moment longer, his expression soft and admirable.
Georgiana spoke then, glancing toward the door. “I believe the dinner bell will sound soon.”
As if in answer, the clear peal rang through the house.
“I shall keep it,” Darcy said, staring at the bookmark once again. “It will remind me of a very happy Christmas.”
Elizabeth rose with the others. She gave a small nod, unwilling to trust her voice, and followed them toward the dining room.
***
“You Must Be joking, Charles.”
Mrs Hurst’s voice, sharp even in weariness, broke the quiet.
The hour was late; the rest of the household had long since retired.
Only the Bingley sisters, Mr Hurst, Bingley himself, and Mr Darcy remained, gathered in the smaller drawing room where the fire burned low.
Mr Hurst had already succumbed to sleep on the sofa, a half-empty glass of port dangling from his hand.
“Yes, Jane Bennet is a charming lady,” Caroline continued, “but to think of marrying her—”
“It is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” Mrs Hurst finished with a sniff.
Bingley, standing by the hearth, folded his arms. “Ridiculous? Pray tell me why.”
“Her family,” Caroline replied at once. “That woman of a mother—always contriving, always pushing her daughters forward. One cannot sit with her five minutes without being made to feel she is measuring your income.”
Mrs Hurst gave a delicate shudder. “And her father! I have never known a man so provoking. Every remark of his is a jest, and not a kind one. Depend upon it, Charles, you would regret such a connection before the year was out.”
Darcy, seated in the shadowed corner, said nothing. He had seen this argument coming the moment Bingley announced his intention of proposing to Miss Bennet.
“I thought,” Mrs Hurst continued, “that you had put this notion away long ago. It was, after all, the reason we quitted Hertfordshire—was it not?”
Bingley turned sharply. “Was it? I begin to wonder whether I quitted Hertfordshire by my own choice or by yours.”
Caroline coloured faintly. “Really, Charles, you cannot mean to accuse us of—”
“Can I not?” he said, his voice low but edged. “Did you ever think I would not learn that Miss Bennet came to London? That she called upon you—more than once—and you said nothing to me of it?”
The sisters exchanged a glance. Mrs Hurst gave a small, uneasy laugh. “Oh, that. We did not think it of consequence. The visit was of the briefest sort.”
Caroline added quickly, “Indeed, she looked quite indifferent. We could not have supposed you would wish to hear of it.”
“She asked after me directly, and you chose not to tell me,” Bingley said.
“But—” Caroline began.
“No buts.” His voice rose beyond its usual warmth.
Darcy was on his feet at once. “Charles,” he said quietly, “lower your voice. You will wake half the house.”
Bingley drew a breath. “Forgive me, Darcy.”
"I see Jane has been whispering falsehoods to you since her arrival," Mrs Hurst said with pointed disdain.
A flash of anger crossed Bingley's countenance. "Darcy told me months ago."
Both women went utterly still. Miss Bingley's cup arrested midway to her lips, her expression caught between dismay and mortification.
Mrs Hurst's mouth parted slightly before closing again, as though words had quite deserted her.
What little color remained in their faces fled entirely as the full import of his words settled upon them.
"Charles—" Miss Bingley began, her voice lacking its usual assurance.
"Do not," he said quietly, though his tone admitted no argument.
"I am aware of what you did. Both of you. And yet, I allowed my regard for you to persuade me not to return to Hertfordshire—particularly you, Caroline—for I believed you meant to govern my household and hoped I might one day marry a lady you found acceptable. I see the folly of that now. Why should I sacrifice my happiness when you will soon depart for your own husband?”
Caroline’s colour heightened, but he did not pause.
“Had Providence not brought Miss Bennet and her family to Pemberley,” he went on, “I might never have recognised my own cowardice and foolishness, and might have ended the most miserable of men.”
The admission silenced the room. Mr Hurst shifted upon the sofa and snored again, the port in his glass sloshing but not spilling.
Caroline broke the quiet with a brittle laugh. “Surely, Mr Darcy, you cannot wish your friend to throw himself away upon such a family. You must speak to him. You always do.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “I do not presume to govern my friend’s heart.”
“Yet you have influence,” Mrs Hurst pressed. “He will listen to you before any of us.”
Bingley gave a short, incredulous laugh. “And you would have him use that influence to dissuade me again? I think not.”
Caroline, seeing Darcy make no attempt to intervene, said coolly, “I see. Mr Darcy keeps his counsel now because he is not quite disinterested. It is plain to everyone that you have paid Miss Elizabeth particular attention since her family arrived.”
Bingley stiffened. Darcy’s expression did not alter.
“Miss Bingley,” he said, “you forget yourself.”
Her mouth tightened, but she said no more.
Darcy turned back to Bingley. “You are master of your own actions, Charles. Do whatever will make you happy. If you love Miss Bennet, tell her so. Let no one’s opinion—least of all mine—stand in your way.”
Bingley’s expression softened at once. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Darcy inclined his head. “Then, if we have finished with persuasion where none is needed, I suggest we retire. It grows late, and I have much to attend to tomorrow.”
He moved toward the door. “Good night, Charles. Miss Bingley. Mrs Hurst. And—Merry Christmas.”
Without waiting for a reply, he quitted the room. The murmur of voices rose again behind him, but he paid them no heed. The corridor lay still and cold, the lamps burning low. As he mounted the stairs, Darcy allowed himself one long breath—half weariness, half relief.