Chapter Thirteen
Darcy’s gaze swept expertly over the ice, searching out any areas of weakness. Mr. Bennet had pulled him aside and asked him to be certain, for the weather had been so changeable, and the day before Christmas was usually rather early for the Longbourn pond to be frozen over.
“The ice is all clear,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “Do you think we are so unused to winter weather that we do not know to avoid skating on snow ice?”
“You shall have to become accustomed to it, Lizzy,” Georgiana said fondly as she strapped on her skates.
She had made the trip back from London with him.
“Fitzwilliam has a personal interest in making everything as safe as possible. It takes him an hour every morning when we travel just to check the carriage for damage.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Bennet replied with a little laugh.
She and Bingley were standing on the bank watching everyone prepare.
The Hursts had remained at Netherfield, her for the fire, him for the wine.
Bingley no longer required a sling and had been eager to skate, but Miss Bennet had asked him not to, and promised to keep him company. Bingley had readily agreed.
“Mr. Darcy,” cried Miss Bingley pitifully. “The strap on my skate is not holding properly.” She held out her foot just enough to offer the slightest flash of her ankle. “Would you be so kind as to assist me?”
Darcy glared at Bingley, who approached Miss Bingley to offer his help.
Georgiana was embarrassed by the blatant demonstration, but Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with humour as she turned her gaze on him.
Teasing woman.
Darcy pitied Bingley for having such a sister, but his friend’s accident and Miss Bingley’s disdain had led them all to a far happier Christmas than he could ever have imagined.
Without the bitter jibes and constant harping of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, Bingley had very quickly found his happiness, and Darcy .
. . well, he had stopped denying himself his.
“Careful,” he warned, as Georgiana stepped out onto the ice. She smiled at him and followed his instruction, all grief and timidity from the summer seemingly gone.
Darcy had introduced Georgiana to the Bennets not long after arriving, and his sister had been immediately whisked away for the remainder of their visit. He had not had even a moment alone with Elizabeth that day and was still rather put out about it.
Georgiana was nearly in raptures to have so many sisters all at once. She had made a special effort to spend time with Elizabeth, however, and the budding alliance between his sister and his intended was both pleasing and somewhat alarming.
Darcy turned to offer his hand to Elizabeth. “It has been a year since you skated. Be careful at first.”
Elizabeth was all complaisance. She put first one shaky skate on the ice, then another.
Darcy was a little surprised at how unsteady she seemed.
Given her enthusiasm for the outing, he had expected her to be more proficient.
She skated away from him, teetering on the blades, and Darcy followed her. He would not wish her to fall.
He glided easily to her side, but just as he reached for Elizabeth’s arm, she teetered on the edge of one skate and glided off in the opposite direction.
“Oh!” she cried, her arms rotating in an excellent approximation of a windmill. “Do not let me fall!”
Darcy approached and grabbed for her again, but this time she lifted one foot and came to an awkward but sudden stop. He sailed past her, nearly losing his own footing when his hands closed around nothing but air.
He was determined to reach Elizabeth before she hurt herself, but after his third attempt to reach her failed, every Bennet girl, those on the ice and the one on the bank, began to laugh as though they would never cease.
Elizabeth turned to face him with a wide smile on her face. She began to skate backwards with great ease, her hands clasped behind her back. She then skated in a circle around him as he stood still, shaking his head at her.
“Can you not catch me, Mr. Darcy?” she called. “What a shame, for I am in great need of your strong arm.”
She had been leading him on a merry chase and was now skating rings around him. Backwards.
Darcy would never have expected to enjoy being the object of a joke. But Elizabeth’s archness was accompanied by such sweetness that she could not ever really affront him.
Georgiana, who would never laugh at him, was biting her lower lip very hard indeed.
“You may as well join them,” he said dryly. “You will do yourself an injury otherwise, and we have had quite enough of that.”
“Laugh at Mr. Darcy!” cried Miss Bingley, who was also pretending to wobble atop her skates.
Darcy was not fooled, for he had seen her skate before.
While she was not as proficient as Elizabeth, she was certainly skilled, for Miss Bingley did nothing if her performance of it would not garner praise.
“Who could laugh at such a faultless man?”
“Indeed!” Elizabeth cried cheerfully, as she skated faster. “A faultless man, is he?”
He was taken back to that night at Netherfield, where he and Elizabeth had debated over the qualities of an accomplished woman.
“That is not possible for any man,” he told her, repeating his words from that night with some relish. “But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”
Her expression softened, and she came to a sudden stop. “Such as a fondness for Gilpin and an aunt straight from a folktale?”
He held Elizabeth’s gaze, feeling a powerful surge of love for her as he struggled to keep from smiling like a fool. “Precisely.”
Miss Bingley shouted out to him again, interrupting the moment.
Darcy tugged once at his ear, something he did when he was annoyed.
He had never been so glad that she and Mrs. Hurst had not realised they were a brother short until he and Bingley were already back at Netherfield, the furniture uncovered and the staff at their work.
By the time Darcy had returned to Netherfield with his sister and a draft of his marriage contract, Miss Bingley was pretending that nothing untoward had occurred at all.
By the next morning, she had instructed a tall footman to hang mistletoe from every possible doorway and had taken to posing in just the right places as she waited for him to walk through.
Darcy was well prepared for such behaviour.
He had made an enquiry, and Mrs. Nicholls had been only too pleased to show him the servant entrances to the main rooms. She and the rest of the staff bore quite the grudge towards Miss Bingley for her abrupt way of turning them off.
Thwarting her at every turn while still fulfilling her direct orders had become a sort of sport for them.
He would not even mind the mistletoe if he could only get the proper woman to join him beneath it.
Bingley had made great use of the berries with Miss Bennet, but Elizabeth was another kind of woman altogether.
She had begun to slip into rooms before him, knowing full well what he wanted and equally determined to deny him. Her teasing smiles were proof of that.
No matter. It would make catching her all the better.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley called again, sitting on the ice beneath a large oak whose branches spread out over the pond. “Would you help me up, sir?”
He sighed. Thanks to Miss Bennet’s sensible pleas, Bingley was safely on shore. As the only gentleman here, he would be forced to assist. He glided over and held out his hands to help her up.
As she stood, she fell forward into his arms, and then glanced up. “Oh, look!”
There was a sprig of mistletoe wedged between the two lower branches. “That is not natural,” he said flatly.
“It is tradition,” she said, and batted her eyes at him. Her lips puckered into a pout, and she lifted her chin . . .
Darcy was suddenly surrounded by wool cloaks and winter bonnets. He lifted his arms above his head to allow them all to pass, and within seconds, they had skated away, Miss Bingley in the centre of their circle and moving away with them, though not without a screech that reminded Darcy of a magpie.
Miss Lydia appeared behind Miss Elizabeth and gave her a hard shove forward. This time, Elizabeth truly did nearly fall, and Darcy caught her, holding her close as he steadied them both.
The youngest Miss Bennet dusted her mittened hands and grinned. “That is better,” she said, and skated away after the other women.
Elizabeth smelled like the cinnamon apples from breakfast, and Darcy took a deep breath of it as he helped her to find her feet again. He did not remove his arms. “Elizabeth,” he whispered. “Mistletoe.”
She placed one mittened hand on his chest. “Mamma wanted a spring wedding, but I do not think I wish to wait any longer to call the banns,” she said quietly.
Darcy dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Why is that?”
“I do not like how Miss Bingley looks at you.”
He chuckled. “Are you jealous, love?”
She huffed. “No. Yes. I mean . . .” She pulled back slightly to wave a hand that encompassed his entire body. “You are so . . . You are very . . .”
He had changed nothing about his person. She could only be calling him handsome. “I would be pleased to make the engagement public.” He kissed her nose.
Elizabeth pulled a face. “Our engagement has been public for ages thanks to your aunt, no matter how staunchly Miss Bingley refuses to believe it. I just wish to make it formal. Papa will announce it at dinner tomorrow, but I would like to set the wedding date.”
“I thought you wished to wait until Miss Lucas was wed,” he reminded her teasingly.
“Very well,” she said with some pique. “You have had two kisses. Kindly release me.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” Elizabeth asked. She did not push him away, and Darcy was greatly encouraged.