Chapter Thirteen #2
“I have not yet had the real kiss, for I have not given you a berry,” he replied, reaching up to pluck one from the mistletoe Miss Bingley had somehow managed to have secured here.
There was only one berry remaining, and he grinned as he showed it to Elizabeth.
“She wished hers to be the only kiss,” he said with a laugh.
Elizabeth did not laugh. Her eyes narrowed, and a fierce frown marred her countenance.
Darcy held out the little white berry to her with a flourish and she took it, tucked it into a pocket inside her cloak, and then reached up to take his face in both her hands.
She pulled him down to her with purpose, and Darcy was glad to oblige as she pressed her lips to his.
He moaned and slid a hand to the back of her head as he resisted the urge to deepen the kiss.
Finally, he pulled away. When her eyelids fluttered open, he lightly touched his lips to hers one more time. There was no knowing when she would allow herself to be caught again.
“I should like to wed three weeks from Christmas, Elizabeth,” he said softly, as he began to circle the ice with her in a languid dance. He spun her slowly away, then pulled her back. “Say we may speak to Mr. Stanton after the Christmas service tomorrow,” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered back.
It was the second-best “yes” he had ever had. Elizabeth embraced him, hard, then shoved her hands against his chest and skated away.
Dinner on Christmas Eve at Longbourn was much like any other dinner under Mrs. Bennet’s command but elevated to the sort of artistry Darcy usually ascribed to the galleries of London.
A wassail-bowl, two different soups, fresh bread with butter, mince pies, a roasted pig, a joint of beef, pickled asparagus, parsnips, carrots, and leeks, and of course, the plum pudding, all of it no less than delectable.
It was a triumph, and Darcy leaned to one side to say as much to Mr. Gardiner, whom he had met that day as their party returned from the pond.
He quite liked the Gardiners, and while he had been surprised that these were Elizabeth’s relatives in trade, her approving visage informed him he had hidden it well.
“My sister is certainly in her element when she has a great many people to feed,” Mr. Gardiner said with a chuckle and raised his glass slightly in salute. “We come to Longbourn for Christmas every year.”
On his other side, Georgiana was chatting with Miss Mary about music, an interest they shared.
“Capital as always, Mrs. Bennet,” Sir William Lucas said from halfway down the table. “Just capital.”
There was a large party gathered. In addition to the Gardiners, the Bingleys and the Hursts were here, as were several of the area’s leading families, including the Lucases, the Gouldings, and the Longs.
A Mr. Robinson was seated next to Miss Kitty and appeared to be flirting with her, though whether his interest was returned, Darcy could not say.
The yule log burned hot and bright in the fireplace, the crackling loud enough that it occasionally broke through the conversation which had grown rather loud.
The dining table had been thoughtfully positioned away from the hearth and at an angle that ensured more of the guests could view the flames without growing uncomfortably warm.
Elizabeth, seated directly across the table from him, was a glorious sight, basking in the warmth of her family and the glow of the fire. She conversed easily with everyone and had a ready smile for all.
Though he was not so open as his intended, Darcy had never felt so much like smiling in all his life.
How different he was from the man who had first arrived in Hertfordshire two and a half months ago!
For he would never have considered such an evening as this with anything but dread before, and now—
“Brother,” Georgiana said quietly next to him. “When shall we take Elizabeth home?”
His heart swelled with joy to hear her question. “As soon as we may, sweetling.”
Georgiana smiled only a bit more frequently than he did, but her eyes shone, and she nodded once before tucking into her meal.
After the plum pudding was demolished and the wine glasses had again been filled, Mr. Bennet stood at the head of the table. “I wish to make a toast,” he announced.
Darcy stole a glance at Elizabeth. She was watching her father, not him, and he revelled in the opportunity to observe the elegant line of her neck and how the line of her gown dipped just so, low enough to entice, not so low as to reveal.
Afraid of being caught ogling her, he forced himself to turn his attention to Mr. Bennet.
The older man’s brows were low and pinched as Elizabeth’s father glared at him. Darcy lifted his shoulders ever so slightly. Elizabeth was stunning; he could hardly be called a man had he not noticed. Mr. Bennet grunted.
“We are here to celebrate the festive season,” he began, “but also some wonderful news for several of our families. First, I should like to offer congratulations to Miss Lucas on her impending nuptials just after Twelfth Night. It is a great relief to me to know that my cousin has managed to promise himself to a sensible woman who will one day, God willing, make a fine mistress of Longbourn.”
“Here, here!” Sir William cried.
There was some tension in the room as Mrs. Bennet frowned, but Miss Lucas spoke calmly. “I thank you, Mr. Bennet. May I say that I do not expect that honour to be mine for a great many years and that it shall be very difficult to follow in the footsteps of the current mistress.”
There was a low huff from somewhere near Miss Bingley, but everyone ignored her while Mrs. Bennet smiled and offered Miss Lucas a regal nod.
“And my two eldest daughters,” Mr. Bennet continued, “shall follow Miss Lucas into the married state not a week later. My Jane shall wed Mr. Bingley in the same ceremony where Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy will recite their vows.”
“Only a week later?” Mrs. Bennet nearly shouted. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, it is not enough time!”
“It is enough time to call the banns, madam,” Mr. Bennet said cheerfully. “And I have been warned by one of the gentlemen that he will wait no longer!”
Everyone’s eyes were now trained on Bingley, and Darcy was quite happy for the misunderstanding.
Everyone’s eyes other than Elizabeth’s, of course. Her cheeks pinked, and she glanced up at him almost shyly.
Darcy tipped his glass in her direction and winked. Elizabeth attempted to wink back at him, but she was not very good at it.
Well. He would teach her that. Among other things.
Darcy leaned across the table as everyone drank from their glasses. “This may have been an accidental holiday,” he told Elizabeth, “but it is the one I will remember most fondly for the rest of my life.”
“Oh, no,” Elizabeth replied tipping her head to one side and smiling. “I believe we can do better.”
“Happy Christmas, my friends,” Mr. Bennet said, “Happy Christmas.”
The End
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Excerpt from An Accidental Scandal, the second book in the Accidental Love series
The play was over.
Elizabeth realized, with a shock, that she and Aunt Gardiner had spoken over nearly the entire final act. It was unlike her to converse during a performance; she visited the theatre so rarely that the entertainment was always her first object.
She had only one night in London before she continued her journey into Kent, and she had wasted it.
Had it been necessary to canvas Mr. Darcy’s cruelty to Mr. Wickham and the latter man’s subsequent engagement to the wealthy Miss King?
Surely they might have spoken of it some other time.
She was thoroughly disappointed in herself.
Aunt Gardiner had warned her not to become bitter, and truly, she was not. Mr. Darcy was free to disapprove of whomever he chose, and Mr. Wickham likewise free to find his fortune where he might.
Of the two, however, she must give Mr. Darcy his due. Begrudgingly, perhaps, but her aunt’s gentle remonstrance reminded Elizabeth that she was not being fair. Very well, she would judge both men by their actions.
As unpleasant as he often was, Mr. Darcy had always been consistent.
He might feel himself above them all, but there had at least been no dishonesty there.
It pained Elizabeth to think it, but she could not say as much for Mr. Wickham, for he had neatly dropped the acquaintance of nearly every other lady the instant Miss King’s inheritance became known.
Fortunately, it was but the work of a moment to remind herself that Mr. Wickham’s circumstances were Mr. Darcy’s fault.
There. Her world was set aright.
Perhaps it ought to make her feel better, having someone upon whom to place the blame, but it did not.
Despite defending Mr. Wickham’s engagement to her aunt, Elizabeth could not be satisfied with him.
She was not in love with the man—he was too free with his flirtations for her to take him seriously in that way—but she did count him a friend, and for him to act in the same way Charlotte had .
. . Well, Elizabeth thought ruefully, perhaps she herself was the one who was out of step.
After Charlotte had accepted an offer of marriage from the Bennets’ ridiculous cousin Mr. Collins, Elizabeth’s sister Jane had pointed out that not all people were the same.
And it was true. All around her, people were making matches for security, for consequence.
Perhaps she was the greater fool in waiting for a man she could admire and respect.
Security was necessary, of course, but she would not accept an offer for safety alone.
She feared and most emphatically did not want a marriage like that of her parents.
She wished for a marriage like the one the Gardiners shared. She wished for it very much.
Perhaps some would condemn her for rejecting Mr. Collins’s offer of marriage last autumn. He was the heir to Longbourn, after all. Trading the security of Mr. Collins’s situation for her sanity would have been a very poor bargain.
Everyone stood to gather their things as the throngs below began to make their way out to the lobby. Elizabeth’s head ached, and she stepped out of the stuffy box before her companions, turning to her right and walking down the hall to peer down the grand marble staircase.
It was suitably wide, but she wondered whether a mistake had been made in the construction, for the treads were a little shallow and the whole quite steep.
She felt a sickly flutter in her stomach as she always did when she was too close to the edge of something very high, and she stepped back.
Thank goodness they were only in one of the lower boxes and not in the upper, where the very wealthy preferred to sit.
Then, because she detested feeling intimidated, she walked half a dozen steps to cross the hall and peered over the railing to the ground floor. She swallowed and forced herself to look, just as she had forced herself to climb trees as a girl.
The floor seemed very far down.
Her uncle had secured a larger box than normal this evening in deference to their party’s size, but he need not have troubled himself; Sir William and Maria Lucas had politely declined the invitation.
Elizabeth had never believed Sir William a man of much delicacy, but there too, she must have been mistaken.
From something he had said quietly to Maria, Elizabeth learned he was offering her the gift of time with her family.
Though Jane’s spirits were not what they had been before Mr. Bingley came into their lives, they had improved since Christmas. Her sister had not grown gaunt, nor was she eschewing company. That Jane harboured regrets was clear, but she would recover.
Elizabeth could not have travelled to Kent on the morrow had it been otherwise.
She sighed. At least she had correctly judged Miss Bingley to be a false friend to Jane. She had not been wrong about that. Elizabeth was vastly relieved.
That is, until a familiar voice broke into her contemplations.
“Miss Bennet!”
A terrible foreboding seized her as she turned to face the man who had spoken her name. And there he was, as though Elizabeth’s own uncharitable thoughts had summoned him—Mr. Darcy.
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