Mistletoe Magic #3
“A terrible crime indeed, but I may be able to persuade Bingley not to prosecute you. Just this one time.” He could not resist prolonging the conversation -anything to prevent a final goodbye.
Even this brief reprieve of basking in her presence for a few minutes had brought a part of him back to life, blossoming in the mid-winter.
Georgiana said timidly, “You are not angry that I spoke to her? Or that we put up greenery, even after I said I wanted nothing to remind me of Christmas? Helena -I mean, Miss Bennet- says that the greens are a reminder that spring will come again, no matter how dark and cold it is now.” She hesitated.
“It was not all about dunking gentlemen in pig dung.”
“On the contrary, I am delighted you found Miss Elizabeth. I will go so far as to agree with her, that there are some men who would benefit greatly from having a much closer acquaintance with pig dung.”
Elizabeth gave him a sly look. “Though I daresay you might avoid saying so in public, and to a complete stranger.”
“Perhaps so,” he acknowledged, “but if I recall my Shakespeare, Helena and Hermia were dear friends of many years standing, not strangers at all.”
“There you have it. We were just staying in character, were we not, dearest Hermia?”
Georgiana moved for the first time, coming forward to link her arm with Elizabeth's. “You are right, my old friend Helena.” And once again, she laughed. “Pray, Brother, may Miss Bennet stay for some refreshments? Mrs. Hudson is making tea.”
“I would be honored to have her company.” And if Georgiana actually ate a bite of the various delicacies the cook provided to tempt her absent appetite, Darcy might get down on his knees and beg Elizabeth to join them for every single meal…
if he could get over his jealousy that his sister had the right to touch Elizabeth when he did not.
“Then I will be glad to remain, if only to further the discussion of the relative merit of pig slops, cow dung, and middens as suitable punishment. I feel I have a great deal to learn on this subject.” And her eyes danced again.
***
“Oh, I simply cannot decide! Which is your favorite, dearest Hermia?” Elizabeth asked Miss Darcy over the tea tray.
“Pray, will you not take a taste of these two and let me know which I should choose?” It was not something she would normally say, but given the girl's nearly skeletal appearance, the presence of no less than three cakes on a simple tea tray, and the cook's earlier look of shock and delight when Miss Darcy had requested it, it seemed some encouragement was in order.
She had seen people in a decline before.
“Oh, I am certain they are all good,” Miss Darcy said hesitantly.
“And you have no appetite, I imagine. Nor do I, to be honest, after my great disappointment. But I refuse to let the cad who deceived me make me ill as well, so I am going to eat this cake to spite him, even if it tastes bad in my mouth. In fact, I think I will take two slices, just to show him how little he matters to me.” She could not believe she was airing her own disappointment in front of Mr. Darcy, of all people.
At least he could not possibly guess that she was speaking of his steward's son, the one who had been so freely maligning him.
Though perhaps she should rethink the accusations Mr. Wickham had made against Mr. Darcy, given all the other lies he had told.
The idea made her squirm inside. How could she have been so gullible?
Even that awful Caroline Bingley had warned her against Mr. Wickham, and she had deliberately closed her ears to it.
Well, perhaps some tiny bit of good could come out of her humiliation if she could use it to strengthen this poor, suffering girl.
Darcy was watching her with a grave expression. “In a spirit of moral support, I will match your two pieces of cake. I would like one of both the almond and the plum cake, Georgiana, if you please.”
Georgiana giggled. “That is only because you adore cake.”
“Shh. You are giving away my secrets.”
Elizabeth tried not to gape. This was a side of Mr. Darcy she had never seen before. Did his sister bring out the best in him?
Perhaps there might be more to him than she had thought.
***
Elizabeth rose to her feet. “It will be dark soon, so truly I must go now.” This time she was determined to forestall Miss Darcy's pleading for her to remain just a little longer.
She needed to nurse her pain over Mr. Wickham's perfidy in private, and she was reaching the end of her tolerance for polite company.
And then there was the constant stress of wondering what Mr. Darcy was truly thinking of her.
“Oh, I hope you will call again!” Miss Darcy exclaimed, with a glance at her brother. “I would be so glad of it.”
“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. I know it must be hard to get away during Christmas, but we would be pleased to see you.”
Was he saying that on his own behalf, or simply because she had entertained his sister? It did not matter, after all. The Darcys were only here until Twelfth Night, and then she would never see either of them again. The idea gave her a surprising pang.
“I will do my best. And I promise to keep your presence a complete secret.”
Darcy came to stand beside her. “Would you do me the honor of permitting me to accompany you on your walk? As you say, the light is fading.”
“It is three miles complete to Longbourn, sir, and it would be full dark long before you are back.” And she needed the time alone to recover from this strange day.
He smiled. “I will take a lantern.”
“Oh, look!” the girl cried, pointing at the ceiling above their head. “You are under the mistletoe!” She sounded delighted.
Mr. Darcy looked startled, but then a slow smile spread over his countenance. “So we are.” No doubt he was making the best of it to please his sister. Elizabeth must be the last woman in the world he would want to find under the mistletoe.
Hastily she said, “I must warn you this is the magic mistletoe of Netherfield. It is unusually potent and should only be used with caution.” Not that even Netherfield mistletoe could possibly create a courtship between the proud Mr. Darcy and her!
He raised an eyebrow. “Magical mistletoe?”
She could not resist the opportunity to tease. “Likely it is but an old wives’ tale, to be sure. But can you afford to risk it?”
“I think I will take my chances. Unless you object, Miss Elizabeth?” His voice was low.
Her mouth went dry. “I... it is traditional, after all.” And she had only herself to blame, since she had hung it there!
“Who am I to break with tradition?” he said in barely a whisper, his eyes growing dark.
Heat rose in her cheeks. She glanced to the side, unable to meet that intent gaze. He would kiss her cheek, would he not?
Then a finger came under her chin, turning her head to face him directly, and his mouth descended on hers.
Her breath caught as an odd feeling churned her insides.
Then his lips covered hers, warm, so much softer than she had expected, sending a rush of longing through her.
And it was not just a brief brush; his lips clung to hers, as if he were drinking in some essence of her through their caress.
It was intimate beyond anything she had ever experienced.
Other young men had occasionally stolen a kiss from her, but it had never felt like this, like something new had come to life deep inside her.
She was almost dizzy with it. She wanted to grasp his coat to support herself, to be even closer to him.
This vital connection was exquisite, and she longed for more.
Then it was over. The warmth fled from her lips as he raised his head. She opened her eyes to stare at him- when had she closed them? Sometime during that astonishing kiss, which had been eye-opening in every other way.
His breathing was uneven, just like her own. His eyes were soft, even darker now than before. “Yes,” he whispered. “That is indeed very potent mistletoe.”
She rallied her scattered thoughts. “I did warn you.”
“So you did.” He did not sound displeased, though, far from it.
Could this truly be the same proud, unpleasant Mr. Darcy she had known before, the one who only looked at her to criticize?
Then she came to her senses. What were they doing, staring into each other's eyes after a kiss that had been far more than what was required under the mistletoe -and in front of his young sister? If her cheeks had not already been burning, they certainly would be now!
She rubbed her hands together, trying to force her recalcitrant body to behave. She turned to Miss Darcy, hoping not to see a look of horror on the poor girl's face. Would this have reminded her of kisses from the cad who had betrayed her?
But the girl's hands were clasped together, and her face was alight with hope. Surely she could not believe that kiss had meant something!
Hurriedly Elizabeth said, “And now I truly must depart.” Could she sneak off before Mr. Darcy found a lantern? Spending more time in his company right now might be torture of a different sort.
Then she glanced up at him. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea. It would give her an opportunity to see if his new agreeability could last through a long, cold walk. After all, she had been completely wrong about Mr. Wickham. Could she have made a similar mistake about Mr. Darcy?
She stole a glance at him. The warmth of his expression kindled a new hope inside her.
***
Above them, the white berries glistened as if in satisfaction between the green leaves. Another grand success to their credit, although the principals might not recognize it yet. They would soon enough. It was avowed no one ever forgot a kiss under the magical Netherfield mistletoe.