Chapter 1
“Are you awake?” Elizabeth’s voice whispered through the darkness.
Darcy turned over in the bed to face his wife, then squinted, trying to decipher her question through his sleep-doused state. “What time is it?”
“I am not sure. I could not sleep and thought you were the same. Sorry if I have woken you.”
“What troubles you?”
The coverlet rustled as she moved towards him. “Are you certain you wish to participate in my mother’s Twelfth Night celebrations? I know it is a ridiculous thing to lie in bed and agonise about, but my mind would not let me rest.”
A crease formed between Elizabeth's brows, one that spoke of a deep inner conflict, and Darcy sat up on his elbows to kiss it away. “Given that it is now the morning of the fifth of January and we are currently in the guest room at your parents’ house, I fear that it is too late for me to change my mind. Were I aware that I had a choice in these matters, I might have dared to voice my apprehension earlier.” He reached out his hand and tenderly ran his fingers through her unruly curls.
“I was under the impression that I was doing as I was bid.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “It is only that I am not sure you fully understand what you have agreed to. This used to be something of a grand occasion in our family and marked the final part of our Christmas festivities. My mother wishes to reinstate the party now that she has three daughters married, but she has hardly told me anything—Jane too, knows next to nothing. Out of politeness, I accepted the invitation, hoping the event might not even take place, but now the day is upon us, and I am reliving all the embarrassing behaviour I have witnessed over the years. You will not enjoy it, I am sure.”
“What do you suppose your mother might have organised?”
“I should imagine she wishes to recapture some of the Twelfth Night traditions from our childhood. Perhaps you had similar customs when you were young?”
Darcy lazily traced his finger down the delicate column of her neck. “We never held such an event. My father was exceedingly reserved, and he detested displays of what he deemed to be excessive silliness. We never partook in any of the usual Twelfth Night masquerades or tricks.”
“Unfortunately, excessive silliness is the very foundation of all Mama’s plans.”
“Tell me about the Bennet traditions. I wish to be prepared.”
She raised a teasing brow. “To brace yourself against every form of festive merriment?”
Darcy chuckled and folded her into his embrace. “In my experience, with regards to your family, the best approach is always ‘forewarned is forearmed’.”
“In this instance, a better philosophy might be ‘ignorance is bliss’.” She slipped her hand under the loose cotton of his night shirt and ran her fingers along the hard planes of his chest. “You have my permission to plead a megrim should my mother become unbearable.”
“I had thought you wished to attend, and by agreeing to come, I was pleasing you.” His voice was light, as light as her touch on his body, but he did not want to reveal how her words troubled him. Did she not know, after their months of happiness, that he would do anything for her?
“You do please me,” she murmured. “I think you know you please me very well. I only wish to remind you that you do not have to suffer if it becomes too much. If you were to make an early escape, I would quite understand.”
Dismissing the stab of disappointment in his chest, he replied playfully, “Fortunately, I have a delightful wife who makes any occasion an agreeable experience and whose desires I seek to satisfy. I am content to be at your side, dearest Elizabeth.” He slid his hands along the heavenly lines of her hips and waist, grinning as she inched closer.
“Indeed, I find myself quite unwilling to leave you alone.”
Darcy sat down in the empty breakfast room at Longbourn, his back stiff and his head sore.
He and Elizabeth had arrived late yesterday afternoon; the journey had been long, and the poor weather had made for an uncomfortable ride.
He still did not feel fully awake, but he had no complaints with regards to his lack of sleep.
The morning’s early start had been unexpected but had proved to be an undeniably pleasurable interlude.
He smiled privately in recollection. A steaming coffee was placed in front of him, and he took a sip, revelling in its bitter potency.
Despite Elizabeth’s concerns about her mother’s schemes for the party, the house felt oddly silent.
All the servants must be in the kitchen busily preparing the food, and there were now only two of Elizabeth’s sisters still at home; it was only natural that the house should feel quieter.
His earlier conversation with his wife ran through his mind.
What more could he do to convince her that he valued her family?
She must know that I would undertake any task if I thought it would bring her joy.
An idea came to him. It would be difficult to achieve, but the hour was still early. He would not ask for help from Longbourn’s servants; rather he would seek out his valet, Gallagher, whose calm efficiency he could always rely upon. Darcy drained his cup and requested his man’s presence.
After a short conference with Gallagher, who calmly accepted his task in his typical unruffled manner, Darcy returned to Elizabeth.
His appearance in his wife’s dressing room flustered the meek little maid who was attending her.
With a laugh, Elizabeth shooed him away with a swat of her hands.
“Go to the gardens and enjoy your freedom while you have it.”
“Only on the condition that you find me once you are finished.” He risked a chaste kiss upon her cheek, causing the young servant to drop several hairpins.
His wife adopted a mock-stern look that did not match the diversion dancing in her eyes. “I shall be even longer if you delay us.”
“Then I shall depart swiftly.” He gave an exaggerated bow that caused both women to giggle, then winked surreptitiously at Elizabeth and strode away, in search of some invigorating wintery air.
Darcy was not long in the frost-strewn garden when the call of his name caused him to turn. To his delight, Bingley bounded merrily down the path.
He called out to Darcy with his usual infectious enthusiasm. “How are you, my friend? I heard you arrived yesterday. I must say you are looking well!”
Darcy smiled. “And I may say the same of you. How is Mrs Bingley?”
Bingley’s cheeks flushed at the mention of his beloved wife. “She is in fine health.” He hesitated, and Darcy sensed there was more his friend wanted to share.
“What is it?”
“I have been instructed not to say anything, but—I cannot contain my joy—dear Jane has been most unwell these past few weeks. She tells me that it is too soon to be sure, but she suspects that—” Blushing, he did not finish, a bashful grin lighting up his face.
Darcy clapped his hand on Bingley’s shoulder. “That is the very best of news! I am delighted! You must tell me if there is anything Elizabeth and I can do to be of assistance to you.”
“Aside from procuring ginger cake, which is the only thing that appears to alleviate her sickness, the best way you may help is to distract Mrs Bennet from asking too many probing questions.” The tips of Bingley’s ears were scarlet.
“Jane does not wish to make her delicate condition known until she is quite certain, but she is worried about the enthusiasm of her mother’s response should she suddenly become ill in her presence. ”
Darcy could picture such a scene and promised his swift intervention if he sensed Mrs Bingley was in need of aid.
“But forgive me for running on about my happiness—how is your delightful wife?”
“She is very well.” Darcy’s heart warmed when he thought of Elizabeth. “We have no interesting news to share, but I am exceedingly content.”
“I am glad to hear it. Married life suits you well.”
They walked on. Bingley shared his hopes for the newest olive-branch to the family, to which Darcy listened with the greatest pleasure.
Their conversation soon turned, as it often did, to accounts of their mutual acquaintances’ fortunes and misfortunes, then to Bingley’s questions regarding the best methods of irrigating a field and of obtaining suitable references for a new stablemaster, before they returned to the house to join their wives.
A servant informed them that Mrs Bingley had sought out her sister’s company as soon as the Bingleys had arrived at Longbourn, and the pair had been delayed in Mrs Darcy’s room.
It is not difficult to guess the topic of their conversation.
A great tenderness unfurled in Darcy’s chest as he imagined Elizabeth holding her baby niece or nephew.
He caught Bingley’s eye and flashed him a knowing smile before they both entered the breakfast room, where more of the family had gathered.
Mr Bennet indicated for Darcy and Bingley to take a seat near him and offered them a warm drink.
“I cannot bring myself to wish you good morning,” he said, by way of welcome.
“It has been five years since my wife’s last Twelfth Night party, and I had thought all this nonsense was happily consigned to the past.” A large bang came from the direction of the kitchen.
Mr Bennet raised his brow. “I should imagine our cook is of the same opinion.”
He motioned to Miss Mary and Miss Kitty, who were talking privately on the far side of the table. “Has your mother eaten yet?”
“We have not seen her all morning.” Miss Kitty shook her head, looking to her sister for support. “But we have only just come down.”
“One must wonder whether you are avoiding her,” replied Mr Bennet, raising a hand at his daughters’ protests. “I do not judge, my dears—I could not, for I confess I did the very same.”
He returned his attention to Darcy and Bingley.
“With luck, this year’s festivities will be a harmonious event—the last time we celebrated a Twelfth Night party, my two youngest daughters found themselves embroiled in a heated argument over the ownership of a bonnet.
My bookshelf contains accounts of less bitter conflicts. ”
“We were very young, Papa.” A shadow crossed Miss Kitty’s face. “Besides, it was mine and she took the purple ribbon from it, even though she knew how expensive it is to buy silk, and she lost it soon after! Even now, I cannot forget her wickedness.”
Miss Mary affixed a disapproving look upon her sister. “We must remember that forgiveness is divinity itself.”
“You speak as though Lydia has never stolen anything of yours! Who do you think took the alms you had saved last year? And she let you blame the servants too!”
“Lydia took money intended for the poor?” For a moment, Darcy thought Miss Mary might faint; the colour of her face was an unnatural white, and she swayed in her chair.
Fortunately, Mr Bennet sensed the danger and intervened. “Let us not speak of your sister’s past misdemeanours. I am sorry to have mentioned them.” He sighed. “I had no idea that these grievances were still so fresh.”
Without warning, Mrs Bennet burst into the room.
Sweat beaded on her temples, and her cap was loose; her chest heaved as she breathed unsteadily.
Scarcely glancing at Darcy and Bingley, she made a flapping gesture with her hands to Miss Mary and Miss Kitty.
“Make haste to greet your sister. Lydia is here!”