Chapter 18 #2
Elizabeth blinked. He had spent every previous afternoon hovering near Miss Kendrick’s embroidery frame, scarcely aware that other women existed. “Then I am glad to spare you further suffering,” she said, laying her hand on his arm more from necessity than inclination.
He beamed. “I cannot think what could have tempted you away. I declare, the company was dull without you.”
She nearly laughed aloud at that. “I find that difficult to believe. Miss Kendrick was still in possession of her conversation, was she not?”
Hadley coloured faintly. “Indeed, but—ah—Miss Kendrick speaks so very much that one sometimes forgets to listen.”
“Then I congratulate you on your recovery of hearing,” Elizabeth said.
The exchange drew a ripple of amusement from those nearby, and before she could escape, another voice joined in.
“Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Kendrick, bowing with exaggerated grace. “You are transformed—positively radiant. The whole house has been repeating your little triumph this morning; even my sister admits herself routed.”
“Then I hope you will be kind enough to close the shutters,” she replied, smiling sweetly.
The laughter that followed was louder this time, unchecked.
Kendrick’s own smile faltered, and Hadley looked delighted to be in her company.
Elizabeth, for her part, was torn between exasperation and disbelief.
Where had this gallantry been all week, when she had been little more than a subject for whispered speculation?
She leaned slightly toward her aunt. “Were these not the same gentlemen who have spent every meal praising Miss Talbot’s complexion and Miss Kendrick’s pianoforte?”
Mrs. Gardiner hid a laugh behind her fan. “Men are fond of novelty, my dear. At present, you are the newest ornament.”
“I would rather be the oldest and least observed,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Too late,” her aunt whispered back. “You have been discovered.”
Elizabeth shook her head, half amused, half bewildered.
She could not quite resent it—the attention was harmless enough—but she felt like a figure suddenly thrust beneath a spotlight she had never sought.
If these gentlemen found her clever now, it was only because she had given Miss Kendrick a set-down that morning.
She doubted they would remember a word of it by New Year’s.
Still, she smiled and answered with civility as they moved toward the dining room. The candlelight caught her gown as she passed through the doorway, her reticule swaying lightly at her wrist. Inside it, the small, wrapped gift pressed against her fingers like a secret heartbeat.
Across the glittering room, she caught a glimpse of Darcy speaking with Colonel Fitzwilliam.
When his eyes found hers, they carried that grave amusement she had come to recognise—the look of a man too disciplined to stare, and yet unable not to—and for a moment the noise and colour around her blurred into nothing.
Then someone laughed too near her ear, and the moment dissolved. She turned back to her escort with a polite word, schooling her expression into composure.
If the entire house wished to notice her tonight, they might. She knew very well whose attention mattered most.
The drawing room had been transformed by candlelight and good intentions.
Garlands looped the walls, the hearths blazed, and the scent of evergreen and punch filled the air.
Lady Montford had declared that Christmas Eve must end “in proper fashion,” and though snow still pressed against the windows and the hired musicians were stranded somewhere between here and Northampton, she would not be defeated.
Thus, the gentlemen of the house were conscripted.
Colonel Fitzwilliam held a violin as though it were a sabre, and produced sounds that might have felled an army.
A young curate attempted to accompany him on the flute; after three valiant measures, he was red in the face and visibly dizzy.
Two ladies took turns at the pianoforte, neither quite in the same key as the others, and the result was what Lady Montford gamely called spirited harmony.
Elizabeth did her best not to laugh.
Every few moments, someone attempted a dance; every attempt ended in confusion.
Partners lost time, steps collided, and the floor became a tangle of laughter, apologies, and flapping sleeves.
Lady Montford, unwilling to concede defeat, clapped her hands and announced a country set, but even that soon devolved into chaos when the Colonel’s bowstring snapped.
Elizabeth was not sorry. She had taken refuge near a table of candles, grateful for the excuse to remain still. The heat, the din, the sheer absurdity of the whole evening were beginning to blur together.
And then she saw him.
Darcy was standing at the far end of the room, his expression composed but his eyes fixed in her direction. He was speaking to no one. That alone was enough to quicken her pulse.
He took a slow step forward, as if uncertain whether the crowd would part. She knew that look—it was the prelude to some determined courtesy, perhaps even a dance. Her heart fluttered treacherously at the thought.
He could not possibly wish to dance.He would not.
Yet his gaze did not waver as he moved through the room.
Elizabeth, panicked by the certainty of it, turned away and found herself cornered at once by two of the younger gentlemen.
“Miss Bennet, you cannot refuse everyone,” cried Mr. Hadley, flourishing an arm toward the open space where a few couples were gamely skipping through what might have been a reel.
“I am sure I can,” Elizabeth said, laughing.
“Nonsense!” said another. “You must dance—or, failing that, you must stand beneath the mistletoe and give the rest of us hope.”
Elizabeth followed his gesture upward. The ceiling beams had become a forest of greenery, hung with so much mistletoe that avoiding it required strategy and prayer. At one corner of the room, a group of mischievous young people were already indulging in its privileges.
“I find I prefer safety to hope,” Elizabeth said briskly. “And I am armed against both.”
Her suitors protested, laughing, and she dodged another invitation by claiming she must rescue Mrs. Gardiner, who was already safe and content near the fire.
Darcy had crossed half the room by now. He paused only when one of Lady Montford’s children darted in front of him, tugging at his coat to show him a wooden soldier. He bent to listen, patient as ever, the lamplight catching on the dark wave of his hair.
Elizabeth’s heart ached unexpectedly at the sight. He did not belong among these restless, laughing people any more than she did—and yet he bore it, as he bore everything, with that quiet endurance she had once mistaken for pride.
“Miss Bennet!” called Lady Montford. “You must take a turn at the piano! I am sure we shall do better with a lighter hand upon the keys.”
Elizabeth demurred, pleading fatigue, and the lady turned instead to Miss Montford, who immediately struck a series of notes that sent the Colonel’s violin reeling back into tune—at least, his version of it.
The noise resumed.
Elizabeth turned back toward the door, intending to slip away unnoticed, and nearly collided with Darcy.
“Forgive me,” she said, breath catching.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he replied softly.
For a moment, neither moved. The laughter, the music, even the mistletoe seemed to recede.
Then Lady Montford’s call rang out again, commanding fresh partners for the next attempt at dancing, and Elizabeth drew back with a smile that was more escape than amusement.
“I believe the music requires your assistance, sir,” she said lightly.
“I believe it requires a miracle,” he answered.
She laughed despite herself and slipped past him, her heart drumming far too quickly for so small an encounter.
Behind her, she could hear the Colonel declaring that they would attempt one final set before surrendering to the eggnog, and Lady Montford cheering him on with brave enthusiasm.
Elizabeth made her way toward the window seat at the edge of the room, reticule still looped at her wrist. She told herself she wanted quiet. In truth, she wanted to steady her thoughts before midnight, when her courage would be tested for the second time that night.