Chapter 4 #2
She nodded. “Remember, Elizabeth is a romantic. You are not far from earning her good opinion. She is a forgiving sort, provided she sees the change is genuine.” With a curtsy, she withdrew, leaving Darcy to mull over their conversation.
Later, the company amused themselves with a parlor game called The Twelve Days of Christmas. It was a long poem, and points were awarded for those who could recite the full list of ‘gifts’ bestowed by the true love upon the grateful recipient. Should one falter, a forfeit was required.
Sir William presided over the game, and Miss Bennet, seated on a settee between Bingley and Elizabeth, soon took her turn attempting to recall each verse.
“Come now, Miss Bennet, surely you can recall the full list!” Sir William leaned forward, his eyes glinting with their usual good humor. “If you stumble, you must pay a forfeit.”
Miss Bennet pursed her lips in thought, her cheeks warming as the assembled guests turned their attention upon her. Her shy nature revealed itself in the twisting of her fingers in her lap. A light touch on the arm from Bingley seemed to steady her.
“On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…” She hesitated, her cheeks reddening once more. “Ah—twelve Lords a-leaping?”
“Very good!” Lady Lucas called from her chair near the hearth. “And eleven?”
Miss Bennet wrinkled her nose. “Pipers?” she asked, a touch of desperation in her voice.
“Ten pipers piping, Miss Bennet!” Bingley laughed. “You have confused them with the drummers.”
Laughter rippled through the drawing room, and Jane groaned. “Lizzy is much better at this game than I,” she said, nudging her sister’s shoulder. “Very well, what is my forfeit?”
“A dance with me, of course, when it is time.” Bingley grinned as the musicians struck up a lively tune. “Unless you had rather compose a verse to mark your folly?”
She laughed merrily and shook her head. “Dancing is infinitely preferable to composing a verse. Oh, the things we endure for the sake of Christmas cheer.”
Darcy took the seat beside Elizabeth as Miss Bennet and Bingley strolled toward the musicians. “Can you recall all the words to the poem?” His curiosity was plain. “Your sister’s faith in you is very strong.”
She glanced at him, her expression tinged with surprise, as though unaccustomed to such direct address. Darcy could not understand it—he had spoken with her often these past weeks, both in company and in private.
“I can recite the verses correctly,” she replied with a slight incline of her head. “It is an easy poem to remember. Of more interest are the elaborate gifts the recipient receives from her lover. Why, he must have spent nearly one hundred pounds on his beloved! Such an exorbitant sum.”
“How much is too much when a man wishes to demonstrate the depth of his regard to the woman he loves?” Darcy countered, his tone calm, though his gaze remained fixed upon her.
A flicker of skepticism appeared in her enchanting eyes. “Affection ought not to be measured by the price of a gift, sir. I would consider such displays superficial and insincere. Trinkets are no substitute for true understanding and attachment.”
“But we do not know whether our mysterious suitor gave his true love only physical tokens,” Darcy returned, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Perhaps he took her to the museum on another occasion—or read her poetry beside the fire.”
At that, Elizabeth laughed heartily, drawing the glance of a passing matron before she lowered her voice. “Touché, sir. We have but one record of his declarations of love, and you have filled the blanks in a most ingenious manner.”
Darcy’s smile widened, though he contained it. “Then let us suppose he offered her his time, his attentions, and his heart—and the turtle doves were merely added for good measure.”
She angled herself toward him, the candlelight flickering across her features. “Would you have me believe that turtle doves are the language of the heart?”
“Only when given with sincerity.”
A moment passed—silent, but expectant. Then he asked, lower still, “Would you object to an admirer expressing his sentiments through gifts?”
He knew the question ventured too near a confession—but for once, he did not care.
Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in thought.
“If I were certain of this gentleman’s regard—if he showed his admiration through kindness, respect, and genuine feeling—I should not object.
Gifts, when accompanied by such attentions, may be charming.
Without them, they are merely ornament.”
Her answer warmed him, but he dared not reveal it. He gave a slight nod, unable to suppress the smile that curved at the corner of his mouth. “Then let us be assured that the gentleman in question will prove himself with something beyond ornament.”
“Let us trust he will do so.” Her eyes lingered on his, something subtle and curious dancing in their depths.
Darcy changed the subject, asking after her family’s Christmas traditions.
He listened with attentiveness as she described the Bennets’ plans for the morrow.
They, like the Darcys, exchanged gifts on Christmas Day.
After a generous meal, the family passed the hours in quiet pursuits. It sounded…lovely.
As she spoke, the beginnings of an idea formed in Darcy’s mind.
He latched onto the thought, puzzling out its particulars while they conversed.
When Mr. Long declared it was time for dancing, he was quick to ask Elizabeth to stand up with him.
She did not refuse, but neither did she look as pleased with the notion as he had fancied she might.
Their dance was a lively one, allowing little opportunity to exchange more than a few words.
Afterward, he asked several other ladies to dance, conscious that one of her objections to him stemmed from the assembly where they first met.
When he and Bingley finally set off in the carriage, he sank gratefully into the squabs, brooding upon the idea that had taken root earlier.
It had merit. Resolved, as soon as they arrived at Netherfield, he retired to his chamber to compose the notes he intended to send as part of his plan.
With any luck, he could begin the very next day.