Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Longbourn
Darcy
The journey to Longbourn was a short one.
Darcy knew every turn in the dark, every bump and rut in the road.
Bingley, animated with excitement, had proposed to Miss Bennet the previous evening, and now rambled on about his intention to speak to Mr. Bennet before they would be called to dine.
Darcy listened with only half an ear, his thoughts fretting over how Elizabeth might receive him.
Upon their arrival, they were shown into the drawing room.
Darcy’s gaze found Elizabeth at once. She sat beside Miss Bennet on the settee, the muted glow of gold muslin lending a festive air to her attire.
She was breathtaking. He looked for the locket, but saw only the chain, and realized the jeweled piece lay concealed beneath the modest neckline of her gown.
Why is she hiding it? A quick glance around the room offered the answer.
Surely, she wished to avoid questions from the other guests.
He did not recognize the fashionably dressed lady and gentleman who completed the party.
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy! Welcome!” cried Mrs. Bennet as she bustled forward.
“Good evening, ma’am,” Bingley replied.
“Allow me to present my dear brother, Mr. Edward Gardiner of Gracechurch Street in London, and his wife, Mrs. Madeline Gardiner. Brother, Sister, this is Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy did not miss how Mrs. Bennet had named Bingley before him, in clear disregard of their respective ranks, but he did not mind. Her manner toward him had warmed of late, and he had no cause to complain.
“It is a pleasure,” Bingley said. Darcy inclined his head in agreement.
“Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?” Mrs. Gardiner, inquired with polite interest. “I had the pleasure of knowing your parents when I resided in Lambton. You would have been quite young at the time, so I dare say you may not remember me. My father managed the haberdashery for some years, until my brother-in-law succeeded him.”
“Thompson? He is your brother-in-law? I know him well. Pemberley makes every effort to procure goods from local proprietors and suppliers.”
Mrs. Gardiner beamed. “Yes, my sister tells me so in her letters. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
After several minutes of polite conversation, the Gardiners moved away, and Darcy approached Elizabeth.
She now stood near the window, watching the falling snow.
Twinkling candlelight caught her features just so, illuminating the gentle curve of her cheek, the delicate arrangement of dark curls framing her features.
The locket—a gift from him—remained hidden, but the glimmer of its chain at her neck had become, to him, a fragile sign of hope—no more, yet everything.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began, betraying none of the emotion that churned beneath the surface, “I trust your Christmas has been…enjoyable?”
Elizabeth came about to face him, her smile polite, yet touched with something else—something teasing, perhaps even intriguing. “Enjoyable, indeed,” she replied. “And not without a few surprises.”
Darcy, uncertain whether he had misread her tone, leaned in slightly. “Surprises? Might I inquire as to the nature of these wonders?”
She gave a slight shrug, a playful gleam in her eye. “Oh, nothing too out of the ordinary. Just the usual exchange of gifts, though some were rather…unexpected.”
The words struck him with a sharpness he had not anticipated, and though his expression remained composed, his thoughts scattered. “And do you find such unexpected gifts…welcome?” He knew full well that he walked a precarious line, and he feared pressing her further, yet he had to know more.
Elizabeth’s lips curved into a subtle smile, her eyes narrowing as though weighing the matter. “I do not mind.” The playfulness in her manner did not falter. “Some gifts suit me better than others, and I dare say certain individuals do not know me at all.”
The calm of his aspect gave way, his pulse quickening.
Her words seemed to carry a double meaning, like a double-edged sword, and he could not help but feel the edge of it.
Had his gift been unsuitable? Had it displeased her?
Could she already suspect its source? But how could she know?
Her words had pierced him with precision, as though designed to strike.
Does she not know how these words wound me? Could she begin to guess that I—discreetly, cautiously—have sought to please her, selecting each token with the wish that it might touch her heart.
Elizabeth went on, seemingly unaware of the turmoil she stirred within him.
“Some believe that flattery and fine gestures suffice to make an impression. Yet they fail to grasp the value of true conversation. To engage with another…say, a lady, one must speak with sincerity, with some knowledge of her mind, her tastes and interests, and her character.”
Elizabeth’s words pressed against his conscience. He had offered her neither sincerity nor depth in their earliest acquaintance. In recent weeks, he had made an effort to change, but had it come too late?
Does she speak of me? The thought tightened his chest. His initial pride, his awkward silence, even his earnest yet clumsy attempts at civility—had all these served only to confirm her opinion of him? She did not believe him capable of proper conversation?
It was not lost on him that she addressed him directly, her words laced with the sting of a critique, even if she intended no such thing.
But the sting of her insinuation sharpened his self-awareness all the same.
Have I failed her already? He had allowed his insufferable pride, his discomfort, to cloud his every interaction with her.
Had he only spoken with the honest care and attentiveness she desired, he might not be standing before her so uncertain, so exposed.
“True conversation…and knowledge of character,” he repeated, almost to himself. “It is not something I have mastered, it seems.”
Elizabeth met his gaze, her countenance unreadable for a moment.
Then, after a pause, she spoke with a calmer air.
“I think, Mr. Darcy, you would find it much easier to converse with others if you were willing to make the effort to know someone, rather than to impose your own expectations. I believe you are more than capable. Your efforts with my neighbors have not gone unnoticed.” She smiled warmly, and the anxious tension in his chest eased.
“I shall take that to heart, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Dinner is served, madam,” Mr. Hill announced, stepping into the room and drawing the guests’ attention to the door.
“Well, shall we go in?” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Cook has outdone herself, let me assure you! We have roast goose, mincemeat pies, plum pudding, and every delicacy you could wish for!”
“Christmas is Mama’s favorite,” Elizabeth murmured, still standing beside him.
“Is it? Do you share her sentiments?” he asked, his expression earnest as he regarded her with open curiosity.
“Yes,” she replied. “’Tis truly the best part of the year.” She did not continue, observing him with an expectant look he could not quite interpret. Her hand rose to the chain at her neck, fingers toying with it absently.
“May I have the honor of escorting you to dinner?” he asked, belatedly realizing he ought to have done so sooner.
“Thank you, sir.” She slipped her arm through his, and Darcy could not help but feel this was precisely as it ought to be—forever.
Elizabeth
Her arch behavior seemed to discompose Mr. Darcy that evening.
Elizabeth had observed him from the moment he had arrived with Mr. Bingley.
His attire differed markedly from anything she had previously seen him wear, and she could not help but feel pleased by the change.
His gold waistcoat bore red embroidery.—and to her surprise, she realized they were perfectly matched in their attire that evening.
Even the gold chain and hidden locket complemented both ensembles.
Mr. Darcy had spoken kindly with the Gardiners, another point in his favor. In truth, she had expected him to look down his nose at her relations, as though they were dirt beneath his boots. Instead, he had smiled charmingly and conversed as though they were equals and friends.
If he continues this metamorphosis, I shall not be able to detest him any longer.
She no longer disliked him, of that she was certain.
But did she like him? That remained unclear.
His manner had improved, and nearly every objection she had once held against him was resolved.
He no longer appeared proud and above his company, and he spoke with greater ease than ever before.
But that does not excuse his treatment of Mr. Wickham. And he has never apologized to me. The last stung more than she cared to admit, even to herself.
And then he had approached her, and she had responded as she always had, and he had seemed wounded. Guilt pricked her conscience, and she resolved to behave civilly. When Mr. Darcy offered to lead her in to dine, she accepted with grace.
Mama had arranged the seating in her usual, predictable fashion.
Jane and Mr. Bingley were placed on either side of Mr. Bennet; Kitty, Lydia, Mary, Mr. Darcy, and she herself occupied the middle of the table; her aunt and uncle Gardiner were situated to the left and right of the mistress’s seat.
As the highest-ranking gentleman present, Mr. Darcy ought to have been seated at her mother’s right hand.
That place, however, had gone to her uncle.
Mrs. Bennet’s deliberate breach in propriety was obvious, though Elizabeth could not bring herself to object—she did not mind having Mr. Darcy seated beside her in the least.
“I am sorry for my mother,” Elizabeth felt compelled to say as they sat.
“I prefer this seat to the alternative.” His eyes widened in sudden alarm. “That is to say, I am pleased I shall have the opportunity to speak with you. I meant no insult to your mother.” He looked positively panicked, and Elizabeth chuckled.
“I take no offense, sir. My mother is difficult even in the best of situations. If I am a pleasant enough companion and you are satisfied, then I have no complaint and rescind my apologies for her behavior.”
He smiled gratefully and helped her in serving the first course. Everything was done to perfection, and Elizabeth hummed in satisfaction as she partook. “Do you have a favorite dish for Christmas, Mr. Darcy?” she asked.
“Pemberley’s cook makes excellent mince-pies,” he replied. “Plum pudding is another favorite, and I have yet to taste one that surpasses Pemberley’s recipe.”
“Is that a challenge, sir?” Elizabeth affected a look of mock seriousness, hoping he did not mistake her light manner. “Well, you will have to tell me how Longbourn’s dish compares! I will have you know, it is several generations old and has undergone many adjustments to make it what it is.”
“I shall look forward to tasting it.”
The rest of the meal was enjoyed in good cheer, until at last the plum pudding was brought out. Cook set it aflame, and the room erupted in applause. Servings were passed around the table, and once everyone had a plate before them, Mr. Bennet tapped his glass to gain their attention.
“Before we lose ourselves in Longbourn’s greatest delight, I have an announcement.
Mr. Bingley has asked for our Jane’s hand in marriage and she has accepted.
I have given my blessing to the happy couple.
And so, I propose a toast to Mr. Bingley, my first son, and to my dearest Jane, my firstborn treasure.
May you have many years of happiness together!
And may the rest of us survive the wedding preparations with our sanity intact. ”
Everyone laughed and raised a glass, and Elizabeth saw a wistful look cross Mr. Darcy’s features before he drank. He set his glass down and picked up his fork, turning to her with a cheeky grin.
“The test begins, Miss Elizabeth.”
He took a generous forkful of pudding and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before his eyes widened. “Why, this is marvelous! I have never tasted anything so delightful!”
Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head as he took another bite. “I warned you, sir. You must ask Mama for the receipt.”
“I shall do just that. Had I consumed too much wine, I might have called down the table. But alas, I am quite sober, and shall therefore wait until after the meal to compliment your mother and beg for her secret.”
“She may refuse, sir. Fortunately for you, I have it recorded in my commonplace book and can make you a copy should she prove stubborn.” Elizabeth had offered the receipt without thought, knowing full well her mother would not approve.
Something within her desired Mr. Darcy’s regard, and he granted her a warm, contented smile in return for her generous offer.
“I shall accept your aid, Miss Elizabeth. I thank you.”
After dinner, they played parlor games. It was late when the gentlemen took their leave and departed for Netherfield.
Jane and Elizabeth stood at the window, watching the carriage pull away just as snow began to fall once more.
“Happy Christmas, Jane,” she murmured, leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder.