Chapter 9
Elizabeth had given up trying to convince herself that she did not care about having Darcy’s good opinion. How could she do otherwise, when she had spent the night dreaming of Darcy tipping up her chin with his finger – and not stopping there? Her lips tingled every time she thought about it.
That did not stop her from laughing each time her aunt suggested Darcy might have a tendre for her, as if such a notion were completely ridiculous. She had her pride, after all. Nothing could come of this, and she did not want anyone pitying her for disappointed hopes.
Still, the anticipation of the evening haunted her all day on Twelfth Night, so she was glad when their guests finally arrived.
Her eyes immediately flew to Darcy. He had taken her advice and was dressed plainly, if still elegantly, and her mouth went dry at the sight of him.
She tore her gaze away to greet Georgiana with enthusiasm, though her efforts were drowned out by little Margaret’s delight at Miss Darcy’s appearance.
Georgiana offered a thin paper-wrapped packet to the girl. “I brought you a Twelfth Night gift. It may be for both of us someday.”
Margaret’s eyes went wide. “For me?” She tore open the paper with more enthusiasm than regard for manners, revealing a booklet of sheet music. “Duets? Will you play them with me, once I have learnt them?” she asked earnestly.
“That is my intention,” Georgiana said. “These are ones I played when I was your age. Miss Elizabeth, this is for you.”
It was a smaller package. “How very kind of you!” Elizabeth exclaimed, grateful that Mrs. Gardiner had warned her this might be a possibility.
“I hope you will like it.” Now Georgiana sounded shy.
“I am certain I will,” Elizabeth said warmly as she unwrapped it, and then she gasped.
Inside lay the kid gloves she had admired at the shop, the ones far too expensive for her.
A generous gift indeed, and her cheeks warmed because she knew precisely who had picked it out.
Mr. Darcy had been watching her when she picked up those very gloves and stroked them longingly.
“These are beautiful! I thank you. I love the embroidery – I have always wanted a design like this. I will treasure them.” She did not dare look at Darcy.
“I am so glad you like them.” Georgiana said. “They are from both of us.”
Elizabeth caught her breath. Even though gloves were one of the few things a single gentleman could properly give to a lady he was not engaged to, it felt more intimate than that.
She would never be able to slip these on her hands without thinking of him.
“Then I thank you both! And I have a small thing for you, Miss Darcy, though it can hardly compare.” She had spent all morning finishing the embroidery on a bookmark just in case this happened.
Before she could even fetch it, Margaret grabbed Georgiana’s hand. “Come into the party,” she cried. “It is almost time to draw lots for our characters!”
Mr. Darcy said solemnly, “We certainly cannot miss that.”
Elizabeth let out a breath. He might do well here after all.
The Gardiners' Twelfth Night gathering was more enjoyable than Darcy had expected.
Being in Elizabeth's presence was, as always, both a delight and a torment.
John Carlisle, Mrs. Gardiner's brother and Darcy's childhood lesson-mate, had stopped by at the beginning solely to meet him again.
He proved as stimulating a conversationalist as he had ever been, and a reminder of the happy days when both Darcy's parents had still been alive.
He suggested another meeting to catch up with Darcy in a quieter place, and Darcy had been glad to agree.
The children and the apprentices were indeed noisy as they played their Twelfth Night characters.
Darcy suspected Mrs. Gardiner's hand in it when he had chosen the lot making him king for the evening, if only to avoid any of the youngsters having the role.
Little Margaret started out as his queen, but she had abandoned him quickly in favor of Georgiana, her clear favorite.
Not that he had minded; it meant he could sit next to Elizabeth.
Since he was king for the night, no one could gainsay him when he chose that seat.
But now Margaret had called Elizabeth over to her, and as queen, she could not be refused.
Darcy's eyes followed her as she wove her way across the crowded room to her little cousin.
How was he ever to forget her? It had been hard enough when she was a mere acquaintance, and he could pretend that closer contact would disillusion him.
Now, in just a matter of days, she had somehow slipped into his life as the only person Georgiana had confided in, the only person outside his cousin Richard who knew the truth of what had happened in Ramsgate.
Not only was she aware of it, but he suspected she knew more about it even than he did.
After their shopping excursion, Elizabeth and Georgiana had disappeared to her rooms for hours.
When they had emerged, his sister’s face was tear-stained, but she seemed relieved, as if a giant burden had gone from her shoulders.
How could he possibly let Elizabeth go now? His duty demanded it, but it would be like tearing out a bit of his heart.
When she returned to his side, she was wearing Margaret's paper crown, a little worse for wear and slightly askew, along with a wicked smile.
“Margaret has abdicated in my favor,” she said.
“Being queen was leaving her out of all the fun of playing exaggerated characters. Too boring, she says, but apparently she believes I do not mind being bored.”
“I find you anything but dull.” Why had those words popped out of his mouth? He wished he could blame Mrs. Gardiner's surprisingly strong Twelfth Night punch, but he was far more intoxicated by Elizabeth's presence than any spirited beverage.
“Why, Mr. Darcy! Or should I say Your Majesty?” Her eyes danced. “If I did not know better, I might almost consider that a compliment.”
He should not say anything. If he paid her more compliments, she might think he was courting her. And, God help him, he was no longer completely certain he was not.
How had that happened?
Something in his expression must have troubled her, for her smile faded away. “Pray excuse me, sir. My aunt is beckoning me, and I suspect she wishes my help with little Edward.”
She did not wait for an answer, simply walking away towards Mrs. Gardiner, who was holding an exhausted toddler to her shoulder. They conversed briefly, and then Elizabeth took the child from her and headed out into the vestibule.
Without even a second glance at him.
Why, oh why, had he suddenly been tongue-tied at exactly the wrong moment? If only he could follow her and say something, anything, so it did not look like she had embarrassed him. He could not bear having her think that.
Even if he had to say too much. Duty be damned!
It would be beyond improper to go after her, so he did the next best thing and approached the other young Gardiner boy. Charlie, that was his name. “Would you like another pick-a-back ride?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, please!” the boy piped. “Will you trot and neigh, too?”
“I believe I can.” If it would get him out into the vestibule where he could wait for Elizabeth, he would get down on all fours and bark. He bent down so Charlie could climb on his back.
The boy cried, “Hup, horsey!”
And Darcy started to trot, tossing his head like a highly strung mount, making Charlie shriek with delight. As they circled the room, Georgiana watched him with wide but happy eyes. Did she think he had forgotten how to play? He had grown too serious, these last few years.
He made a few rounds, to the boy’s glee, and then trotted out into the vestibule. Still mostly in sight of the rest of the party, but where he would be the first to see Elizabeth descending the stairs. He entertained the boy with a series of neighs and snorts, pretending to buck him off.
Finally she appeared, her eyebrows delicately raised at the sight of his lively play. But a small smile danced on her lips, and that made everything worth it.
Darcy gave the boy one last circle of trotting, then lowered him to the ground. “Well ridden,” he said, “but your steed is tiring, and your family awaits.”
The boy’s eyes were shining. “Thank you, sir!” Then he ran off into the parlor.
Darcy seized his moment. “Miss Elizabeth, I pray you will forgive me for being tongue-tied earlier. I fear I gave you the wrong impression.”
Her smile widened. “Tongue-tied?” she asked lightly. “I have never seen someone look so shocked to discover they had complimented someone.”
“I found myself at a loss for words, Miss Elizabeth, something that never seems to happen to you.”
“So now I talk too much?” she teased.
He had to do better this time. “Your eloquence and wit constantly amaze me.” He lowered his voice, leaning his head towards her. “And that, Miss Elizabeth, was most definitely a compliment.”
Her breath caught. Then her eyes quickly darted upwards, and her cheeks flushed. But she said nothing.
He followed her gaze to the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, and his heart beat faster. “We do seem to have a talent for this, do we not?”
She tilted her head. “Or you may have planned it this way.”
He shook his head. “I wish I had thought of it, but I have been too well entertained to trouble myself to look upwards. But I find myself quite satisfied with the situation.”
“You are taking a great risk, sir,” Elizabeth said with mock gravity.
“Likely you think that is innocent local mistletoe, but it is from the clump at home – the magical Netherfield mistletoe I gave to my aunt before we left Longbourn. You were fortunate to have escaped its effects once, but they say that a second kiss beneath it is impossible to forget and will haunt you the rest of your days.”