Chapter Six
The night after dinner with the Bennets, Darcy stood at his windows and watched the evening traffic crawl along in the amber glow of the streetlights.
It wasn’t that the dinner had gone badly.
Mrs. Bennet had been welcoming, if rather determined to extract his entire financial history.
Mr. Bennet had been amusing, though Darcy suspected he’d been cataloguing every response for future entertainment value.
Lydia had asked him directly whether he had any single friends before regaling him with tales about the book narration business she had started to help pay for her acting classes.
Mary had delivered what appeared to be a prepared lecture on economic inequality that had segued into the commercialisation of Christmas, and Kitty had managed to take approximately forty-seven photographs of her dinner without once appearing to eat any of it.
The whirlwind hadn’t bothered him. Elizabeth had given him fair warning, and in fact, there had been something rather appealing about the complete absence of ceremony, the way they all cheerfully talked over each other, the casual warmth that filled every corner of the modest dining room.
What unsettled him a bit was how perfectly Elizabeth had belonged in it all.
She’d deflected her mother’s more invasive questions with gentle humour, translated her father’s dry observations for Darcy’s benefit, mediated between her sisters with the practised ease of someone who’d been doing it for years.
She’d been effortlessly herself—quick-witted and warm and unpretentious.
And Darcy had sat there feeling like a visitor from another planet, tense, polite, and desperately trying not to put a foot wrong.
Had she noticed? The way he’d hesitated before every response, measuring each word against some internal standard of proper social behaviour?
The concierge rang up with the news that his sister was here to see him. Darcy told him to allow her upstairs.
He pressed his forehead against the cool glass.
It was one evening. Elizabeth had seemed pleased that he’d made the effort, had kissed him goodnight with genuine warmth.
If he’d felt out of place, well, that was hardly surprising.
Different families had different rhythms, and he would need time to find his footing.
But the nagging sense that he’d somehow failed an important test refused to fade.
“William.” Georgiana’s voice cut through his brooding as she breezed into the sitting room, shaking rain from her coat. “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there all evening.”
“I’ve been contemplating dinner with the Bennets,” Darcy replied, not moving from the window.
“Ah. That was last night, wasn’t it? That explains the tragic expression.” Georgiana collapsed into the nearest armchair with her usual disregard for its considerable cost. “How did it go? Did they interrogate you? Did you pass inspection?”
Darcy turned from the window, considering the question. “I’m not sure. They’re very warm. Very . . .”
“Lively?” Georgiana asked with a grin.
“That’s a good word for it.”
“Did they grill you about your income?”
“A bit. Her sister Lydia wanted to know if I had a younger brother.”
Georgiana laughed. “Did it throw you? Did you do that ‘on the outside looking in through the window’ thing you revert to when you get nervous?”
“I did.” Darcy frowned. “But it was fine. Elizabeth’s family were kind enough.”
Georgiana studied his face with a penetrating attention that made him distinctly uncomfortable. “But?”
“But nothing. It was a pleasant evening.”
“William.” Georgiana’s voice took on the tone she’d perfected during years of dealing with his more stubborn moments. “You’ve got that expression you wear when you’re trying to solve a complicated financial model. What’s wrong?”
Darcy moved to the sideboard and poured himself a whisky, taking longer than necessary to consider his words. He held up the bottle, and Georgiana made a face and shook her head.
Darcy set the bottle down. “I suppose I’m wondering whether Elizabeth and I are quite as compatible as I’d thought.”
“Because her family asked you inappropriate questions about your income?”
“Because she belongs with them so completely.” The admission came out rawer than he’d intended. The whole family was so vibrant, and he was . . . not. Would she become bored with him? “She was so natural, so comfortable. And I’m—”
“Of course she was. It’s her family.” Georgiana waited, and when he didn’t respond, she asked, “Was Elizabeth upset?”
“No, she didn’t seem to be.”
“Then stop worrying. You were just being careful,” Georgiana said. “You always are when you’re not sure of your ground. It doesn’t mean anything except that you care about making a good impression.”
Darcy sipped his whisky and tried to convince himself she was right.
But the image that kept returning to him was Elizabeth laughing at something her father had said, her face bright with genuine delight, unselfconscious in a way that seemed completely foreign to his own experience of family dinners.
He changed the subject before Georgiana could pursue the matter further. “I’m going to ask Elizabeth to come to Pemberley for Christmas Eve.”
“Well, that’s wonderful, but you’ve left it a little late—Christmas is a week and a half away. Can she make it?
“That’s why I have to ask.”
“I hope she’s free. I’m looking forward to spending some time with her.” Georgiana’s expression softened. “Are you nervous?”
“Of course not.” The denial came too quickly, and Georgiana’s raised eyebrow told him she wasn’t remotely convinced. “I just want everything to go well.”
“It will. Pemberley’s beautiful this time of year. And Mrs. Reynolds has been waiting for a chance to meet and spoil her.”
Darcy nodded, though privately he wondered whether Pemberley, with all its elegant formality, might seem rather cold after the cheerful disorder of the Bennet household.
Perhaps Elizabeth would find it too grand, too removed from the life she was used to.
Perhaps she’d feel as out of place at Pemberley as he’d felt in Hertfordshire.
Maybe she’d decide that he, and Pemberley, were just too much to take on.
The thought made his chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to panic.
The Christmas market at Southbank was the type of holiday event Darcy always tried to avoid—throngs of tourists clutching hot chocolate, overpriced stalls selling questionable crafts, and enough fairy lights to illuminate a small city.
But watching Elizabeth examine a display of handmade ornaments, he found himself rather charmed by the entire spectacle.
“Look at this one.” She held up a glass bauble painted with tiny robins. “Isn’t it beautiful? Completely impractical, of course. Waffles would have it off the tree and in pieces in approximately thirty seconds. Maybe I should buy it for you. Athena would never do such a thing.”
“Athena has very strict standards of behaviour for herself and everyone around her.”
They wandered through the market, Elizabeth stopping to admire various displays while Darcy found himself more interested in watching her reactions.
She had a love of ordinary pleasures that he found endearing—exclaiming over ornaments, stopping at a stall selling vintage books, discovering a new blend of tea.
When she bought a small wooden ornament shaped like a typewriter, claiming it was “perfect,” Darcy made a mental note to remember which stall it had come from. Not that he planned to return and buy out their entire stock of literary-themed decorations, but the possibility wasn’t off the table.
The wind off the river caught at her sleeves as she folded the little paper bag closed. He clocked the bare, pinked knuckles of her right hand and, without making anything of it, opened the slant of his coat pocket.
“Here,” he said.
She slid her hand in. He followed with his, tracing the chill of her knuckles with his thumb as the crowd noise dulled around them. They started walking again like that, one pocket between them.
“Right,” Elizabeth announced as they found a relatively quiet spot overlooking the Thames. “This is properly festive, isn’t it? I love London at Christmas. All the lights and the general atmosphere of controlled panic as everyone realizes they’ve left everything until the last minute.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
“Every year.”
Darcy found himself smiling at the image, a small part of him hoping she hadn’t yet bought his present, and that when she did it wouldn’t be something better than his for her. “I can’t quite picture you in a panic.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen me when I’m behind deadline. Or when I can’t find my keys. Or when Waffles has done something creative with my shoes and I need to go out.” Elizabeth leaned against the railing, looking out over the water. “Speaking of Christmas, what are your holiday plans?”
This was the opening he’d been hoping for, though now that the moment had arrived, Darcy found himself nervous about asking Elizabeth to spend Christmas Eve with him.
Not just dinner with Bingley and Jane or an evening at the theatre, but Christmas.
At Pemberley. With Georgiana and Maggie Reynolds and all the weight of family tradition that came with the territory.
“We always spend Christmas Eve at Pemberley,” he said. “It’s tradition. Georgiana insists on doing things right—carols, decorating the tree, all of it. Very sentimental.”
“That sounds lovely.” He caught something wistful in Elizabeth's tone. “I imagine Pemberley at Christmas is rather spectacular.”
“It is beautiful,” Darcy agreed. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he blurted out, “You should come. If you’d like to. Christmas Eve, I mean. You could stay the night, see the estate properly.”
Elizabeth turned to look at him, surprise flickering across her features. “Really? You’d want me there for Christmas?”
“I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather you be,” Darcy said, the honesty of it catching him off guard.
For a moment, Elizabeth’s expression was so warm that Darcy felt his breath catch. Then she bit her lip in that way she did when she was working through a problem.
“I’d love to, But I’ve promised Jane I’d come to theirs for Christmas dinner. My sisters will be there because our parents have been invited to dinner with friends that evening. She’s been planning it for weeks.”
Darcy felt a sharp stab of disappointment, followed by the realization that he was being ridiculous. Of course Elizabeth had existing plans. It was Christmas, and she had a family and commitments that had nothing to do with him.
“Of course,” he said. “I understand.”
Elizabeth's expression brightened. “Darcy, where are you having Christmas dinner? Please don’t tell me you and Georgiana are planning to eat alone in some enormous dining room.”
“Georgiana has a dinner planned with friends.”
Elizabeth stared at him for a moment. “You mean, you were going to . . .” She pulled out her phone and texted something.
No more than two minutes later, she smiled.
“That’s sorted, then. You’ll come with me to Christmas dinner if you like.
Jane said you can bring your cousins too, if they’ve nowhere else they’d rather be. ”
Darcy felt something warm and bright unfurl in his chest. “I’ll ask Mal and Richard, but yes, I think that would be nice.”
“Well, if that’s the case, we can drive together. I’d love to spend Christmas Eve with you. I’ve been curious about Pemberley ever since you first mentioned it. And it would be wonderful to spend a little time with Georgiana, get to know her better.”
“She’s been asking about you constantly,” Darcy admitted. “I think she’s as excited about spending more time with you as she is about Christmas itself.”
“Now I’m nervous.” Elizabeth laughed.
“Don't be ridiculous. You charmed her within five minutes, just as you did me.” Darcy's eyes met hers and he smiled.
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed pink, though that might have been the cold air. “Well then, Christmas Eve at Pemberley it is. Should I bring anything? I feel like I should contribute something, but I suspect my usual offerings might not quite match the grandeur of the setting.”
“Just yourself,” Darcy said. “And Waffles, of course. I’m sure Athena would be deeply offended if he weren’t invited.”
“She’ll regret that sentiment approximately one minute after he arrives,” Elizabeth warned. “But I’ll do my best to keep him from destroying anything priceless.”
“Pemberley has survived everything from a Civil War siege to Georgiana’s teenage horse obsession. I think it can handle one enthusiastic golden retriever.”
They continued wandering through the market, but Darcy found his attention split between Elizabeth’s commentary on various stalls and his own growing anticipation.
Christmas at Pemberley with Elizabeth. The chance to show her the library where he’d spent countless childhood hours, the music room where his mother had once played piano, the grounds he’d roamed as a boy.
The chance to see his family home through her eyes, to share something that mattered to him with someone who was beginning to matter even more.
By the time they parted ways that evening, Elizabeth heading back to her flat to wrestle with her latest plot tangle and Darcy returning to Belgravia to contemplate the logistics of hosting the woman he was certain he was falling in love with, he felt lighter than he had in weeks.
Christmas at Pemberley with Elizabeth. Whatever happened next, he was going to make sure it was perfect.