Chapter Seven
The moment Darcy opened her car door, Waffles leapt out over her like he’d been fired from a cannon. Elizabeth lunged for the trailing leash, missed, and stumbled after him, just in time to see him gallop straight through the open front door into Pemberley’s grand entrance hall.
“Waffles, no!” she cried, but he was already there, a golden blur skidding to a stop in front of an antique table groaning under an arrangement of winter greenery.
He didn’t jump, didn’t even need to. His tail, wagging with the force of a small hurricane, thumped once, twice—and clipped the leg of the table.
Elizabeth’s breath caught as a crystal vase wobbled, spun, and teetered in slow motion.
Darcy moved with surprising speed, catching the vase just as it began to tip. “Got it.” He steadied the arrangement as though retrieving expensive crystal from golden retriever-induced peril was nothing new.
“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth began, mortified. “He gets excited in new places, and I should have—”
But Darcy was looking down at Waffles, who had decided that since the interesting table was now secure, the next order of business was to investigate the person who had rescued it. The dog was sitting directly on Darcy’s feet, gazing up at him with an expression of pure adoration.
Elizabeth wanted to sink through the floor. “I think he’s claiming you.”
To her astonishment, Darcy stood to his full 6’2” height, and said, very sternly, “Leave it, Waffles.”
And wonder of wonders, Waffles stood, backed up, and plopped his rear end down on the floor. Then, resuming his loving look up at Darcy, he wagged his tail.
“Traitor!” she exclaimed with a surprised little laugh.
“Me or him?” Darcy inquired, lifting one eyebrow.
“William!” A warm voice called from the top of the elegant staircase. “Did I hear the sounds of impending destruction?”
“Georgiana,” Darcy called up to his sister, “come meet Waffles. He’s just introduced himself to the Waterford crystal.”
“Did he win?” Georgiana asked, trotting down the stairs.
Elizabeth found her voice again . “It was a draw, though I think your brother ought to be credited with that.”
Georgiana crouched to greet Waffles, who abandoned Darcy in favour of this new source of attention. “Aren’t you handsome? Yes, you are.” She looked up at Elizabeth. “The dogs we’ve had over the years have done the same. Fortunately, nothing irreplaceable has ever been broken.”
“Because most of it’s in storage or in the parts of the house we don’t use very often,” Darcy added.
Elizabeth watched this exchange with growing amazement.
She’d been prepared for polite tolerance, perhaps even well-concealed dismay at having to accommodate a badly behaved dog in such elegant surroundings.
Instead, she was witnessing genuine delight, as though Waffles’s near-disaster had been the sort of entertainment they’d been hoping for.
“I am so sorry,” she said to Darcy, who was still holding the vase. “He’s usually not quite so . . . explosive.”
Darcy shook his head. “That table has survived two centuries of various family pets. I doubt Waffles could do anything our ancestors’ hunting hounds haven’t previously managed.”
As if summoned by the mention of proper canine behaviour, Athena completed her inspection tour and trotted to the group.
“Athena, Waffles is here,” Georgiana said. “Waffles, you should know that Athena’s very important at Pemberley.”
Waffles, evidently sensed that a more formal protocol was required, and offered Athena his paw. Elizabeth blinked. It was the most civilised thing she had ever seen him do.
Athena considered the paw for a long moment, then graciously pawed at it. Elizabeth felt her heart melt a little at the sight.
“Greetings accomplished.” Georgiana clapped her hands together. “Shall we get everyone settled? Elizabeth, I’ll show you to your room.
“I’ll put the dogs in the back room,” Darcy said. “We have it set up for them when we can’t be around to supervise.”
Pemberley’s interior was even more magnificent than Elizabeth had imagined, but as Georgiana led her through the corridors, she found herself noticing more of the smaller details that made the grandeur feel lived-in rather than museum-like.
A pair of reading glasses abandoned on a side table.
Georgiana’s music books stacked somewhat haphazardly on a windowsill.
A coffee mug bearing the faded logo of what appeared to be a university rowing club sitting on a coaster, both atop what looked like a priceless antique desk.
“That’s William’s.” Georgiana caught Elizabeth’s glance. “He’s had it since Cambridge and refuses to drink his morning coffee from anything else. Mrs. Reynolds despairs.”
“It’s nice,” Elizabeth said, and meant it. “I like seeing how people actually live in a place.”
Her room was beautiful, all creams and soft blues, with windows overlooking gardens that would surely look spectacular in daylight.
But the small touches were what struck her first. Fresh flowers on the bedside table.
A stack of books that someone had chosen with her tastes in mind.
A soft throw draped over the reading chair that looked like it had been intentionally placed there for curling up with tea and a novel. “Georgiana, this is charming.”
“I’m so pleased you’re here,” Georgiana said warmly. “William’s been . . . well, he’s been rather hopeful about this visit. I think he wants you to love Pemberley as much as he does.”
The words sent a little flutter through Elizabeth’s chest. “Has he?”
“Oh yes. He spent ages planning which rooms to show you first, what walks would give you the best views. I haven’t seen him this invested in anyone’s opinion in . . . well, ever, really.”
Before Elizabeth could process this information, a soft thud from somewhere downstairs suggested that the dogs were indeed sorting themselves out with the help of whatever furniture happened to be in their path.
“Perhaps we should check on them?” Elizabeth asked.
They found Darcy in what appeared to be a utility room, watching Waffles try to fit his entire head into Athena’s food bowl while the Great Dane sat nearby with an expression of profound long-suffering.
“Waffles, you absolute scoundrel.” Elizabeth sighed, moving to extract her dog from his position as food critic. “I’m sorry, Athena. He has no concept of personal boundaries.”
As if she understood the apology, Athena graciously moved to her food bowl and began eating with a delicate neatness that made Waffles’s eating style look positively barbaric by comparison.
“I should fetch my present,” Elizabeth said, remembering the wrapped scarf box she’d left in her overnight bag. “Just to make sure everything’s still . . .”
She trailed off, catching herself before she revealed too much about her anxiety over tomorrow’s present exchange.
“Of course,” Darcy said. “Shall I show you where we’ll put everything under the tree?”
Back in her room, Elizabeth opened her bag with growing dread. The neat box she’d so carefully selected was now half crushed, victim of her hasty packing and Waffles’s earlier enthusiasm in the car boot. The ribbon had come undone, and one corner of the paper was torn.
“Oh, brilliant,” she muttered, lifting out the damaged package.
Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth stared down at her handiwork with a mixture of pride and dismay.
She’d managed to rewrap the scarf using tissue paper and a length of ribbon she’d cannibalized from the flowers on her bedside table.
The result was . . . distinctive. It looked less like a beautifully wrapped present and more like she was concealing something vaguely contraband.
Her novelist brain kicked in unbidden. Plot idea—murder weapon disguised as Christmas present. How would you hide a blade in—
“Focus, Lizzy,” she said aloud, shaking her head.
She picked up the lumpy package and groaned. Next to whatever elegant present Darcy would have chosen for her, this was going to look terrible. Surely she could find some tape and wrapping paper somewhere.
A soft knock at her door interrupted her spiralling thoughts.
“Elizabeth?” Georgiana’s voice came through the wood. “I’m making mince pies downstairs if you’d like to join me. Fair warning—I’m much better at theory than execution when it comes to baking.”
Elizabeth shoved the re-wrapped present into her bag and opened the door. “That sounds wonderful. I should warn you, though, that my relationship with pastry is complicated at best.”
“Perfect.” Georgiana grinned. “We can be disasters together.”
The kitchen at Pemberley was enormous, all cream-coloured cabinets and marble worktops that gleamed under warm lighting. But despite its grandeur, it felt surprisingly homey, perhaps because Georgiana at once set about making it untidy.
“Right,” she announced, pulling ingredients from various cupboards with the enthusiasm of someone who enjoyed the process more than the results. “Mince pies. How hard can it be?”
Elizabeth tied an apron around her waist and rolled up her sleeves.. “Famous last words.”
It was quickly evident that neither of them had any business baking. Georgiana’s dough was too wet, Elizabeth’s was too dry, and somehow, they’d managed to get flour on every surface within a six-foot radius.
“This is going well,” Georgiana said, trying to roll out what looked more like a geological sample than pastry.
“Brilliantly,” Elizabeth agreed, trying to convince her own dough to hold together long enough to line the tart tins. “I’m sure they’ll taste better than they look.”
“They’d have to, wouldn’t they?”
They were both laughing helplessly at their pastry disasters when Darcy appeared in the doorway.
“Should I be concerned?” he asked, taking in the scene of culinary destruction with obvious amusement.
Georgiana nodded. “Deeply concerned. But we’re having tremendous fun.”
Elizabeth caught the expression that crossed Darcy’s face as he watched them work, not disapproval or concern about the mess they were making, but something wistful. As though he wanted to join in but wasn’t quite sure how to insert himself into their easy camaraderie.
“Come on then,” Elizabeth said, holding out a flour-covered hand. “These pies aren’t going to make themselves, and we need all the help we can get.”
For a moment, Darcy hesitated. Then he rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the kitchen. “Right.” He surveyed their efforts. “What exactly are we doing here?”
An hour later, with Darcy measuring the ingredients on the recipe card, they had produced what could generously be called mince pies.
They were lopsided, somewhat burnt around the edges, and filled with varying amounts of mincemeat depending on Elizabeth’s creative interpretations of “one spoonful.”
“They’re . . . rustic,” Georgiana tipped her head to one side as she held up one particularly abstract creation.
“They’re dreadful,” Elizabeth said. “But they smell wonderful.”
“They’re perfect,” Darcy insisted, and something in his tone made both women look at him. His sleeves were still rolled up, there was flour in his hair, and he was smiling with an unguarded happiness Elizabeth had only caught glimpses of before.
They were just settling down with tea and their questionable baking efforts when a commotion from the sitting room informed them that the dogs had found some new form of entertainment.
“Should we investigate?” Elizabeth asked.
Waffles, convinced that proximity to the fireplace was a privilege Athena ought to share, was sitting almost atop her.
“Waffles,” Elizabeth began, but Darcy held up a hand.
He settled into one of the armchairs with his tea. “Let’s see how they sort this out.”
What followed was a masterclass in canine diplomacy. Waffles, recognising that direct confrontation was unlikely to succeed, began a charm offensive. He fetched his favourite tennis ball and dropped it near Athena’s paws. When that failed to gain him ground, he dipped into a play bow.
Athena regarded these overtures cautiously. With great ceremony, she stood, walked exactly one metre to the left, and settled herself in an equally comfortable spot.
Waffles, delighted by this development, claimed the vacated space, spinning in three complete circles before collapsing in a satisfied heap.
“Brilliant negotiation,” Georgiana pronounced. “Everyone gets what they want.”
“Perfect compromise,” Elizabeth agreed.
As the evening wound down, Elizabeth found herself curled in the window seat with a cup of tea, watching Darcy and Georgiana chat by the fire while both dogs sprawled across the rug in companionable exhaustion.
The easy affection between the siblings, the warmth of the house around them, the way Darcy’s shoulders had lost their careful set—it all felt remarkably like home.
For just a moment, she allowed herself to imagine this being her future. Christmas evenings in this beautiful house, comfortable silence and shared laughter, dogs sprawled across expensive rugs while two of the people she cared about most talked nearby.
She shook the thought away before it could grow too large.
Three months, she reminded herself. They were still in the early days, still figuring each other out.
But as she watched Darcy throw back his head and laugh at something Georgiana had said, Elizabeth couldn’t help hoping that there would be more to come.
Tomorrow would bring the present exchange. But for now, surrounded by warmth and laughter and the comfortable sounds of a house settling into Christmas, Elizabeth felt something she hadn’t expected to find at Pemberley.
She felt like she belonged.