Chapter Thirteen #2
“Homemade things are very touching,” Caroline allowed. “But they rarely survive beyond a season. There is something to be said for quality. For things that last.”
Elizabeth nudged Darcy’s foot under the table. If Caroline started extolling the eternal nature of diamonds, she was walking out. Darcy’s answering glance promised he’d be right behind her.
Richard, oblivious, announced, “I once gave a girl a Swiss Army knife. She cried. I suppose it wasn’t romantic enough.”
“Romance is overrated,” Malcolm said. “I gave a girlfriend a gym membership. Very sensible.”
“Are you still together?” Kitty asked.
Malcolm winced. “She married a dentist.”
“At least she’ll have good teeth,” Lydia said, which sent Charles into helpless laughter. Kitty joined in, then Lydia louder still, until Mary brought order with a gavel voice.
“Vacuum cleaner.”
The table hushed in horror.
“Oh no, that’s tragic,” Richard said.
“Not as tragic as the year Charles bought me a pasta-making machine,” Louisa added, with a toss of her hair. “I don’t even eat gluten.”
Charles looked stricken. Elizabeth, who had seen Louisa take two helpings of stuffing, almost said something, but instead shot Darcy a quick glance. His raised brows said Caught you, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
“A pasta maker is still better than socks,” Kitty argued.
“I once got socks that said ‘World’s Best Kisser,’” Lydia announced. “They didn’t even fit.”
“Who gave you those?” Kitty demanded.
“None of your business,” Lydia shot back.
Elizabeth leaned back, sipping her wine, letting the commotion wash over her until Lydia’s eyes lit again.
“Wait. Why do you two”—she pointed at Richard and Malcolm—“use your first names, but Darcy only uses his last? That’s weird.”
“Because Fitzwilliam is our surname.” Malcolm pointed to his brother and them to himself. “We’re Richard Fitzwilliam and Malcolm Fitzwilliam.”
Richard smirked. “And our dear cousin here”—he jerked his chin toward Darcy—“is Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Malcolm waggled his eyebrows. “Fitzwilliam’s his first name. He just doesn’t like people to know it.”
Darcy glared at his cousin. “Dead man.”
The table erupted.
Elizabeth stared. “Your first name is Fitzwilliam? Not William?”
“Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam!” Lydia crowed, counting each of them in turn. “That’s amazing.”
Darcy took a slow, deliberate sip of wine, as though waiting for divine intervention.
Richard grinned. “It wasn’t amazing at school. The masters would call for Fitzwilliam, and half the time all three of us answered. Which meant Darcy here suffered the same punishment we did without having had any of the fun of doing whatever it was that broke the rules.”
“He was tired of being scolded, so he announced that he’d never answer to Fitzwilliam again.”
“And he never has,” Richard finished.
“And now?” Mary inquired.
“Same reason,” Darcy answered.
“Well, I love it!” Lydia declared. “Fitzwilliam Darcy”—she waved her arms, nearly knocking the gravy into Kitty’s lap—“the brooding lord who gallops across the moors at midnight.”
“Watch it!” Kitty exclaimed. “I just bought this dress.”
But Lydia wasn’t done. “Fitzwilliam Darcy—the tragic viscount with a dark secret.”
“Actually, Malcolm’s the viscount,” Richard interjected.
Lydia just grinned. “Fitzwilliam Darcy—the broody hero on the cover of a book Mum won’t admit she reads.”
Kitty snorted. Mary smiled. Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh, and Jane joined her.
Darcy just sighed.
Richard rubbed his hands together. “Fitzwilliam Darcy—mild-mannered man by day, crime-fighting hedge fund vigilante by night.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Malcolm said, joining in, “new face of cologne ads where everyone rides horses for no reason.”
Charles, wheezing with laughter, gasped, “Fitzwilliam Darcy—Netflix’s hottest new limited series.” He slapped the table with his hand and fought to catch his breath. “Six episodes of glaring attractively out of windows.”
Darcy set his glass down with deliberate care. “Are you all quite finished?”
Caroline’s smile never wavered. “Well, I like the name. It’s traditional.”
Louisa nodded. “Classic.”
Elizabeth bit back a smile. The sisters seemed so certain they had reined the table in, yet their words only gilded the absurdity, like heavy frames around a cheap poster. Out of loyalty to Darcy, she resisted the temptation to add her own flourish.
“Ah yes,” Richard said. “Darcy—the name that needs no introduction. Like Cher.”
“Or Tesco,” Malcolm added.
Darcy’s long-suffering sigh drew fresh laughter from the table, but when his eyes met hers—steady, amused, just a shade reproving—the clamour blurred into nothing. In that instant, it was only them.
And then Waffles made his grand entrance. Again. The dog had an unerring sense of timing.
No one was sure how he’d escaped from the back room, where he’d been relegated with Athena, a selection of toys, and stern instructions to behave. But there he was, golden fur flying, making a beeline straight for the shiny Christmas crackers Jane had arranged as centrepieces.
“Waffles, no!” Elizabeth lunged for him, but she was trapped behind the table.
Pandemonium erupted. Waffles, delighted by the attention, placed his paws on the table, grabbed Lydia’s cracker, and began backing away, shaking his prize like he’d captured the world’s most dangerous prey.
When he managed to step on one end and pull on the other, the cracker exploded in a shower of tissue paper and scared him to pieces. He fled beneath the table.
Richard joined the chase, laughing helplessly as he tried to corner the golden retriever. “Come here, you absolute menace!”
Malcolm, meanwhile, protected the wine glasses while Lydia cheered Waffles on from the sidelines. “Go on, boy! Show them what you think of their posh dinner party!”
Charles had abandoned decorum and was crawling under the table in pursuit. Jane stood frozen, torn between laughter and horror.
It was Darcy who caught Waffles at last, scooping him up with calm authority. “That’s quite enough excitement for one evening."
Waffles, recognizing defeat, wriggled happily, wagged his tail, and licked Darcy’s face in what was clearly meant as an apology.
“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth began, but Jane waved her off.
“Don’t be silly. It’s Christmas. Waffles just wants to share it with us.”
“Yes, it’s so delightful one might forget how important proper training is,” Caroline murmured, dabbing at a spot of wine that had splashed onto her dress during the excitement.
“Brilliant,” Richard said, ignoring her and settling back into his chair with obvious enjoyment. “Haven’t seen entertainment like that since the Ashworth wedding.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks burning as order was gradually restored.
Just minutes ago, she had felt part of an unspoken joke shared only with Darcy.
Now her life was unfurled in full view, loud and uncontained, while Darcy’s cousins looked on with amusement and the Bingley sisters with thinly veiled disdain.
This collision of worlds was what she had feared.
The pudding course passed quietly, though Elizabeth remained hyperaware of every interaction, every glance, every subtle change in conversation.
The talk had turned to renovations and interiors, who’d managed to snag a listed townhouse in Marylebone with planning permission intact, which designers had waiting lists a year long, whether marble was “over” in kitchens.
Elizabeth had nothing to add; she was renting her flat and had never considered decorating it beyond tossing her favourite inexpensive art prints on the walls.
“Who did you use for your flat, Darcy?” Richard asked, leaning back with a glass of port in hand.
“Hadley & Co.,” Darcy replied easily. “They’ve done a number of projects for people I know. They pay excellent attention to detail.”
Louisa nodded. “Of course.
“They’re impossible to book now,” Caroline added.
Malcolm launched into a story about his own architect, Louisa contributed an anecdote about stone suppliers, and soon the table was trading names of upholsterers and lighting consultants as though they were football teams.
Darcy, she noticed, navigated it all with practiced ease, fluent in the language of curated spaces and architectural prestige. He belonged in that world.
She wasn’t sure she did.