Chapter Fourteen #2
The room fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence. The fire crackled, and somewhere in the distance, they could hear the women’s laughter.
“For what it’s worth,” Richard said, “she did knit you a scarf.”
“You’ve mentioned,” Darcy replied.
“I’m just saying, knitting takes time. Intention. It’s not something you do casually.”
Malcolm nodded. “Blunt instrument of devotion.”
Richard leaned forward, alert. “Hang on. What did you give her?”
Darcy felt the dread begin to coil in his stomach. “Headphones.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Headphones,” Malcolm repeated.
“They’re excellent headphones.” Even as he spoke the words it, Darcy hated how they sounded. “Noise-cancelling. Top of the range.”
“Noise-cancelling,” Richard repeated, a bit sceptical. “I thought you just said you might want her to stick around?”
Malcolm's tone was wry. “Well, it’s practical. Nothing says affection quite like the ability to block someone’s voice out.”
“They’re not for blocking people out,” Darcy protested. “They’re for her work. She mentioned her flat being noisy—”
“I see. She wrote you a poem, and you gave her a very nice dictionary,” Richard said.
“That’s not what it was,” Darcy protested.
“Both useful,” Malcolm explained, “but they don’t speak quite the same language.”
“Sorry, Darcy,” Bingley said. “I know I endorsed the headphones, but I think you may have advised me better than I did you.” He shrugged. “I knew she and Jane were talking about knitting, but I didn’t know it was so she could make something for you.”
He had been so careful, so determined not to presume anything. Elizabeth was always straightforward and honest about her feelings. She never hedged or hinted or played games. And what had he done? He’d bought her something safe and practical and devoid of sentiment.
“The thing is . . .” Charles paused before continuing. “A hand-knitted scarf says ‘I want to keep you warm.’ It says ‘I think about you when you’re not here.’”
“And headphones say ‘please enjoy this useful object,’” Malcolm finished.
Richard nodded, his expression solemn.
“I was losing my mind trying to think of something. What else could I have done?” Darcy asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“It’s not that hard. Tickets to something she’d mentioned wanting to see and making plans to go together. Or”—Richard paused—”something handmade would have been perfect. Turned the tables.”
Malcolm snorted. “Can you imagine Darcy attempting handicrafts? The man can hardly manage to tie his own shoelaces.”
“Origami,” Richard tossed up his hands. “He could have folded her a bloody squadron of paper airplanes. At least that would have shown some tactical planning and precision. Could have made a whole group, tested the aerodynamics, written her a mission briefing . . .”
Darcy thought about Elizabeth lining up a squadron of origami planes. She’d have had seven plot ideas from it in an instant.
He felt the click. She’d put herself into that scarf. She’d probably been hoping he’d do the same. That was why she’d seemed off after the present exchange. He stifled a groan.
Charles watched him. “You were trying not to scare her.”
“Yes,” Darcy said.
“And in the process,” Richard said, not unkindly, “you might have suggested you prefer her quiet to her present.”
The words landed.
“Right,” Darcy set down his glass and glanced around. “You two are enjoying this far too much.”
“We’re enjoying it exactly the right amount,” Malcolm assured him, then exchanged a look with Richard that Darcy caught, a wordless communication that presaged an outburst.
He counted down. Three, two, one . . .
“Darcy!” Richard exclaimed, setting down his glass with a thunk. “You’re not just serious, you’re—”
“Properly serious,” Malcolm interrupted, studying Darcy’s face with newfound attention. “Not just ‘seeing where it goes’ serious. You’re thinking about the whole bloody thing. Meeting the parents, joint Christmas mornings, shared bank accounts, the works.”
Darcy found himself nodding before he could stop himself. “I suppose I am.”
“He met Elizabeth’s parents last week,” Charles added. “And they spent Christmas Eve at Pemberley with Georgiana.”
Richard whistled low.
After a pause, Malcolm lifted his glass. “Better you than me, cousin.”
“Much better you,” Richard agreed with feeling. “But if you’re determined to surrender your freedom, you’ll have to do it properly.”
Charles looked between them, confused. “You already gave him relationship advice.”
“That was bachelor advice,” Malcolm explained. “Keep your options open, don’t rush into anything, maintain your independence. This”—he gestured at Darcy—“requires a different strategy.”
“This requires going all in.” Richard sat up, energized. “No half-measures, no playing it safe. If you’re going to give up the single life, might as well make sure she knows how gone you are.” He shook his head. “Poor sod.”
Malcolm nodded. “The headphones were a tactical error because they were cautious. Safe. If you want her to understand that you intend to keep her forever, you need to stop holding back.”
“‘Keep her forever’?” Darcy exclaimed. “She’s not an object.”
“Stop analysing it like a business proposition,” Richard added, ignoring the protest. “Start treating it like what it is.”
“Which is?” Darcy asked.
“The most important decision you’ll ever make,” Charles told him.
Richard raised his glass again. “To Darcy’s complete and utter capitulation. May it be spectacular and deeply embarrassing.”
“And may we never be foolish enough to follow his example,” Malcolm added with a grin.
Charles leaned back in his chair. “You know, it’s still Christmas . . .”
“A bit late to go the shops now, Charles,” Darcy said.
“You can still show her that you were thinking about more than her noisy flat.” Malcolm lifted his eyebrows expectantly.
Richard nodded. “You must have some way to show her you’d like her to have your babies.”
Malcolm gave Darcy a slow, pointed smile, and Richard tipped his glass in a mock toast.
“Yes,” Charles said. “Very romantic. Ignore them, Darcy. Just be honest, like she is with you. Tell her how you feel.”
Darcy looked around at his friend and cousins.
He had been playing it safe, holding back, waiting for a guarantee that didn’t exist. Elizabeth had been characteristically direct, giving him something made with her own hands, something that had taken time and thought and care.
And he had responded with excellent audio equipment.
“Right then.” He raised his glass. “To not playing it safe.”
“To not playing it safe,” the others echoed, and for once, the teasing was absent from their voices.
Outside, snow had started to fall. In the next room, Elizabeth was laughing at something Jane had told her. And Darcy found himself thinking that Bingley was right.
When you knew, you knew.