Chapter Fifteen
“Well.” Caroline paused at the front door as Louisa retrieved their coats, “what a delightfully authentic Christmas experience.”
Elizabeth felt her jaw tighten, but Jane stepped forward with her usual grace. “Thank you both for coming. Drive safely and enjoy the remainder of the holiday.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will,” Caroline replied, adjusting her designer scarf with practiced precision.
“We’re attending the Ashworths’ winter soirée tomorrow evening—you know, the one at their estate in Gloucestershire?
Such a civilized affair. String quartet, proper champagne, no vigorous dinner entertainments.
” She glanced to the part of the room where Waffles had staged his Christmas cracker rebellion.
“How lovely for you,” Jane said. The words were were pleasant, even kind.
Elizabeth marvelled, not for the first time, at her eldest sister’s particular genius. Jane never set out to deliver cutting remarks—she genuinely wished people well and meant every polite word she spoke. But somehow, Caroline’s superiority simply dissolved against Jane’s serene good wishes.
Louisa returned, breaking up the moment. “Such colourful family traditions you have.” She handed Caroline her outerwear.
After Caroline donned her coat, she turned to Elizabeth with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You know, Elizabeth, it’s so refreshing to see Darcy embracing new experiences this year.
There’s something quite admirable about a man secure enough in himself to step outside his usual circle. I’m sure it’s been enriching for him.”
The words were complimentary, but Elizabeth felt the chill beneath them.
Caroline was again suggesting that Elizabeth was merely a novelty, an interesting detour from Darcy’s normal life that would inevitably run its course.
The implication hung in the air like expensive perfume: temporary, decorative, ultimately disposable.
“How generous of you to take such an interest in his personal growth,” Elizabeth replied.
“Oh, one can’t help but notice when dear friends are exploring,” Caroline's laugh was high and tight. “It’s all natural, even expected, of course.” Her gaze drifted back to Elizabeth, lingering a fraction too long on the cuff of Elizabeth’s jumper, the one Waffles had put a hole in, the one she’d had to wear because she’d got grease on the navy blue.
“Such a pretty shade of green.” Caroline's smile was polite, but the edge was unmistakable. “Though the best things are those with enduring worth. Excellence always endures, don’t you think?”
This was beyond enough. She might not be sure of Darcy’s intentions, but she wouldn’t allow Caroline to continue shooting verbal arrows at her. “Some things endure because they’re worth keeping.” She held Caroline’s gaze. “Some aren’t ever worth having in the first place.”
The moment the Range Rover disappeared down the drive, Elizabeth felt her shoulders drop several inches. She hadn’t realized quite how tense she’d been until the Bingley sisters were safely gone, taking their pointed observations about “authentic experiences” with them.
“Finally,” Lydia announced, launching herself backward onto the sofa with all the grace of a felled tree. “Can we please discuss what the actual bloody hell just happened at that dinner table? And I don’t mean Waffles.”
“Language, Lydia.” Mary arranged herself cross-legged on the Persian rug with a notebook, three pens, and the focused expression of someone preparing for academic warfare.
“Oh, sorry. Can we please discuss what the actual bloody heck just happened?” Lydia’s grin was unrepentant. “Better?”
“Marginally,” Mary replied, scribbling notes.
“Are you seriously taking research notes on our family dinner?” Kitty looked up from her phone where she was undoubtedly applying seventeen different filters to her dinner photos.
“I’m documenting the evening’s social dynamics for potential future analysis—”
“She’s taking research notes,” Elizabeth and Lydia said in unison.
“I am not—” Mary began.
“Mary,” Jane appeared with a tray of wine glasses that had been pre-poured to dangerous levels, “what’s the first thing you wrote down?”
Mary glanced at her notebook. “‘Caroline Bingley: textbook example of passive-aggressive social dominance behaviours.’”
“Research notes,” the other three confirmed again. Kitty just laughed and took a picture.
“Fine,” Mary huffed. “But my notes are more insightful than your collective observations.”
“Challenge accepted,” Lydia announced, sprawling dramatically across the sofa. “Caroline Bingley: living proof that passive-aggression is a competitive sport. Discuss.”
“Ooh, I’ve got one.” Kitty abandoned her phone. “Caroline Bingley: like a group chat notification you never wanted.”
Elizabeth accepted her wine. “Caroline Bingley: living proof that money can’t buy self-awareness.”
“Caroline Bingley,” Jane said, settling onto the sofa, “someone who mistakes cruelty for cleverness.”
They all turned to stare at Jane.
“What?” she asked. “I can be cutting when the situation warrants it.”
“No, you can’t,” Lydia said. She looked around at the rest of them. “She can’t.”
“I do have some training, you know,” Jane said with a touch of amusement. “I was only being—”
“You were being ruthless, for you,” Elizabeth replied. “I’m simultaneously proud and terrified.”
“Can we focus, please?” Mary interrupted, waving her pen like a conductor’s baton. “We have more pressing matters than my notes on Caroline Bingley’s psychological profile.”
“Such as?” Elizabeth suspected she knew where this was heading.
“Such as the fact that you’ve been staring into the distance all evening like you’re mentally rehearsing a murder.” Lydia's expression was insufferably smug.
“I’m thinking about my book. I’m still stuck.”
“I call fib,” Kitty confirmed. “It’s not the same look you get when you’re plotting the perfect crime.”
“She’s right,” Mary added. “It wasn’t your writing face.”
Elizabeth looked around at her sisters, feeling ganged up on. “I was thinking.”
“About?” Jane prompted.
“Relationship things,” Elizabeth admitted.
The response was immediate and overwhelming.
“YES!” Lydia shouted, throwing her arms in the air.
“I KNEW IT!” Kitty shrieked, popping up to perform a little victory dance that involved far too much hip movement.
“Mary owes me a tenner,” Lydia said. “Pay up.”
“Fascinating.” Mary scribbled something down furiously but did not produce the money. “The delayed onset of relationship anxiety following major milestone events—”
“Mary, put the bloody pen down,” Elizabeth said.
Mary clutched her notebook protectively. “But this is important data—”
“It’s my relationship, not your dissertation,” Elizabeth protested.
“Can’t it be both?” Mary asked.
“No!” everyone else said at once.
“Fine,” Mary grumbled, setting her pen aside with obvious reluctance. “But I’m mentally cataloguing everything.”
“Of course you are,” Elizabeth sighed. “As you’ve all decided to stage an intervention—”
“We haven’t staged anything,” Jane protested. “We’re just available for consultation.”
“With wine,” Lydia added, topping up everyone’s glasses.
“And moral support,” Kitty added.
“And empirical analysis,” Mary added, then caught their glares. “I mean, sisterly advice. Regular, non-academic sisterly advice.”
Elizabeth settled cross-legged on the rug, wine glass cradled in both hands. “All right. I may have been thinking about Christmas presents.”
“The present exchange?” Jane asked.
“Among other things.” Elizabeth took a fortifying sip. “None of this bothered me at first, but the farther on we get, the more every tiny thing feels like it has edges. I’ve been wondering if Darcy and I show affection in fundamentally different ways.”
The room went suddenly, suspiciously quiet.
“How different?” Kitty asked.
Lydia chimed in. “Like ‘he prefers tea, you prefer coffee’ different, or ‘he thinks romance is a waste of time’ different?”
Elizabeth winced. “I don’t know.”
“Explain,” Mary commanded, then caught herself. “Please explain. In your own words. For sisterly purposes only.”
“Right. Well, you all know I spent three weeks learning to knit so I could make him a scarf.”
Kitty nodded. “The blue-grey one that looks like it was attacked by a drunken octopus?”
“That’s the one.”
Jane shook her head at their younger sisters. “I’m sure he appreciated the effort.”
“It looks like you knitted it with your feet,” Lydia added, and then realised Jane was glaring at her. “But in a loving way.”
“The point is,” Elizabeth continued, shooting Lydia a look, “I made him something personal.”
“Very romantic.” Mary nodded with approval. “Historically, handmade presents have been associated with—”
“Mary,” Elizabeth warned.
“Sorry. Continue.”
“And what did Prince Charming give you?” Lydia settled in with obvious anticipation.
Elizabeth took a long gulp of wine. “Headphones.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Then—
“I’m sorry.” Kitty tugged cocked her head. “Did you say headphones?”
“Noise-cancelling headphones,” Elizabeth confirmed.
“Like for your ears?” Lydia inquired, as though perhaps Elizabeth had misspoken and meant something different.
“For my ears.”
“To block out sound,” Mary added, her academic instincts overriding her promise to remain non-analytical.
“To block out sound.”
Jane set down her wine glass. “Oh, Lizzy.”
“Top of the range,” Elizabeth continued. “Extensively researched. Perfect for solving my concentration problems.”
“Your concentration problems,” Lydia repeated.
“Which are caused by my noisy flat.”
Kitty blinked. “Your noisy flat that we’ve all been to and which is basically library-quiet except for the occasional ambulance?”
Elizabeth paused. “Well, I may have mentioned the upstairs neighbours once or twice, and there are buses, and also there’s been road construction, so I had to go the library to work. And Waffles, of course.”