“Sound advice.” His smile went crooked. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?”
“I’ll meet you at yours,” she said.
“It’s a date.” He squeezed her hand once and let it go. “Shall we rescue Athena from her admirer before she applies for a non-molestation order?”
Waffles, catching his name, tripped over his own paws and face-planted in a drift of leaves. Elizabeth groaned. Darcy’s laugh—rare and unguarded—bloomedin the cold air.
“Right,” she said, heart tripping. “So. Sunday next. You, with my family.”
“And you,” he replied.
“And me,” she echoed, and tried not to grin like an idiot all the way home.
Chapter Four
Darcy stood at the tall windows of his flat, looking down at the drizzle-slicked street below. London in December was all muted greys and impatient traffic, but somewhere out there, Elizabeth was moving about her day, probably being dragged in seventeen different directions by that ridiculous retriever of hers. And he was meant to be planning the perfect Christmas with her.
He was working from home today as he did a few times a week when he had investor meetings in odd time zones. He ought to have been preparing for one of them. Instead, he was paralysed by the weight of the first significant choice he needed to make in regard to her. Elizabeth’s present.
“Good God,” he muttered. “I’m turning into Charles.”
A soft whuff from the corner reminded him he wasn’t alone. Athena lifted her head from her bed by the fireplace, regarding him with an expression of hauteur. Apparently, his pacing was disturbing her afternoon rest.
He sighed. “Don’t look at me like that. This is a reasonable concern.”
As if summoned by his moment of self-doubt, his phone buzzed. It was the concierge.
“Mr. Bingley to see you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Thank you. Send him up.”
A few minutes later, Charles breezed through the now-unlocked door.
“Darcy!” he called. “The most extraordinary thing—I’ve just seen Elizabeth walking that mad dog of hers, and I swear he was wearing a Christmas jumper. Red and green stripes. Bells on his collar. Ghastly.”
When they’d first started dating, Darcy had been delighted to learn that Elizabeth lived only a fifteen-minute walk away, in a historic flat near Vincent Square. She had a habit of taking impromptu breaks from her work if the words didn’t come or the plot was tangled, grabbing the dog’s lead and heading out. More likely she was on one of those impromptu walks now—otherwise she would have rung him and arranged to meet for coffee as she did quite often now.
“Waffles,” he said. “His name is Waffles.”
“Right, yes. Anyway,shelooked radiant. Probably something to do with Christmas. Jane says it’s Elizabeth’s favourite time of year.”
Excellent. No pressure, then.
Charles collapsed onto the sofa with his usual lack of ceremony, while Athena trotted over to him and put her enormous head in his lap. He gave her some attention before asking, “Speaking of which, how are your Christmas preparations coming along?”
Darcy cleared his throat. “I’m still exploring several options.”
“Ah.” Charles’s grin was insufferably knowing. “Still no ideas?”
The directness of the question was both irritating and liberating. Darcy found himself sinking into the opposite chair, exhausted by weeks of careful deliberation.
“I want to impress her but not overwhelm her. Elizabeth isn’t a woman who appreciates grand gestures just for the sake of them. She’s too sensible for that. Too grounded.”
“Right, so nothing too flashy. But impressive enough to show you’ve thought about it.”
“Precisely.” Darcy leaned forward, grateful to finally articulate the parameters of his dilemma. “Something that shows I understand her. Something useful, but not presumptuous. Something that shows care without suggesting . . .”
“That you’re madly in love with her after three months?”
