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.
