Darcy glanced back toward the house, its elegant façade looking rather austere in the grey December light. “Quite different from yours, I suspect. Very proper. Very . . . organised.”
“Sounds a little lonely,” Elizabeth said, and something in her tone made him look at her closely.
She was watching him with that expression she sometimes wore, as though she was seeing something in him that he wasn’t sure he wanted seen. It wasn’t pity, but there was an understanding there that made him feel exposed.
“It wasn’t lonely,” though even as he said it, he wondered if that was true. “Just formal.”
“Hmm.”
That was a sound Elizabeth made when she had opinions she wasn’t sharing.
“Georgie’s been anticipating having you here with us. Christmas morning will certainly involve more of her activities.”
His sister was nearly twelve years younger, and her Christmas memories were quite different from his own. Though he remained close with his Fitzwilliam cousins, the holidays spent with his mother’s titled relations had ceased after her death, and both he and his father had been determined that Georgiana should never feel the absence. Creating new traditions for her had given them both something to focus on during those difficult years.
They sat in comfortable silence for several more minutes, watching Waffles’s continued investigations. Athena had decided the golden retriever was someone else’s responsibility and was sitting in a patch of winter sunlight.
They took the path that skirted the ha-ha and curved towards the dark yews. When he was twelve, his father had brought him out early on mornings like this. No fuss, coats fastened, a gloved hand light on his shoulder to turn him towards some small thing worth noticing. Once, just here, two hares had boxed in the pale light, comically ceremonious. His father’s laugh—never loud, always unguarded—seemed to live still in this corner of the grounds.
He told Elizabeth the hare story. She smiled as if he had handed her something worth keeping. Waffles pelted ahead, declaring every stick a triumph; Athena kept faithful pace at his side, as though she remembered the route with him.
Elizabeth’s scarf sat warm against his throat. He thought of the headphones tucked away, a neat promise of quiet for her small flat, and felt an uncomplicated steadiness about it all.
The house looked less austere from here, its long windows catching a wintry glint. After his father died, Pemberley had been orderly but echoing. With Elizabeth beside him, pointing out the feathering of frost on a leaf and asking about the folly as if the answer mattered, the place felt alittle lighter, sort of . . . shared. A memory, for once, that did not have to be shouldered alone.
Chapter Nine
Darcy and Elizabeth had dinner together, then waited for Georgiana’s return in the front parlour. Elizabeth found herself in a state of agitation, ostensibly helping Darcy while mentally rearranging her understanding of their relationship. Headphones were so . . . ambiguous. She’d wanted a signal that they were a “we,” not a tidy proof he’d heard her complaining.
“These are beautiful.” She touched a spray of holly that had been arranged in a crystal vase.
“Maggie—that is, Mrs. Reynolds has quite the touch with seasonal arrangements.” Darcy glanced over from where he was adjusting the sofa cushions. “Are you all right? You seem a little . . .”
“What?”
“Distracted.”
Elizabeth forced a bright smile. “Just hoping Waffles doesn’t disgrace himself further.”
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Waffles appeared in the doorway, somehow holding what appeared to be a tea towel in his mouth, which he dropped at Elizabeth’s feet with obvious pride.
“Where did you even find that?” Elizabeth asked him. “Pleasetell me you haven’t been in the kitchen.”
Waffles wagged his tail enthusiastically. Apparently, he considered this question a glowing review of his procurement skills.
“He’s developing quite the reputation among the staff.” Elizabeth caught something that might have been fondness in Darcy's voice. “Maggie is very fond of him. She mentioned he’d been ‘helping’ her earlier.”
Before Elizabeth could ask what help Waffles might have been providing, the sound of a car engine outside announced Georgiana’s arrival.
Waffles, who had dashed into the hall and begun quivering in rhythm with the engine, abandoned all pretence of civilised behaviour when Georgiana opened the front door. He threw himself onto his back and began wiggling across the marble floor like he was swimming the backstroke, all four legs flailing in the air as he worked his way toward Georgiana’s feet.
“My goodness.” Georgiana laughed, crouching down to give him the belly rub he was so desperately begging for. At the same time, he tried to lick her nose. “Aren’t you shameless?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, “he is.”
“You’re just gorgeous.” Georgiana successfully redirected his attention to her hands instead of her face. “Aren’t you, Waffles?” She straightened. “So charming. William told me otherwise.”
“I said he wasenergetic,” Darcy protested from behind them.
