All conversation stopped. Elizabeth felt ten pairs of eyes turn toward her and wanted to disappear into her chair.
“Yes,” she managed. “Mysteries, mainly.”
“That’s brilliant,” Richard said with genuine interest. “Have I read anything of yours?”
“Likely not,” Elizabeth replied. “They’re quite commercial.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” The pride in Darcy's voice made Elizabeth’s heart pound despite her discomfort. “Elizabeth won the Brock’s Hall Award for her first book.”
“She was also a finalist for the Conan Doyle Prize for her third book and is listed for her fourth,” Jane added.
“I didn’t know you’d been nominated again.” Darcy turned to her. “Congratulations. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “It’s very early days. I didn’t even tell Jane, but she’s always trolling the Internet for things like that.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re very entertaining little books,” Caroline continued with a smile. “Perfect for airports and holiday reading and the like.”
“Well, yes,” Elizabeth agreed.Kill them with kindness. “Murder does travel well.”
Kitty beamed. “Fiona Quinn is thecleverestdetective. Lizzy, you should write one about how to prove who ate the last piece of Mum’s pie!” She took a picture of Lydia. “Never mind. Found her.”
Lydia posed for the photo and added brightly, “I love that Lizzy always comes up with such fun plots. A scarecrow stuffed with letters, the bell-ringing team ringing out a code. Mum wouldn’t let me even read them until I turned eighteen! I did anyway, of course.”
Mary frowned. “I do sometimes question whether the moral lessons are sound, though, Lizzy. In your third book the culprit went unpunished until the very last chapter.”
Elizabeth nodded once, mortified but not wanting to admit it. How had she become the subject of conversation?
But Jane, serene and steady, was there for the rescue. “Elizabeth writes novels,” she declared, her voice carrying. “Good novels. Prize-winning novels. And we’re very proud of her.”
The conversation moved on, but Elizabeth found herself acutely aware of every word she spoke, every gesture she made. When Lydia launched into a story about her university exploits that featured rather too much detail about drinking games, Elizabeth cringed. When Mary began expounding on the socioeconomic implications of Christmas present-giving, Elizabeth wanted to crawl under the table.
Caroline held court from her position beside Darcy, sprinkling the table with elegant references to art exhibitions, skiing holidays, and restaurants so exclusive they didn’t bother listing prices. She was perfectly charming, perfectly appropriate, and perfectly the sort of person Elizabeth longed to throttle. Darcy, across the table, caught her eye when Caroline mentioned “helicopter wine tours.” His lips twitched just enough to make her nearly inhale her water.
The conversation shifted to travel disasters, then the yearly battlefield of Christmas shopping. Caroline lifted one arm, bracelet flashing.
“Speaking of presents,” she said, “I do hope everyone was pleased with theirs. Mine was a bracelet from Cartier.”
It was Darcy’s turn to inhale sharply and then cough. She would have to ask him about that later.
Jane, ever the peacemaker, smiled as she cleared plates. “That’s beautiful. I adore the painting Charles bought me. He remembered that I liked it and went back to the gallery to see if it was still available. I love the painting, but even more, I love that he remembered.”
“It’s personal. Like Lizzy making a scarf for Darcy,” Kitty said. “Much nicer than socks. Socks are the laziest present.”
“Ilikesocks,” Elizabeth protested, glancing at Darcy, hoping he wouldn’t be offended on Georgiana’s behalf. His shoulders moved in the faintest shake, as if the words were vastly more amusing than she’d intended.
“I bet Lizzy’s next murderer uses knitting needles,” Lydia put in. “It’d be one hundred percent on brand.”
Elizabeth didn’t admit she had already begun an outline for that story.
“Homemade things are very touching,” Caroline allowed. “But they rarely survive beyond a season. There is something to be said for quality. For things that last.”
Elizabeth nudged Darcy’s foot under the table. If Caroline started extolling the eternal nature of diamonds, she was walking out. Darcy’s answering glance promised he’d be right behind her.
Richard, oblivious, announced, “I once gave a girl a Swiss Army knife. She cried. I suppose it wasn’t romantic enough.”
“Romance is overrated,” Malcolm said. “I gave a girlfriend a gym membership. Very sensible.”
“Are you still together?” Kitty asked.
