Malcolm winced. “She married a dentist.”
“At least she’ll have good teeth,” Lydia said, which sent Charles into helpless laughter. Kitty joined in, then Lydia louder still, until Mary brought order with a gavel voice.
“Vacuum cleaner.”
The table hushed in horror.
“Oh no, that’s tragic,” Richard said.
“Not as tragic as the year Charles bought me a pasta-making machine,” Louisa added, with a toss of her hair. “I don’t even eat gluten.”
Charles looked stricken. Elizabeth, who had seen Louisa take two helpings of stuffing, almost said something, but instead shot Darcy a quickglance. His raised brows saidCaught you,and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
“A pasta maker is still better than socks,” Kitty argued.
“I once got socks that said ‘World’s Best Kisser,’” Lydia announced. “They didn’t even fit.”
“Who gave you those?” Kitty demanded.
“None of your business,” Lydia shot back.
Elizabeth leaned back, sipping her wine, letting the commotion wash over her until Lydia’s eyes lit again.
“Wait. Why do you two”—she pointed at Richard and Malcolm—“use your first names, but Darcy only uses his last? That’s weird.”
“Because Fitzwilliam is our surname.” Malcolm pointed to his brother and them to himself. “We’re Richard Fitzwilliam and Malcolm Fitzwilliam.”
Richard smirked. “And our dear cousin here”—he jerked his chin toward Darcy—“is Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Malcolm waggled his eyebrows. “Fitzwilliam’s his first name. He just doesn’t like people to know it.”
Darcy glared at his cousin. “Dead man.”
The table erupted.
Elizabeth stared. “Your first name isFitzwilliam? Not William?”
“Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam!” Lydia crowed, counting each of them in turn. “That’s amazing.”
Darcy took a slow, deliberate sip of wine, as though waiting for divine intervention.
Richard grinned. “It wasn’t amazing at school. The masters would call for Fitzwilliam, and half the time all three of us answered. Which meant Darcy here suffered the same punishment we did without having had any of the fun of doing whatever it was that broke the rules.”
“He was tired of being scolded, so he announced that he’d never answer to Fitzwilliam again.”
“And henever has,” Richard finished.
“And now?” Mary inquired.
“Same reason,” Darcy answered.
“Well, I love it!” Lydia declared. “Fitzwilliam Darcy”—she waved her arms, nearly knocking the gravy into Kitty’s lap—“the brooding lord who gallops across the moors at midnight.”
“Watch it!” Kitty exclaimed. “I just bought this dress.”
But Lydia wasn’t done. “Fitzwilliam Darcy—the tragic viscount with a dark secret.”
“Actually, Malcolm’s the viscount,” Richard interjected.
