Lydia just grinned. “Fitzwilliam Darcy—the broody hero on the cover of a book Mum won’t admit she reads.”
Kitty snorted. Mary smiled. Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh, and Jane joined her.
Darcy just sighed.
Richard rubbed his hands together. “Fitzwilliam Darcy—mild-mannered man by day, crime-fighting hedge fund vigilante by night.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Malcolm said, joining in, “new face of cologne ads where everyone rides horses for no reason.”
Charles, wheezing with laughter, gasped, “Fitzwilliam Darcy—Netflix’s hottest new limited series.” He slapped the table with his hand and fought to catch his breath. “Six episodes of glaring attractively out of windows.”
Darcy set his glass down with deliberate care. “Are you all quite finished?”
Caroline’s smile never wavered. “Well, I like the name. It’s traditional.”
Louisa nodded. “Classic.”
Elizabeth bit back a smile. The sisters seemed so certain they had reined the table in, yet their words only gilded the absurdity, like heavy frames around a cheap poster. Out of loyalty to Darcy, she resisted the temptation to add her own flourish.
“Ah yes,” Richard said. “Darcy—the name that needs no introduction. Like Cher.”
“Or Tesco,” Malcolm added.
Darcy’s long-suffering sigh drew fresh laughter from the table, but when his eyes met hers—steady, amused, just a shade reproving—the clamour blurred into nothing. In that instant, it was only them.
And then Waffles made his grand entrance. Again. The dog had an unerring sense of timing.
No one was sure how he’d escaped from the back room, where he’d been relegated with Athena, a selection of toys, and stern instructions to behave. But there he was, golden fur flying, making a beeline straight for the shiny Christmas crackers Jane had arranged as centrepieces.
“Waffles, no!” Elizabeth lunged for him, but she was trapped behind the table.
Pandemonium erupted. Waffles, delighted by the attention, placed his paws on the table, grabbed Lydia’s cracker, and began backing away, shaking his prize like he’d captured the world’s most dangerous prey. When he managed to step on one end and pull on the other, the cracker exploded in a shower of tissue paper and scared him to pieces. He fled beneath the table.
Richard joined the chase, laughing helplessly as he tried to corner the golden retriever. “Come here, you absolute menace!”
Malcolm, meanwhile, protected the wine glasses while Lydia cheered Waffles on from the sidelines. “Go on, boy! Show them what you think oftheir posh dinner party!”
Charles had abandoned decorum and was crawling under the table in pursuit. Jane stood frozen, torn between laughter and horror.
It was Darcy who caught Waffles at last, scooping him up with calm authority. “That’s quite enough excitement for one evening."
Waffles, recognizing defeat, wriggled happily, wagged his tail, and licked Darcy’s face in what was clearly meant as an apology.
“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth began, but Jane waved her off.
“Don’t be silly. It’s Christmas. Waffles just wants to share it with us.”
“Yes, it’s so delightful one might forget how important proper training is,” Caroline murmured, dabbing at a spot of wine that had splashed onto her dress during the excitement.
“Brilliant,” Richard said, ignoring her and settling back into his chair with obvious enjoyment. “Haven’t seen entertainment like that since the Ashworth wedding.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks burning as order was gradually restored. Just minutes ago, she had felt part of an unspoken joke shared only with Darcy. Now her life was unfurled in full view, loud and uncontained, while Darcy’s cousins looked on with amusement and the Bingley sisters with thinly veiled disdain. This collision of worlds was what she had feared.
The pudding course passed quietly, though Elizabeth remained hyperaware of every interaction, every glance, every subtle change in conversation. The talk had turned to renovations and interiors, who’d managed to snag a listed townhouse in Marylebone with planning permission intact, which designers had waiting lists a year long, whether marble was “over” in kitchens. Elizabeth had nothing to add; she was renting her flat and had never considered decorating it beyond tossing her favourite inexpensive art prints on the walls.
“Who did you use for your flat, Darcy?” Richard asked, leaning back with a glass of port in hand.
“Hadley & Co.,” Darcy replied easily. “They’ve done a number of projects for people I know. They pay excellent attention to detail.”
