“William. He goes by Darcy.”
“Darcy? What kind of name is Darcy?”
“It’s his surname. He’s . . . it’s a public school thing.”
“Public school?” Mum’s voice fell into a lower register, something it did whenever they discussed something that reflected well on the family’s social standing. “What does he do for work?”
“He’s in finance. Investment management.”
“Oh.” A pause. “That sounds stable.”
Her mother was always worrying about Elizabeth’s writing career. Despite her making a good living, all Mum could see was that her income wasn’t steady.
“How did you meet him?”
“At Jane’s party last autumn. He’s a friend of Charles’s.”
Elizabeth could see her mother reassessing her entire opinion of Elizabeth’s life choices. A friend of Charles’s was conveniently vetted. A man in finance had prospects. A man who had attended public school might beable to support a family, unlike the string of creative types Elizabeth had dated in the past.
“So, when are you bringing him home?”
“I haven’t . . . we haven’t discussed . . .”
“Christmas is in three weeks, Elizabeth. If this man is serious about you, he should want to meet your family. And if he doesn’t want to meet your family, then he’snotserious about you, and you’re wasting your time.”
Elizabeth stared at the ceiling, feeling the familiar sensation of being outmanoeuvred by maternal logic. “It’s complicated, Mum.”
“What’s complicated about a family dinner? I’ll make the good roast. Your father will dust off his charming anecdotes. The girls will be on their best behaviour.”
Elizabeth tried to imagine Darcy sitting at the Bennet family table while Lydia flirted outrageously, Kitty giggled at everything, Mary delivered unwanted lectures on social etiquette, and her mother interrogated him about his intentions. Her father would spend the entire evening making dry observations designed to unsettle him, just for entertainment value.
“Mum, I don’t think—”
“Elizabeth Madeline Bennet, are you ashamed of your family?”
“Of course not.” She blew out a breath. It was impossible to put Mum off the scent once she had it.
“Then what’s the problem? Unless . . .” Mum’s voice took on a dangerous edge. “Unless he’s the one who’s ashamed. Is that it? Is this William person too good for us?”
“He’s not like that.” Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair, making it even messier than usual. “It’s just . . . we’re a lot, Mum, all of us together. We’re loud and messy and we interrupt each other and Lydia will ask him inappropriate questions about his income.”
“We are not loud,” her mother said with enough volume to be heard in the next county.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Mum.”
“Fine. We’reenthusiastic. But that’s what families are, darling. If this man can’t handle a little energetic affection, then perhaps he’s not the right man for you.”
“He can handle it. He’s just . . . he’s quite reserved. Quiet. He’s not used to families like ours.”
“What sort of familyishe used to?”
Elizabeth thought about what little Darcy had told her about his background. Old money, older traditions. A sister just out of university, parents who’d died young, a world of measured conversations and careful manners.
“Smaller ones."
“Well, then it’s time he learned how the other half lives. Besides, if you’re serious about him, we’ll have to meet him eventually. Do it while everyone’s in a good mood for Christmas.”
Elizabeth glanced at her phone, where the group chat was still pinging with increasingly ridiculous photos from Lydia’s night out.
