“Oh, talking to this person and that. I declare, I never saw so many people with so few interesting things to say.” As I settled next to her, I caught sight of a gentleman wearing an extravagantly feathered hat. “Look there, Charlotte,” I whispered, trying to hide my laughter. “He is a match for that pen Miss Darcy found for Miss Bingley. They must have similar tastes. Do you suppose we could introduce him to her? We could amuse ourselves by trying to trap them under the mistletoe together.”
Charlotte giggled. “You could not have thought of a more deserving lady to lavish your efforts on.”
“No? What about that one there, with the brooch larger than her head? Which gentleman should we try to ensnare her with?”
“Oh, I have already seen her indulging. Three times, in fact, and not once with her husband.”
“She is already married?” I cried in mock indignation. “Why, that is hardly sporting—pilfering berries while we single ladies must go without. There ought to be a rule against that.”
“Such rules are only made to be broken.” She laughed softly and squeezed my hand. “Thank you, Lizzy, for trying to cheer me up. And thank you for always being there, even when I do not quite know what I want.”
A little overwhelmed by the sudden depth of emotion, I shifted, trying to ease the heaviness. “Well, as proof of my dedication to our friendship, I’ve been studying our potential candidates for a mistletoe rendezvous,” I teased. “There was a young clergyman near the corner—looks rather lonely. Then there’s Mr. Graham, our navy officer. And let us not forget Sir Edward Huntley, who—“
“Please, Lizzy,” she whispered. “No more ‘prospects.’ I have had… quite enough.”
Something in her voice made me shiver. “Charlotte? Are you giving up? Do you not want… would you rather go home?”
Before Charlotte could reply, Mr. Van der Meer approached us with two glasses in his hand. “There you are, Miss Lucas. Might I offer you some punch? I’ve taken a break from dancing and thought to refresh myself.”
Charlotte looked momentarily startled by the offer. “Why, thank you, Mr. Van der Meer.”
He glanced at me and looked flustered. “Oh, Miss Elizabeth! I did not see you here a moment ago when I was fetching glasses. I apologize. Shall I—?”
“Not to worry,” I replied, eager for a moment to gather my thoughts. “I could use a stroll. Please, keep Charlotte company.” He might not be the one to let himself fall under the spell of Christmas romance, but he was kind, and Charlotte enjoyed talking to him. It might be the best we could hope for.
16
24 December
AsIwanderedawayfrom the pair, I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before I nearly stumbled into Mr. Darcy. He’d been standing with his back turned, but probably near enough to overhear our conversation. I stiffened as he turned around and forced an artificial smile that would have done the most preening London fortune hunter proud.
“Excuse me, sir. I did not mean to interrupt your… woolgathering. Or… whatever you are—“
“In point of fact, I was waiting for you.” He brushed his thumb and fingers together, almost nervously, and looked down. “I hoped I would have an opportunity to ask you a question, at least. If you do not mind.”
“Oh?” I hesitated, my eyes flitting about the room. “I suppose, but it is rather crowded here by the dance floor. Perhaps the fireplace?”
“I suspect we will be watched rather closely if we go there. And more so if we are seen walking out to the terrace again. The, ah…” He pointed at the mistletoe above the fireplace.
I nodded in understanding. “Of course.”
“But I believe the main hall is safe. If you will meet me there, I will bring you some wine.”
“Yes, thank you.” We parted, and I wandered a rather indirect path toward the open hallway that led to the front door. When I found myself alone there, I made a pretense of admiring the paintings and vases in the hall, until Mr. Darcy’s tall figure blackened the doorway.
I waited for him to come closer, and for once, let my gaze truly linger on him. Blast, but hewasa pleasure to look on. Drat the man. Every gentleman present was dressed impeccably tonight, but there was something in Mr. Darcy’s bearing… in his look… that made him stand apart from the rest.
Perhaps it was his hair—never quite so well tamed as it ought to have been. Or the measured, confident way he moved, or the tiny inflections of feeling that I had begun to notice in his expressions. And those eyes, dark as coal when they fixed on me, but kindled with a sort of fire that made me blush from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. Whatever it was, once I let myself look—trulylookat him—I could hardly tear my eyes away.
He handed me one of the glasses he carried and stood back, gripping the stem of his hapless wine glass until his knuckles whitened.
I took a sip, then studied him. “I know not what question you meant to ask me, but if I may, I will ask you one.”
“As you please.”
I drew a breath, and then I gambled. He might never speak to me after this, but something was nagging me, and I had to know. “Why did you permit me to believe Mr. Wickham’s lies about you?”
He blinked, his eyes flashing to mine in surprise before he quickly smothered that expression with a look of consternation. “What makes you so sure now that theywerelies?”
