Darcy’s stony expression did not waver. “And what duty would that be?”
“Come, man! The mistletoe! Egad, I never thought I should have to spell it out for you.”
My jaw dropped as I realized Mr. Bingley’s intention. Surely he did not expectmeto… not with Mr. Darcy! It would be too mortifying! But worse still, if he refused. Oh, fie, there was no way to extricate ourselves from this without one of us being humiliated.
“As diverting as that sounds,” I spoke up, “I believe Charlotte is waiting for me to bring her some refreshment. I should not delay longer.”
“Nonsense!” Bingley waved his hand. “One kiss under the mistletoe will take but a second. Isn’t that right, Darcy?”
Darcy shifted his weight, clearly as perturbed by this scheme as I was. “Bingley, really—“ he began, but his “well-meaning” friend would have none of it.
“Come now, it’s tradition!” Bingley proclaimed. “Just a quick peck, and then you can be on your way.”
My cheeks flamed crimson. Mortification rooted me to the spot. Never had I wanted to disappear more than in that moment.
Darcy met my gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, he stepped backward, out from under the mistletoe’s influence. “Another time, perhaps.” His tone was clipped. “Miss Bennet looks unwell and desires to go to her friend. Come, Bingley, let us respect the lady’s privacy.”
He grasped Bingley’s arm firmly, steering him back toward the ballroom. And that was the last I saw of him all evening.
17
25 December
Christmasmorningdawnedbrightand cold as the Gardiner family gathered around a roaring fire, the children’s eyes alight with excitement. The cozy drawing room filled with laughter as each child received their treasured gift—a single, plump orange, lovingly nestled in delicate tissue paper. Jane and I also partook in this simple delight, the sweet scent of citrus mingling with the aroma of spiced cinnamon and cloves from the steaming cups of wassail held in our hands.
“I have always adored the peace of Christmas morning,” Aunt Gardiner remarked, her own cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire. “Even the simplest pleasures can bring such joy.”
“Indeed, Aunt,” I replied, peeling back the rind of my orange to reveal the juicy fruit within. “It is a lovely reminder that happiness lies in the smallest of moments.”
“Speaking of small moments,” said Jane in a soft voice, “how fares Charlotte this morning?”
“still asleep,” I sighed. “I wondered if last night would be too much for her, though she did sit quietly most of the evening. But I know she would not have missed it for anything.” Poor Charlotte, confined to her room on Christmas Day, when the rest of us were making merry.
“Oh, Lizzy, did you see that other gift beside the mantel?” Aunt Gardiner asked. “I thought you opened it already but I see it is still there.”
I set my cup aside. “For me? But I have already…”
“I believe it is from Longbourn. I do not know—it was here last night when we returned from the party. Samuel said a delivery boy brought it round, so I put it with the others.”
“How very interesting. Well, Jane, this would be for us to share, then.”
Jane shook her head. “You open it, Lizzy.”
I knelt by the fireplace and hefted the parcel, still wrapped in brown delivery paper and tied with white string. I needn’t guess at what it was—obviously a book! Papa had undertaken a lavish expense indeed, having this sent all the way from Longbourn when I would be home in less than a fortnight. Why would he have…?
My fingers broke the string and tore open the paper, and all the air left my lungs.
“What is it, Lizzy?” Jane asked.
“It’s… It’sChilde Harold. By Lord Byron.“ I swallowed.Mr. Darcy.
Jane stood to come peer over my shoulder at it. “Papa sent usthat?Whatever for?”
My hands smoothed over the embossed cover—the very one I had admired in Hatchards three weeks earlier. “I do not think Papa sent this,” I breathed.
My aunt set her wassail aside. “Of course he did. If anyone here in London asks, that came fromLongbourn.”
The firm note in her voice made me look round at her. “Excuse me?”
