Elizabeth
We were still onthe terrace—well, our bodies were, but I was fairly certain my heart was in the clouds—when I heard a faint giggle, then the unmistakable click of heels on stone.
Oh, no.
I pulled back from Darcy just as Jane appeared with Bingley, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene. Bingley, bless his heart, just blinked at us, looking somewhat bewildered. Darcy, in a rare display of composure, barely cleared his throat and nodded to our spectators.
“Oh, Jane! Mr. Bingley!” I started, scrambling to summon my usual aplomb. “You know, they really should post a guard at the mistletoe. It’s become an utter menace tonight, throwing people into all sorts of, er, compromising positions.”
Jane’s lips pressed together, her eyes dancing as she held back laughter. “Is that so?” She tilted her head at me, clearly amused.
Darcy stepped in smoothly, offering a gracious nod to Bingley. “Entirely innocent, I assure you, Bingley. Just the… mistletoe’s doing.”
Bingley squinted, looking around the terrace as if expecting the elusive sprig to pop out from somewhere. “Really?” he asked, puzzled, scanning the empty air. “I don’t see any. You are claiming it was here a moment ago?”
“Oh, without a doubt,” I said. “A fleeting thing, mistletoe, like good intentions.”
Bingley nodded as if that explained everything, but he was looking at Darcy strangely. “Are you sure everything’s all right with you tonight, Darcy? You’re… a little unsettled again.”
Darcy chuckled, finally letting the faintest hint of mischief show. “I can assure you, Bingley, there’s nothing to worry about. You could say I’ve been... persuaded to embrace the spirit of the evening.”
“Youbothappear to be in fine spirits,” Jane murmured, trying to keep a straight face.
We all laughed, and, eager to escape further scrutiny, Darcy and I followed them back inside, arm in arm. The warmth of the ballroom enveloped us, along with the din of laughter, music, and an ongoing ripple of excited chatter. People were too wrapped up in their own merriment to notice us returning, which was a relief, though I noted that a certain soldier was conspicuously absent.
It wasn’t until I heard Lady Lucas murmuring that I knew why.
“Yes, yes! Lydia Bennet, of all people, went to fetch Wickham for a reel, but he was bolting right out of the room like the devil himself was after him! Haven’t seen him since.”
“Oh dear,” I whispered to Darcy, catching his eye. “So much for his threats.”
Darcy smirked, his brow lifting as he watched the guests swirling about the ballroom. “It appears Wickham had his fill of theatrics for the night.”
Just then, a roar of laughter erupted from the other side of the room. One of the officers, a Lieutenant Saunders, was valiantly trying to lead his partner in the dance, but his feet were simply not cooperating. His movements were jerky, his steps misaligned, as though someone—or something—was tugging at him from every direction.
“I say, Saunders!” someone shouted, holding back laughter. “Steady on, man!”
But Saunders could do nothing to steady himself; instead, he found himself spun in an unexpected twirl, his feet tripping over one another until he spun right out of his partner’s grip and collided headlong with a waiter, knocking the poor man’s tray of wine glasses to the floor. A crescendo of gasps and laughter rose up as Saunders struggled to regain his footing, his face a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.
Darcy pressed a hand over his mouth, but I could see his shoulders shaking. “Ewan does have a sense of theatre, I’ll give him that.”
“And a healthy dislike for redcoats. Oh, look,” I whispered, nudging him as I saw a matronly woman turn to her astonished husband. She was muttering furiously, clutching at her collar as her brooch flew open and dangled, spinning like a pendulum.
“What on earth?” she cried, grasping at it as though it had a life of its own. “Harold, I told you these pin clasps were useless!”
Her husband stared, speechless, while the brooch snapped itself shut just as suddenly as it had opened, leaving her gasping as though the thing had simply come to life.
But not all the chaos was of Ewan McLean’s making. After all, Lydia and Kitty were in the room, as well. I sighed as Lydia stole one officer’s sword and twirled it about with a flourish. Fromacross the room, it looked as if she were challenging the poor fellow to a duel. I could only pray that Mr. Darcy was looking the other way… but he wasn’t.
He pressed his lips into a thin line, and for a moment, I feared he was about to disengage my arm from his, and that would be that. But instead, he leaned close to my ear. “Come, let us find some refreshment. You look as though you could use it.”
I smiled gratefully and let him lead me away. I think I would have let him lead me anywhere.
The ballroom thrummed with elegance, a swirl of silk and laughter as guests danced, chatted, and basked in the warmth of Netherfield’s candlelit splendor. Jane and Mr. Bingley were swept up in a waltz nearby, absorbed in their own world, a sweet image of holiday cheer that could have graced any winter portrait. I watched them, my heart a little fuller at Jane’s happiness.
But then, across the room, a young redcoat officer executed a smooth turn—only to stumble wildly forward as if someone had shoved him. His face flushed as he just barely missed colliding with a lady’s chair, grinning sheepishly at his partner, who only laughed and brushed it off. But I could have sworn I’d seen the fabric tug at the back of his coat.
Darcy, standing beside me, shook his head, his own restraint slipping into something that might almost have been called a smile. “Ewan, it seems, hasn’t exhausted his tricks.”
