I raised an eyebrow. “If anything, I think he’s just begun.”
No sooner had I spoken than the wine tray beside the refreshment table listed slightly, tipping a decanter over with a distinct splash. A few officers turned to find their boots newly christened with mulled wine, leaping back in surprise. In the same moment, a lady next to me suddenly found herself whirled into an elegant, unexpected twirl. Her partner’s hands had been nowhere near her waist, but she moved with the grace ofsomeone being led, giggling all the while. She staggered a bit as she tried to regain her bearings, clearly wondering who had taken her for that lovely turn.
And then it happened. A light gust stirred the air above the floor, catching our attention. Out of nowhere, a small sprig of mistletoe drifted down, hanging suspended in the middle of the ballroom. Guests gasped, looking up as another sprig appeared, then another, until mistletoe sprinkled down like confetti, dusting heads, shoulders, and the tops of coats with green and white.
“Oh, my,” Jane murmured from beside me, her eyes round with delight. “How magical!”
“Bingley!” called one guest, clapping him heartily on the back. “What a display! I might have known you’d surprise us with something so grand.”
Bingley’s polite, puzzled smile told me he had no idea what his guest was talking about, but he offered a gracious nod all the same. “Ah, yes, of course… glad you’re enjoying it,” he replied, casting a quick glance at Mr. Darcy with a raised eyebrow. He mouthed, “Did you plan this?”
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Not I, I assure you,” he whispered back.
“Marvelous!” another guest exclaimed, clinking glasses with Bingley. “Such a holiday spirit!”
“It’s beautiful, Charles,” Jane said softly, her cheeks aglow from the kiss Mr. Bingley had just bestowed on her cheek. Bingley’s expression wavered between bewilderment and gratitude as he returned her smile, clearly pleased despite his confusion.
Everywhere I looked, the guests had taken full advantage of the holiday greenery. Couples began pairing off beneath the mistletoe, laughter and stolen kisses spreading through the room like wildfire. A sprig drifted down near a pair of elderlyladies, who glanced at one another with a laugh before each placed a sisterly kiss on the other’s cheek.
One of the militia captains, noticing a sprig above him, reached gallantly for the hand of a nearby matron, bestowing an exaggerated kiss that had her blushing furiously. Her husband, across the room, took one look at the captain’s theatrics, chuckled, and pointed upward, indicating another sprig dangling over his own head. The captain’s face turned nearly as red as his uniform.
“Brilliant idea, Bingley!” someone shouted again, and the guests all erupted in applause, clinking their glasses in toast to their bewildered host.
A few seconds later, there was a stir at the punch bowl. I did not see how it began—I only heard a yelp and looked over just in time to see the ladle tipping unnaturally, sending a generous splash of punch directly into the open collar of a nearby lieutenant. The poor man squealed like a little girl, leaping back and fanning his dampened cravat while his friends roared with laughter.
“What in—who did that?” he sputtered, patting at the wet fabric with his handkerchief.
A chorus of laughter erupted from the other side of the room, where yet another young officer had nearly tripped over his own feet, staring down at his shoes with a look of deep confusion. Darcy sighed. “Ewan truly has an odd sense of humor.”
Just then, the violinists struck up a new, lively tune, prompting several guests to clap in rhythm. Two militia officers took this as a cue to join a spontaneous jig, much to the delight of the onlookers. But before they could fully commit, one of them stumbled forward, nearly colliding with his partner as they both burst into laughter, unable to keep their footing as something invisible tugged playfully at their sleeves.
“Bingley! You’ve outdone yourself!” one guest shouted with a laugh, taking the merriment in stride. “First the mistletoe, and now invisible jesters!”
Another sprig of mistletoe floated down, landing above a particularly stoic elderly gentleman. His companion—a lady who must have been seventy if she were a day—leaned in to peck his cheek with a mischievous grin. The poor man went beet red, coughing politely into his handkerchief.
Around us, guests took turns pretending to look around for the floating mistletoe, as if expecting it to land on them next. Meanwhile, I spotted Ewan at work again near the refreshments. A portly gentleman reached for his punch cup, only to find it empty with a mystified look, while his friend beside him discovered his drink vanishing before it reached his lips. They exchanged puzzled glances, muttering about mischief as they refilled their glasses yet again.
A loud cheer went up as another sprig of mistletoe drifted above Kitty and Lydia. And to my everlasting mortification, Lydia bowled Kitty over as she jumped in the air to catch the thing first… and then ran straight for Lieutenant Denny with the greenery clutched in her fist.
But at least hardly anyone was paying attention to Lydia by now. More floating mistletoe sprigs kept appearing, each descending slowly, gliding and drifting through the room as though carried by invisible hands. The guests looked up in awe, their faces lit with delight and curiosity. Mistletoe seemed to appear from thin air, and each new sprig brought its own flurry of surprised laughter and delighted chatter.
“Oh, it’s like magic!” a young woman nearby exclaimed, clasping her hands together.
At the far end of the room, I saw Colonel Forster glance up with a skeptical frown as a sprig of mistletoe drifted down toward him, seeming to hover just above his head. His partnerat the moment, one of his wife’s friends, as it happened, seized the opportunity, leaning forward to peck him on the cheek with a mischievous smile.
The colonel’s eyes widened, his cheeks going red as he stammered, “Madam! I... I wasn’t expecting—”
“Oh, don’t be so coy, Colonel!” she laughed, patting his arm, as he blinked, completely out of sorts.
I turned to Darcy, who was watching this unfold with unrestrained amusement. “I don’t know whether to applaud Ewan or to be horrified.”
“It appears he’s making full use of his freedom tonight,” Darcy replied. “A last hurrah, I suppose. I daresay it’s all rather harmless.”
“Oh, harmless indeed,” I agreed. “Unless, of course, you count Saunders’ shattered dignity and Colonel Forster’s complete mortification.”
Before Darcy could reply, we both turned as a towering display of fresh Christmas greenery near the window seemed to sway. One of the taller branches leaned forward slightly, before pulling back like it was caught in an invisible breeze. Just as a young lady and her mother were admiring the greenery, it bent forward again, as if in a bow, and tipped one of its sprigs directly between them.
“Oh, heavens!” the young lady squealed as the mistletoe dipped, nudging her cheek in a feather-light touch as if she’d just been kissed.
