“It matters to me,” he replied without hesitation.
Elizabeth felt her breath hitch. There was no artifice in his words, no attempt to flatter. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, and though she managed to keep her composure, her spoon trembled slightly as she set it back in her bowl.
Her father snorted quietly, though he said nothing. Elizabeth, catching his glance, narrowed her eyes slightly before turning back to Darcy. “I think it is an admirable idea, though it is rather ambitious. Perhaps too ambitious?”
Sir Thomas, who had thus far remained silent, cleared his throat. “The success of such a party would depend greatly on its execution. I must confess, I have not hosted anything of this scale before. It is fortunate that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy seem to have given the matter so much thought.”
“They have, have they?” Mr. Bennet interjected, his tone as dry as tinder. “It is almost as though this plan had been contrived well before this dinner conversation. Though I wonder if I might suspect there has been sleight of hand occurring long before tonight?”
Elizabeth froze, her glass halting halfway to her lips. She glanced quickly at her father, only to find him looking directly at her, one brow arched in faint amusement. Her stomach dropped.
Bingley, oblivious, forged ahead. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, I assure you, it is all in the spirit of the season. Nothing underhanded, I promise.”
Her father’s gaze shifted to Bingley, his smile deepening. “I do not doubt that, Mr. Bingley. But I am becoming increasingly aware thatsomeindividuals”—he chanced a glance at Mr. Darcy, then looked pointedly at Elizabeth— “are more adept at orchestrating events than they let on.”
Elizabeth felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She cast a sharp glance at Jane, who was studiously avoiding her gaze by inspecting her plate with great interest. Of course, her father had seen the glances she traded with Mr. Darcy, and he was just obstinate enough to misread her role in this. He probably blamed her, as though she were the one pulling all the strings!
Darcy’s eyes flicked toward her, and there was something faintly amused about the way his gaze lingered. Elizabeth forced herself to pick up her spoon, pretending to focus on her meal, though her mind churned with indignation—and perhaps a trace of mortification.
Across the table, her father lifted his glass, a glint of humor in his eyes as he addressed the gentlemen. “Well, then. A Christmas party, you say? If nothing else, I am sure it shall be an event to remember.”
Darcy had scarcely takenhis seat in the drawing room when the door opened, and the footman with the missing hand stepped inside. He inclined his head respectfully, though his expression was tight.
“Sir Thomas,” he began, “Mr. Bennet’s coachman has asked me to deliver a concern. The snow is falling harder now, and he fears the roads will soon be impassable.”
Everyone paused. The light conversation they had carried over from the dining room dissolved into silence as all eyes turned toward Sir Thomas.
Darcy rose from his chair almost instinctively, glancing toward the tall windows. The snow that had begun so softly earlier was now swirling heavily against the panes. “It may already be too dangerous,” he said.
Miss Elizabeth stood as well, her face set in that familiar blend of determination and practicality. “Surely it is not so dire yet? If we left at once—”
“Let us have a look,” Sir Thomas said, motioning for everyone to follow.
Darcy was at Miss Elizabeth’s side as they moved toward the front door. Close enough to feel the gentle sway of her skirts brushing against his leg, close enough to catch the faint scent of vanilla and cloves that seemed to linger around her. It was entirely distracting—and entirely unfair.
The footman held the door open for them, and a gust of icy air swept inside. Miss Elizabeth wrapped her shawl tighter around herself as Darcy stepped forward, standing just a little ahead of her to shield her from the worst of the wind. He looked out into the darkness, where the snow fell in thick, relentless sheets, blanketing the ground faster than he would have thought possible.
“Well, that settles it,” Mr. Bennet said behind him. “I shall have to take up permanent lodgings here until the thaw.”
Sir Thomas smiled faintly, though he looked far from amused. “I am, of course, prepared to offer you shelter for the night. However…” His gaze flicked toward Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, his face growing serious. “There is something you must consider, Mr. Bennet.”
Miss Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean?”
Sir Thomas hesitated. “Staying here overnight… may not be without consequence.”
Miss Elizabeth stiffened. “You mean… because of the rumors?”
“I am afraid so. I would not have you or Miss Bennet unaware of the potential harm to your reputations. I have been called many things in this neighborhood, as you well know. If word spreads that you spent the night here, even with your father as a chaperone, I cannot guarantee the damage will not be lasting.”
Miss Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Miss Bennet, whose pale face betrayed a flicker of unease. But their father seemed unbothered, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips.
“Well, if it means surviving the night, I think we shall just have to take our chances. Snowstorms, I believe, care very little for reputations.”
Miss Elizabeth’s lips pushed into a pout so delicious, Darcy was suddenly overtaken with visions of kissing those plump lips. “Indeed, Papa. If we do not stay, it seems we may not survive to hear the town’s gossip anyway.”
Darcy glanced toward her. Her gallows humor in the face of such an unflattering prospect was admirable—and so distinctlyher.Yet beneath her words, he thought he caught the faintest thread of uncertainty. The idea of her being subjected to the harsh judgment of others stirred something protective deep within him.
Sir Thomas nodded, his expression heavy. “Very well. It is settled, then. Rooms shall be prepared for you and your daughters, Mr. Bennet.”
