Mrs. Bennet curtsied deeply, her face lighting with eagerness. “Oh, a pleasure, Colonel! No surprise, sir, at all, for Mr. Bingley informed us this very morning that you were expected. Oh, my heavens, howwellyou look in your regimentals! I always said it was patriotic—yes, yes,patrioticto think a man looks at least ten times handsomer in a red coat.”
Oh, good heavens. Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek as Kitty and Lydia practically spilled forward in unison, their wide eyes fixed on the Colonel. They were about to start drooling.
“Come in, come in!” Mrs. Bennet insisted. “The weather has been so wretched, and you must be chilled. We have a fire in the drawing room—and refreshments, of course.”
Mr. Bennet appeared in the hallway, his hand resting on the doorframe as his sharp gaze swept over the new arrival. “Ah, so this is the famous Colonel Fitzwilliam. Welcome, sir. I trust my wife has not overwhelmed you already.”
The colonel laughed, his voice rich and warm. “Not in the least, Mr. Bennet. Your hospitality is most appreciated.”
Darcy stepped forward then, his eyes flicking to Elizabeth for a fleeting moment before turning to address Mr. Bennet. “I trust we are not arriving too early?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Bennet replied. “Though I would suggest you pace yourselves—Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiasm knows no bounds.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet! You do tease me so.” Mrs. Bennet protested, though her indignation was clearly for show. She turned back to Colonel Fitzwilliam with a dazzling smile. “Please, you must tell us more about your regiment! My daughters have such a keen interest in all matters military.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled graciously, though he seemed to sense the trap. “Perhaps after dinner,” he said. “I find such tales are best accompanied by good wine.”
Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Mr. Darcy, who was studying the exchange with what looked like a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She tilted her head slightly, catching his eye just as he turned toward her.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “I trust you have been well since last we met?”
She curtsied lightly. “Quite well, thank you, Mr. Darcy. And you?”
“Perfectly, thank you.”
That seemed to be an intimate conversation for Mr. Darcy—at least, as intimate as he would permit in public. His eyes, though—she had learned a little of how to read them now, and there was a sort of sweetness there that she could swear had kindled only when he spoke to her. Perhaps Jane was right…
Before she could say more, Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands, ushering everyone toward the drawing room. “Come, gentlemen, come! There is tea waiting, and we cannot have you standing in the cold hallway like beggars.”
Elizabeth lingered a step behind the group, her thoughts catching briefly on Mr. Darcy’s expression. It had been so brief, but she could have sworn there was something unspoken in his gaze—something that lingered with her even as they entered the warmth of the drawing room for drinks before dinner.
Later, as they werecalled into the dining room, Elizabeth found herself next to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy, she noticed with a pang of sympathy, had escorted her mother to her seat and was now ensnared at the other end of the table. Mama was already chattering at him about goodness-knew-what, but he seemed to bear it all with polite endurance.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Colonel Fitzwilliam began, lifting his glass faintly in polite deference. “It must be quite a change, having my cousin and Mr. Bingley descend upon your corner of the world.”
Elizabeth glanced toward Mr. Darcy, who appeared entirely absorbed by her mother’s detailed account of Mary’s musical talents. A faint smile touched her lips. “Change is seldom unwelcome, Colonel, provided it is of a tolerable nature.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled. “And has it been tolerable, then? I admit, my cousin can be a difficult man to pin down in unfamiliar surroundings.”
“Oh, you do him too little credit. Mr. Darcy has been most obliging. Hosting a Christmas party for the entire neighborhood is no small undertaking. One might almost think him determined to charm all of Hertfordshire.”
“Charm?” Fitzwilliam said, raising a brow. “Now, that would be an unexpected endeavor for Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened. “Would it? You speak as though you doubt his ability.”
“Not his ability,” Fitzwilliam corrected with mock seriousness. “Only his inclination. My cousin is rather particular about the company he keeps.”
“Then I suppose we should all feel honored by his presence,” Elizabeth said lightly, though the glance she cast toward Darcy carried a hint of curiosity.
Fitzwilliam followed her gaze, his expression softening. “Honored, perhaps. But also assured. When Darcy sets his mind to something, you can be certain he will see it through.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “And what might he have set his mind to here, Colonel?”
Fitzwilliam paused, his fingers tracing the rim of his wineglass. “That,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “is a question best answered by observing him. Darcy’s actions often speak louder than his words, if one knows where to look.”
She regarded him for a moment, intrigued despite herself. Before she could respond, Fitzwilliam’s smile returned, disarming and warm. “But enough about Darcy. Tell me, Miss Elizabeth—what part do you play in this grand endeavor? From all I have heard, your family has been rather instrumental in its success thus far.”
Elizabeth hesitated, caught between amusement and uncertainty. “I would not say instrumental, Colonel. We have merely… lent our assistance where it seemed appropriate.”
