“Oh, quite right, as you should not,” Jane agreed. “But I am not without hope that you, too, will receive a Christmas gift, Lizzy, from someone who seems to care very much foryou.”
Twenty-Five
Darcy squared his shouldersand looked to the door as the sound of sleigh bells echoed through the crisp evening air, the latest guests arriving in a flurry of muffled laughter and swirling cloaks. He extended a hand to Sir William Lucas, whose rosy cheeks betrayed the chill outside.
“Welcome, sir, and Merry Christmas! Do, come warm yourself by the fire,” Darcy said with a slight nod, gesturing toward the warmth of the house.
Sir William nodded in return. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Quite the gathering you have here.”
“Indeed,” added Lady. Lucas, unbuttoning her cloak as she scanned the crowd with wide eyes. “Theentireneighborhood seems to be here. Even those who swore they would never set foot in Netherfield.”
Darcy allowed himself a faint smile. “That was the hope.”
He turned as Roberts escorted another group inside, their voices overlapping with the strains of a lively violin tune spilling from the ballroom. Darcy moved to greet them, shaking hands and exchanging polite words. Each new arrival brought a fresh wave of skepticism that gradually melted as the festive atmosphere worked its charm. The scent of spiced punch and roasting meats wafted through the air, and the warm glow of candlelight reflected in the polished floors and gleaming mirrors.
“Darcy,” Richard greeted, appearing at his side with a glass in hand. “I have never seen you in such a state. You are practically the spirit of the evening.”
Darcy glanced at him, arching a brow. “I would not go that far.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled. “Oh, come now. Look at you—shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, even smiling occasionally.”
Darcy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “If you have something to say, Fitzwilliam, say it.”
“I already have.” Fitzwilliam sipped his drink, his smirk widening. “You’re enjoying yourself.”
“Perhaps.” Darcy turned his gaze back to the crowd, his expression neutral, though a flicker of truth danced in his cousin’s words. This evening was not the usual tedious affair of London society. It was different. Purposeful.
His eyes tracked Watts, one of the men Sir Thomas had saved from a French gaol, who was holding court near the refreshment table. Watts’s deep voice carried over the hum of conversation as he shared stories of the trials Sir Thomas had endured for his men. The gentlemen around him were joining in with similar tales.
“You chose well in inviting them,” Fitzwilliam remarked, following Darcy’s gaze. “Watts, Pence, and Drummond, and I think I also spotted Michaels, Anderson, Williams… egad, is that Pierce and Tollman? Our entire rooming house from Paris seems to be here tonight! Solid men, the lot of them.”
“They were Sir Thomas’s men first,” Darcy replied. “It is only right they should be here to speak on his behalf.”
Fitzwilliam tilted his head. “And hereyouare, orchestrating the grand event as if it were your life’s calling. Are you sure you’re not seeking public office?”
Darcy gave him a sharp look. “I assure you, I am not.”
Fitzwilliam held up a hand in mock surrender. “Easy, Cousin. Only teasing.” He gestured toward the ballroom, where music swelled, and voices grew louder. “Though I must say, you’ve created something remarkable here. Even the matrons of Meryton seem to be reconsidering their initial reservations.”
Darcy followed his cousin’s gaze to the far side of the room. The older women of Meryton clustered together, their heads bent in conversation, their glances darting toward the women from Netherfield. They were split along clear lines, but Darcy noted a few tentative smiles and nods exchanged between the groups.
“It will take time,” Darcy said. “But the first steps are being taken.”
Fitzwilliam grinned. “First steps, indeed. Though you might find the second steps more challenging—especially with so many eyes watching.”
Darcy did not reply, his focus shifting to the door as Roberts admitted yet another group of guests. He straightened slightly, his pulse quickening as he scanned the arrivals. But the familiar figure he hoped to see was not among them. Of course, she was not.
“Still waiting for someone?” Fitzwilliam asked.
Waiting… No, he was not waiting. She knew all about this party. She could have come back if she had wanted… if she could find it in her to change her mind, to give him a chance…
But the rest of the Bennets were all here—Miss Catherine sitting by the fireplace, Miss Lydia already laughing by the punch bowl, and Miss Bennet was probably on Bingley’s arm somewhere. Elizabeth… was not here.
Darcy sighed and turned back to the crowd. “This is going well. But it is not enough yet,” he said quietly. He handed his glass to a passing footman and crossed the room.
The colonel followed. “What are you planning now?”
Darcy ignored him. Instead, he stopped near Mrs. Long and her niece. “Mrs. Long, how wonderful to see you this evening,” he said warmly.
