Miss Bingley mounted the steps of what had once been her home and knocked on the door. The butler opened it and then blocked the opening with his body. “Yes, Miss Bingley?”
“I would like to speak with my brother.”
“He is not here.”
“I will come in and wait for him,” she said, stepping forward.
The butler did not move, but looked uncomfortable. “I am sorry, Miss Bingley; my instructions are to not admit you into the house.”
“What?!” she demanded, though she had expected as much.
“I am sorry, Miss Bingley,” he repeated.
“When do you expect him, then?” she demanded.
“I could not say; he is not in London.”
Without another word, she turned and marched back down the steps. The hackney was still there, she was happy to see. She had no time to waste; she needed to go home and packa trunk immediately. Doubtless, her brother had returned to Netherfield.
Chapter Seventy-One
Christmas Day, 1811
The day dawned bright and cold. It had, magically, snowed during the night, producing that most desired of all holiday settings – a white Christmas – to please Meryton’s residents.
The Bennets understood that there would not be too much in the way of breakfast today, given that Cook and her assistant, Betty, had already been up for hours preparing the Christmas dinner. Toast, tea and fruit were available on the sideboard, and Cook had managed to salvage slices of ham from a previous dinner to accompany these meager offerings.
Lydia and Kitty chattered happily about the games they would play after dinner. “Snapdragon!” Lydia announced. “I love Snapdragon; I always win!”
“I do not think we will play Snapdragon tonight, Lydia,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I think our guests are rather too refined for such simple sport.”
“Not play Snapdragon? Impossible!” Lydia insisted. “Then I shall go to Maria’s house for dinner, for the Lucas family always plays Snapdragon!”
“As shall I!” the faithful Kitty added.
“No, you shall not. You shall remain here and behave yourselves!” her mother scolded them.
Mary opened her mouth, but her father forestalled her. “Mary, if you now plan to offer a lecture on filial piety, I beg you to save your breath.”
“No, I was going to say that I, too, enjoy Snapdragon!” Mary said, unexpectedly.
Her family stared at her. Finally, Mrs. Bennet said, “Very well, then. Snapdragon it shall be.”
***
Their guests arrived promptly, everyone dressed in festive clothing. Elizabeth could scarcely take her eyes away from Mr. Darcy; she had always thought him a handsome man, but dressed in his finery, she thought she had never even imagined a man could look so…well, delectable. She knew she was blushing and hoped not to be called to account for it.
Mr. Darcy, for his part, had hardly drawn breath since seeing Miss Elizabeth dressed in deep red with silver braiding about the sleeves and hem. He knew a little of ladies’ fashions – he had a sister, after all – and so knew the style of the dress to be two years out of date, but it suited her perfectly. How the colour brought out the red in her lips! – and he quickly turned his face, lest it betray the nature of his thoughts.
Mr. Fitzwilliam and Jane stared at one another to their heart’s content; as a betrothed couple, such behaviour was expected of them. Kitty and Lydia giggled at their expressions; this behaviour was also expected.
Mary was playing Christmas carols on the piano, softly, so as not to interfere with conversations.
Mr. and Mrs. Bingley sat closely together on a sofa. He was endlessly solicitous for her comfort. Was she warm enough? Might she need a shawl? Oh – too warm? Would she wish to trade seats with him, so that she might be a bit further from the fire?
Even the Hursts seemed affable on this special day, sitting near the Bingleys and conversing together.
Mrs. Bennet surveyed her guests with a smile on her face. Everyone was clearly predisposed to enjoy themselves; it would, she was certain, be a night to remember.
