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Chapter Twenty-Four

December 24, 1811 Longbourn Elizabeth

L ongbourn’s public rooms brimmed with guests. Mrs. Bennet had outdone herself in the matter of refreshments, dinner, and entertainment. The large parlor offered ample seating and a well-laden table of delectable confections and savories for the enjoyment of ladies and gentlemen alike. Mr. Bennet had the drawing room rug rolled up, and the furniture moved to make room for dancing, whilst the sitting room held card tables, a chessboard, and other games of quiet amusement.

The ladies had festooned Longbourn with garlands of greenery and brightly colored ribbons. Lydia helped Kitty fashion five kissing boughs, which now hung throughout the house in conspicuous, yet conveniently secluded, locations. The youngest Bennet had asked Jane where she most wished to kiss her betrothed, then promptly hung one in that very spot. Jane bore the teasing with good humor, unashamed in her anticipation of that particular Christmas custom.

Elizabeth had grown more pensive as the year’s end approached. Each passing day brought her nearer to meeting her grandmother and uncovering the remainder of her story. A nameless dread weighed upon her—an irrational yet persistent fear that the great lady might dismiss her without a second thought. For years, Elizabeth had wondered whether her family had abandoned her. The idea that such fear could be justified disturbed both her waking hours and her dreams.

But she put on a brave face. Her courage always rose with any attempt to intimidate her. Darcy’s presence helped. His quiet support steadied her and filled her with hope, for even if Lady Montrose should reject her, she would still have a future with her dearest Fitzwilliam.

Amongst the guests at Longbourn that evening were several officers of the militia. They frequently attended gatherings at other houses with young ladies to admire. Since the elder the Bennet sisters were now spoken for, the officers did not call often. Still, Mrs. Bennet felt compelled to invite them, and so scarlet once more adorned the rooms of her house.

“I never asked whether Mr. Wickham left the area,” she said to Darcy as she observed the men mingling amongst the other guests.

“He is gone. My man confirmed it the following day. I am sorry—I ought to have told you.” He patted her hand in reassurance. “It will be too soon if I ever lay eyes on that man again.”

“He has done you much harm. Anyone can see that.” She disliked Mr. Wickham on principle because he had wounded her betrothed.

“His sins are far greater than I can describe here. Suffice it to say, he has hurt me, and those closest to me, more often than I can forgive. My good opinion once lost is lost forever, and he had the distinction of losing my esteem long ago.” Darcy grimaced and shook his head. “Let us not speak of him now. I wish to enjoy the season without spoiling my stomach.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Very well. Tell me what your sister is doing for Christmas. Did she ever reply to your letter?”

“I have been a lax suitor! I did not even tell you when she answered my teasing note.” Darcy turned to her with pleading eyes. “Forgive me, my love?”

“Always. But now you must tell me what she said!”

He obliged. “Georgiana declared she would not wait for my return to town and threatened to take the post coach to Meryton herself if I did not tell her the news at once. Naturally, I replied I had met a lady—dark hair, handsome features, excellent walker… He paused, his eyes twinkling. She replied by asking whether I had stolen Miss Bingley from her betrothed.”

Elizabeth laughed again, delighted to learn that her future sister had a playful streak. “And is this banter still ongoing?”

“It is—and I am very grateful for it. She has not been herself since the summer.” The same dark look he sported whenever his thoughts included Mr. Wickham appeared, and she wondered, not for the first time, what the blackguard had done to wound Miss Darcy so deeply.

“Georgiana will spend Christmas with my aunt and uncle. They are in town. She writes forgiving my absence but insists I bring you to call at Matlock House when we arrive in town.”

“I shall be very pleased to meet Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth said with enthusiasm. “We are kindred spirits, I think.”

“How do you feel about gaining yet another sister?” Darcy asked. His gaze shifted to Mary, seated near a window, gazing out with a touch of longing, before turning to nod at Jane and Bingley. That couple had just slipped back into the room through a side door. Bingley’s rumpled cravat and a loose pin hanging behind Jane’s ear betrayed their activities.

Darcy leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I think I prefer Bingley’s ideas to cards.”

Her heart raced as she turned. Their faces were but inches apart. “Pray, excuse me… I must go assist Jane,” she murmured. “She will be quite embarrassed if anyone notices. Then, perhaps, we might go in search of…diversion.”

She cast him a saucy wink and slipped away, tugging Jane aside before she and Bingley reached the cluster of guests in the center of the room.

“You have a pin loose,” she said, tucking the offending object neatly back into place. “Now, in payment for my services, you must tell me where that kissing bough is.”

Jane flushed from her neckline to the tips of her ears. “Lydia hung it in the doorway at the back of the drawing room,” she whispered.

Ingenious. That particular doorway was partially obscured by a folding screen and led into a smaller room where the pianoforte stood. Thanking her sister with a squeeze to her hands, Elizabeth returned to Darcy’s side, took his hand, and began leading him along the edge of the room. They left the parlor through the same door Jane and Bingley had used moments before.

The hallway beyond felt pleasantly cool and was largely empty. A few guests stood conversing in lowered voices, punch glasses in hand. Darcy and Elizabeth passed them, nodding in greeting but not stopping to talk.

The adjoining parlor was less crowded, but they still kept to the perimeter, unwilling to be stopped. At last, they reached the screen—and slipped behind it together.

Smirking, she looked up into his eyes and whispered, “You are very tall. The screen will not hide you.” His ears flushed red, and the corners of her mouth twitched with satisfaction.

Slowly, he bent and captured her lips with his own. “Minx,” he murmured huskily as he drew back, though their lips were barely touching. She did not move as he reached up and plucked one white berry from the kissing bough. Glancing up, he grinned.

“There are still more berries. Tell me, is it permitted for a man to claim more than one kiss, and one berry, from a single bough?” The roguish glint in his eye made her insides flutter.

“If such a rule exists, I am unaware of it,” she replied, breathless

“Then I shall take this opportunity to kiss you again.” He did, gently at first, but with a fervency that made her heart race and her head spin. When he broke away, she could scarcely think, and he looked every bit undone.

“I can see now why Jane lost a hairpin,” she said with a warm breath of laughter. One of her own pins had come loose, and she reached up to secure it as Darcy claimed another berry.

“We had best return before your father comes looking.” His look of regret drew another laugh from her. She left first, mingling amongst the guests as she waited for Darcy to emerge. When he did, he joined her and the Gardiners.

“I understand you are to accompany Jane to London next week.” Mr. Gardiner’s knowing look told her that Papa had apprised him of the situation.

“Yes,” Elizabeth confirmed.

“I am certain you will find everything you need in town,” Mrs. Gardiner replied. “We are happy to have you, your parents, and your sister at Gracechurch Street.”

“Are you sure, Aunt? We would not wish to be an inconvenience.” Elizabeth bit her lip. The Gardiners lived modestly.

“We shall always have room for our loved ones, my dear.” Aunt Gardiner patted her hand soothingly.

“If it becomes too much, madam, I shall be pleased to host the Bennets at Darcy House.” Darcy offered courteously.

“Did we not refuse Bingley because he had no hostess?” Elizabeth asked, puzzled.

“We did, but we have arrived at a solution. It would not do to house Bingley’s betrothed beneath the same roof. Nor would it be proper for mine to stay at Darcy House. If need be, Miss Bennet and Mrs. Bennet can remain with me, and you and Mr. Bennet can stay at Bingley’s.”

“You think of everything, sir, do you not?” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled as she smiled.

“Be that as it may, sir,” Mr. Gardiner interjected, “my relations will stay at Gracechurch Street until matters are resolved. I have inquiries concerning Lady Montrose, Mr. Darcy. As it happens, her house stands three doors from yours. Should she agree to receive Elizabeth, I expect my sister and her family will descend upon Darcy House to be nearer to Lizzy.” His tone brooked no argument.

“As you like,” Darcy agreed. “It is a fine plan, and I shall abide by your wishes—and those of the Bennets.”

The party from Netherfield returned to Longbourn following church services the next day. Servants had laid out a generous repast of cold meats, fruit, bread, cheeses, and preserves. The cheerful group served themselves and took seats where they pleased, their conversation muted and companionable.

Later, Darcy and Elizabeth donned their outerwear and strode to the garden. “I have a gift for you,” he said quietly. “I should like you to wear this.” He withdrew a small blue box from his coat and opened it. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, lay a ring of gold, set with a striking blue gem. The band, delicately wrought, bore intricate flowers and curling vines on either side of the stone, which then merged into a braid that encircled it. “Such rings may no longer be fashionable, but seeing it on your finger will declare to all that you are taken, even if they do not know by whom.”

“It is lovely,” she breathed.

“It belonged to my mother, and now to you. We can have it reset if you prefer.” He pulled off her glove and slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.

“Never! It is perfect just as it is. I shall wear it always.”

“At least until I give you a wedding ring. And my grandmother’s. Oh, and my mother’s collection. Those were her favorite pieces.”

“Shall I be expected to change rings often?” she asked, bemused. “I thought one wore their wedding ring at all times.”

“As long as you have something on that finger declaring to all the world that you are mine, I care not which bauble it is.” He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss first to the ring, then to each of her fingertips. “Will your glove fit over it?” he asked.

“I suppose we shall find out.”

It did not, and after several failed attempts, Elizabeth finally gave up, tugging off her other glove and tucking both into the pocket of her pelisse.

“I have a gift for you as well.” She reached into her other pocket and stretched out her hand to him to reveal a small parcel. “It is not much; merely a few handkerchiefs.”

He unwrapped the package with care and lovingly ran his fingers over the embroidery. She had joined their initials together in an elegant design, encircled by roses and ivy—mirroring the motif of her brooch.

“You are very accomplished,” he said. “I shall carry one with me always.” He kissed her warmly, and they returned to the house.

“There you are!” Caroline appeared with hands planted firmly on her hips. “I have something to show Elizabeth. It arrived from London late last night. I had thought to wait until our return to town, but I simply could not resist!” She settled beside Elizabeth and held out a bundle wrapped in oilcloth.

Elizabeth accepted it, her curiosity piqued, and untied the twine securing the parcel. She peeled back the oilcloth to reveal a swathe of rich velvet within. Carefully, she unfolded the softer layer—and gasped. Reverently, her fingers traced the edge of a gilded frame.

“Is this…?” she whispered, lifting the miniature to examine it more closely.

“This is my godmother, Amelia Montrose. You can see now why I swooned when I first laid eyes on you. She gave it to me for my eighth birthday.”

Indeed, Elizabeth could see. The resemblance was striking, from the delicate curve of the nose to the dark curls. It was as though she were gazing upon a mirror of herself.

“No painter ever quite captured her eyes,” Caroline added with a tinge of wistfulness. “I am thankful God saw fit to preserve them in her daughter.”

Tears welled in Eliabeth’s eyes. “It is a gift beyond measure to see my mother’s likeness. Thank you, Caroline.”

“I have already arranged to commission a copy in London. When it is completed, the original shall be yours.” Caroline reached out and clasped Elizabeth’s arm with quiet affection.

“I shall be content with the copy if you would prefer to keep the original,” Elizabeth demurred.

“It is of no consequence. The same artist will paint the copy, so it will be as though I, too, have the original work.”

Elizabeth cradled the miniature with care. Caroline and Darcy sat without speaking, as she studied her mother’s visage. As she did, memories forced their way to the present, a sudden, sharp pain pierced her head. Struggling to catch a breath, she lowered the portrait to her lap and pressed her fingers to the scar at her temple.

“My love?” Darcy leaned forward, his concern evident. The warmth of his nearness touched her heart, and the pain eased. “Are you well?”

“It is nothing,” she said, attempting to reassure him. “At least, I believe it is nothing. Though there are times when my head hurts—usually without warning.”

“Do you need to retire?”

His concern was apparent, and he touched her arm as though to be certain she was well.

“Was it the portrait?” Caroline asked anxiously. “I am very sorry if it caused your upset.”

“No, no. You are both needlessly worried! I shall be quite well.”

The matter was allowed to rest, and Elizabeth endeavored to enjoy the rest of the evening. That night, she dreamed of her mother. Amelia Montrose rocked her gently, singing a soft lullaby until sleep enfolded her once more.