He glanced up, only to find Miss Bennet’s eyes fixed on him, their warm glow mesmerising. He cleared his voice.
“I thank you for your wonderful gift. No words can do it justice. But… how did you know?”
“That you would find uses for a bookmark?” She laughed lightly. “It was a fair assumption, Mr Darcy.”
He smiled back.
“Indeed. But I meant to ask how did you know what Pemberley looks like in the spring.”
She gave an airy little shrug.
“No mystery. I asked Mrs Reynolds. She was most helpful in describing it to me.”
“I must agree with Georgiana. You have put a vast deal more time and thoughtful care in your gifts than we have in ours.”
“I must beg to differ,” she protested warmly. “They are the very essence of thoughtful kindness, Sir, and I deeply appreciate them both.”
“Oh. You have opened the other one already?”
He had not noticed, engrossed in his admiration of the exquisite bookmark, and now regretted his distraction. He would have liked to see her do so and catch her first reaction, but judging by the way she had just stroked the leather bindings of the book she probably did enjoy receiving it.
“I only wish the notion had come to me sooner, so that I could order a new copy from town. Unfortunately none could be found at Messrs Howe and Crompton’s. But I was hoping you would not be too averse to owning the very one that has given you comfort.”
Her voice was low and uneven when she answered.
“Quite the opposite, Sir. ‘Tis all the more treasured for it.”
“I am very glad to hear it. As Georgiana and I will treasure your exquisite gifts. And I hope that when spring comes you will be pleased to see for yourself the very scene you have so skilfully and faithfully depicted.”
“I thank you,” was all she said this time, and Georgiana grimaced.
“I daresay we would soon have to make our way below…”
Darcy smiled at her obvious reluctance.
“Do not be so downcast, sweetling. ‘Tis Christmas Day, a time to be jolly.”
“And so I would have been,” she replied with a delightful little pout, “if only there was just the three of us at Pemberley for Christmas.”
He could not argue with the sentiment. It would have pleased him too, a great deal better. He carefully folded the bookmark and placed it in his breast pocket, then glanced at his watch.
“Our guests will have started to come down for breakfast and we should set off to church in a couple of hours, so there is nothing for it, we must be convivial. Come, it will not be so very bad,” he smiled and stood to drop a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, sweetling,” he said, then turned to Miss Bennet.
She had already stood, and before she could gather her belongings from the table, he reached for her hand. She looked up in surprise and her countenance turned rosy. It was so frequent an occurrence these days, that sudden rush of colour to her cheeks whenever she was near, that he might have come to disregard it had she not looked so utterly charming when she blushed. His hand clasped hers and he carried her fingers to his lips. It occurred to him in passing that he had not kissed her hand before. Yet somehow today it seemed not only natural, but fitting.
“Merry Christmas, Miss Bennet.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr Darcy,” she whispered back, close enough for him to notice for the first time that there were specks of gold and amber in her dark brown eyes, before she cast them down and withdrew her hand.
She excused herself and left them promptly afterwards, declaring she would join them in the breakfast parlour in a little while.
Yet she did not, for quite some time. Not until most of the household and the guests had begun to assemble for the traditional walk to church. He could not imagine what had kept her, and none of his conjectures touched upon the truth.
And the truth was that as soon as she gained the privacy of her bedchamber Elizabeth leaned against the door and, eyes closed, pressed the back of her fingers to her lips, on the very spot where his lips had briefly rested. With a heavy sigh, she walked to gingerly place the folded dress upon the bed. She stroked Georgiana’s gift with a fleeting smile of gratitude for her kindness, but the book was kept clasped tightly to her chest as she walked to sit in the chair by the window. Eyes closed, she remained there for a great length of time – in the same spot where, night after sleepless night, she had embroidered her very heart and soul into scenes of Pemberley that would remain with him long after she was gone.
The coming spring might be her first and last in Derbyshire. Her one and only chance to see the beautiful house clad in the cheerful hues of reviving nature. But the bookmark would still caress his fingers, whenever or rather if ever he would use it.
He would. He liked it – had put it in his breast pocket. It was still there, even then. Even then, that fortunate little strip of embroidered fabric was warmed by his warmth, close to his heartbeat. Why had he put it in his breast pocket?
Another heavy sigh banished vain dreams and empty hopes, and her hold on the cherished book slackened. Very slowly – slowly and carefully, as though it were spun glass – she opened it in her lap. She went no further than the title page, inscribed in a large flowing script and then in ever smaller letters as Gulliver’s Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World. In Four Parts. By Lemuel Gulliver, First a Surgeon, and then a Captain of Several Ships.
There was no frontispiece, just a wide map of fanciful places spreading over the reverse of the front cover as well as the adjoining page. On its other side, where a frontispiece might have been, there was instead a bookplate with an elaborate design bearing the Darcy crest at its centre. Below, he had written in his firm hand, ‘To Miss E. B. Happy Christmas & happy memories. F. D.’
Her fingers trembled over the initials but not close enough to touch them, although the ink had long since dried. Instead, she stroked the blank margin underneath and, closing the volume, she pressed it to her lips.
That was what she would take with her when she left. A secreted handkerchief. A treasured gift. And memories. All blissfully happy. Unbearably so. Memories of an intangible perfection, that pierced her heart.
* * * *
The rest of Christmas Day was as busy as Darcy had anticipated. The church service was followed by the habitual pursuits, leading up to the lavish Christmas dinner served with all the pomp and circumstance of yesteryear, including the ancient tradition of the boar’s head.
Despite her reservations, Georgiana seemed to enjoy the evening in Lady Amelia and Miss Bennet’s company, and the latter was in the very best of looks in her new apparel, although perhaps not in the best of spirits.
As soon as the season’s madness concluded and they regained their former tranquillity, he would have to learn the cause of her discomfort, Darcy determined. It would be easier, he hoped, without all this incessant bustle and far too many guests.
Predictably the bustle only increased over the following days, when preparations for the Twelfth Night Ball were added to the increasingly taxing duty of entertaining a houseful of visitors. Poor Mrs Reynolds, Monsieur Gustave and the rest of the household were rushed off their feet and would doubtlessly appreciate a return to normality as much as he.
The Twelfth Night was upon them before he knew it, and his well-trained people had done their duty to perfection. Everything was as it should be – the glittering public rooms, the flawless service, the skilful musicians employed for the purpose – and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves to the full.
Darcy could not claim the same, but then a host was not necessarily expected to. Least of all one who did not favour dancing, yet was compelled to do his duty, just like every other member of the household. So he had stood up with many of his neighbours’ daughters that night, for far too many dances by his standards, and Darcy was now glad of the respite as he withdrew to one side with just a glass of punch for company.
At least he
did not have to fret over Georgiana’s comfort. She could not be persuaded to attend the ball and, in truth, he had not tried very hard to sway her. She was not out and although no one would have objected to her attending a private ball in her own home in the middle of the festive season Darcy was rather glad he did not have to tread on that thorny path just yet.
It had not come as a surprise that Miss Bennet had offered to keep her company above stairs instead of joining the great crowds in the ballroom. He hoped they were comfortable, whatever they were up to. With this commotion it was not to be imagined they had gone to sleep as yet.
He brought his cup of punch to his lips, but his hand remained suspended in the air and his gaze fixed ahead, beyond the musicians’ corner, on one of the windows separating the ballroom from the orangery. The violinists, as well as the line of dancers moving in and out, kept interfering with his line of vision and he stepped aside for a better look. He could have sworn–… Ha! There she was indeed. He could spot her again, an oval face peeping from beneath the fronds of some exotic plant or other.
He smiled at the recollection of having glimpsed his sister’s face years ago, in like circumstances. Not peeping from the orangery, but between the railings of the great staircase, on the evening of the last ball his father had hosted at Pemberley, when she was no more than eight years of age. He had climbed up then, to find her in her nightclothes and dressing gown, smiling rather consciously to have been caught sneaking out of bed to watch the glittering crowds below. He had scooped her up and held her close to keep her warm and had remained thus, sitting on the step, much more content to keep his little sister company than play his part among his peers below stairs.
He set down his glass and made the same old choice again. He could not stay as long this time, nor was she small enough to be scooped up into his lap, but he would go to her and see how she fared. He did not walk straight to the door that linked the ballroom with the orangery, not wishing to attract attention, nor encourage others into joining him, but took the long way round exchanging the odd pleasantry as he went. The crowded ballroom was finally left behind, and then the supper room – music room – drawing room. By the time he had gained the entrance hall, he discovered that Fitzwilliam was following.
“I take it that you are going to the orangery,” his cousin observed, and Darcy laughed.
“You saw her too?”
“Just for a moment. I wonder if she is still there. She drew back when she saw me peering in her direction. I hope I have not frightened our little mouse away.”
They rounded past one of the columns in the great hall and made their way along the corridor that led to the side entrance into the orangery to finally pick their way, in the subdued light filtering from the ballroom through the leafy screen, towards the spot where they both thought they had espied her. But when they reached the atrium bordered by a few elaborately carved benches, a surprise was in store for them. Georgiana was still there, peeping with rather more circumspection further back from the window, but she was not alone. Miss Bennet was at her side, a faithful companion, and they whispered something to each other, then giggled – only to stop short, straighten and look back when an incautious footstep betrayed the newcomers’ presence.
“Oh. I see you found me yet again,” Georgiana smiled up at her brother, with only a hint of her childish consciousness from over seven years ago.
“Well, at least this time you are not in your nightclothes. Or are you?” Darcy teased, and his sister laughed.
“Fitzwilliam, for shame! Of course not.”
“You need not watch from afar any longer, sweetling,” he affectionately pointed out. “You can join us if you wish. You are old enough, you know. As are you, Miss Bennet,” he smiled warmly to the latter.
She laughed softly at that, but it was only Georgiana who replied.
“Too grand an event, Brother, and far too many people. But if I would much rather not be part of the spectacle, it does not follow that I do not enjoy it.”
“How about you, Miss Bennet? You once said you dearly love to dance.”
“A great deal, Sir, in less formal circumstances. And when I am better acquainted with my partners.”
“Is this sufficiently informal, do you think? As to your other point, I imagine we are reasonably well acquainted,” Darcy heard himself say and the remark, as well as the lightness of tone, surprised him nearly as much as it did at least two of the other people present.
Fitzwilliam raised a brow and eyed him squarely, and so did Miss Bennet.
“Are you asking me to stand up with you? Here?”
Under his cousin’s continued scrutiny and a certain something in his countenance that was beginning to look suspiciously like a smirk, Darcy felt rather foolish for offering the ill-judged suggestion, but could not wholly regret it. And in any case there was nothing to be done now but evenly reply:
“I am. Would you be so kind to allow me the pleasure?”
She still seemed to doubt he was in earnest when she airily asked:
“Do you often dance with imaginary couples, Sir?”
“Not since my first lesson,” Darcy replied, studiously ignoring Fitzwilliam’s growing smirk. It surprised him greatly that he still kept his peace. It was decidedly unlike him to pass on an opportunity to tease.
When his cousin did speak up, it was only to surprise him all the more.
“Well, at least one other couple is real enough,” he said casually, offering a gloved hand to Georgiana. “Shall we, little cousin?”
“Of course,” she beamed. “What a delightful notion, dancing in the orangery.”
“Aye, is it not just? And at your brother’s very own suggestion. Wonders would never cease,” Fitzwilliam drawled, but Darcy did not see fit to respond in kind as he remained poised, waiting for Miss Bennet to place her hand in his.
She finally did so and they took their places in the middle of the wide open space. Before long, on the other side of the tall windows festooned with greenery, the musicians struck their chords. It was the slow, measured tune of an old ballad, an uncommon choice for a country dance – but they must have thought that the large company would appreciate a respite from skipping to very lively music.
Unbeknownst to them, the much smaller party in the orangery could not object either. The stately pace allowed a better chance to improvise and alter the figures to make up for the absence of at least one other couple. An effortless task for such accomplished dancers, and they soon fell into smooth patterns with sufficient ease to permit conversation.
“How utterly refreshing to dance with a featherless partner,” Fitzwilliam observed, making Georgiana chuckle.
“Featherless, Cousin?”
“Aye. Those outrageous headdresses. I could not keep my eyes off Miss Fenton’s when I stood up with her, and very nearly disgraced myself with losing my footing. It looked to me that it wanted nothing but another skip to drop at her feet. Along with the rest of her apparel,” he incautiously muttered as an aside.
“There, now,” Darcy found himself forced to censure him aloud, since he was not close enough to stomp meaningfully on his cousin’s foot.
Sometimes Fitzwilliam forgot he was neither in the officers’ mess nor in exclusively male company and his choices of topic could be ill-judged at best. As was this one – highly inappropriate for his sister’s ears, and Miss Bennet’s. He might have forborne to comment on Miss Fenton’s dress and manner of displaying her not insubstantial assets, or at least waited for a private moment over brandy if he really had to mention any or all of the above. As for the lady’s feathers, perhaps he should be grateful they had drawn his eyes up and away from worse transgressions. But at least Fitzwilliam had the grace to apologise and promptly changed the subject.
“Miss Bennet, pray allow me to compliment you on your excellent dancing. I have not had the honour of treading on such agile slippers in quite some time.”
“I thank you, Colonel. As do my slippers, for sparing the
m so far.”
“Long may I continue. Speaking of which, better lighting would not have gone amiss here, Darcy.”
“Oh, I believe it would,” Georgiana interjected.
“Ha! Perhaps. Exposed us to the enemy, you mean.”
“Something along those lines, although I would not have put it quite so bluntly.”
“You should have joined the fray, little mouse. Good practice for the future. Amelia seems to enjoy the evening well enough, the dear soul. I daresay you and Miss Bennet might have found it to your liking.”
“Oh, Lizzy, have I held you back? Would you have wished to attend the ball?”
“Not at all. Same as you, I have enjoyed the spectacle much better from afar. I do not belong in such august society.”
“Not so,” Darcy protested warmly. “You belong wherever you would choose to go.”
“Hear-hear. I could not have put it better myself. But I trust you were jesting, Miss Bennet, and by august you meant condescending.”
“You are both very kind. I will only say this is a great deal preferable to some people’s conversation, or to standing up with a mortifying partner who moves the wrong way and stumbles into unsuspecting victims.”
“Goodness, aye. Lord Kendall should have long seen he has all the grace and skill of a tethered bear. He did crash into poor Lady Monkford and trod on Amelia’s slippers at least thrice. I doubt that even his beautiful estate could make amends for his ballroom deficiencies.”
“Have you ever been to the Lakes, Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked, glad of the opening Fitzwilliam had provided.
“Not yet. My uncle and aunt Gardiner are contemplating a visit in the summer, I am told. They were wondering if I could join them.”
“Would you like to?”
“Very much, if I could be spared.”
“But of course. If we have the good fortune of a dry spring perhaps we could consider an earlier journey into Westmoreland, and then you might be a knowledgeable guide for your aunt and uncle in the summer.”
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