“With your permission, my men will continue to watch the house and patrol the woods,” he assured her.
Elizabeth smiled. “I would appreciate that.”
He gazed steadily at her. “Your mother need not know the details, but she could be encouraged to lock her door and windows at night, and to avoid walking out too far? Even with Freedman?”
“My mother always locks her door and windows, particularly when it is cold. And it would be entirely out of character for her to walk out unless it is to the garden to gather herbs for the stillroom or cut flowers for her room, neither of which she will be doing again until spring.”
“Excellent.”
Elizabeth was grateful for his care. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I feel much more at ease knowing you are here.”
He took her hand in his, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through her. Slowly, deliberately, he bent his head toward her hand. Elizabeth's breath caught, her heart quickening as his lips drew closer. Closer.
But just as she braced for the tender brush of his lips against her skin, Mr. Darcy hesitated. His breath warmed her knuckles before he straightened abruptly, a flash of something unreadablein his eyes. He let her hand go, the absence of his touch as startling as his taking her hand had been.
“It is my duty, Miss Bennet,” he said quietly, his voice lower, richer than before. “For I promised your father I would look after you both.”
Elizabeth's heart fluttered, still lingering in the moment of what had almost been. She met his gaze, searching for something that would tell her she had not allowed her imagination to make a fool of her, but found nothing beyond his composed expression.
“Yes of course,” she said, a little ashamed to have hoped for more.
They stood a moment longer in silence, before Mr. Darcy said, “Good evening, Miss Bennet.”
After bidding Miss Bennet an embarrassed good night, Darcy stepped into his chamber. The room was simple, yet comfortable, with a large bed covered with a warm counterpane and draped in heavy linens. The fire had been stoked to chase away the evening chill. He could hear his valet, Mr. Harris, bustling about in the attached dressing room.
When the door shut behind him, he ran his hands through his hair. He had almost kissed Miss Bennet’s hand, which would have been a terrible breach of trust. He had promised Mr. Bennet he would look after the ladies, and that certainly did not include improper behaviour towards the man’s daughter.
He was determined to uncover the truth about whoever had been stealing things from the estate and protect the Bennet women from harm. But more than that, he found he wanted to protect Miss Bennet from any threat, now or in the future. Yet as much as he felt drawn to her—her teasing wit, the warmth inher eyes, the strength of her character—he knew he must keep his attraction under good regulation. He had been entrusted with her safety and her mother’s, and it would be dishonourable to pursue his own desires while fulfilling that responsibility. To act on his burgeoning affection now would place Miss Bennet in an impossible position, one where she might feel obligated to accept his advances out of gratitude or duty, or worst of all, fear, rather than her true sentiments. No, he would not compromise her autonomy or his honour. He would safeguard her, but within the restraint befitting a gentleman, until such a time as she was truly free to choose.
Mr. Harris was laying out Darcy's nightclothes and preparing the room for sleep. As the valet helped him out of his coat and waistcoat, his thoughts continued to centre upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet. After Mr. Harris had gone, Darcy sat on his bed, mind still alert. He heard the soft click of the door as his valet departed, leaving him alone with thoughts that would not still. He slipped under the covers and stared up at the canopy, the weight of his duties pressing down on him. As he snuffed out his own candle and closed his eyes, he knew keeping his feelings for Miss Bennet hidden might prove the most difficult challenge of all.
Chapter Eleven
The next evening, Elizabeth waited until everyone had gone to bed before making her way to the dimly lit stillroom, carefully ladling herbal balm into small glass jars. They would cool overnight, and she could fill the boxes in the morning.
Her mind was focused on her purpose as the fire in the hearth crackled softly and the clock in the hall struck midnight. She was exhausted, but this was the only time she could work uninterrupted, away from her mother’s prying eyes and her guests’ questions. Come Christmas, these jars, meant to soothe dry and cracked skin—common during the winter—would find their way into the hands of anyone in the parish who needed them.
As the jars began to fill one by one, Elizabeth let out a soft sigh. This was just one small part of all that lay ahead. The list of tasks she had written in her journal was daunting—decorations for the great hall, baskets of provisions for families in need, gifts for the children, arrangements for the Christmas feast, the list never seemed to end. She thought ahead to St. Nicholas Day whenthe first wave of gifts would be delivered. There were toys to be selected and purchased, spices to be ordered for the pudding, and greenery to be collected before Christmas Eve, to hang throughout the house. And then, there was Christmas itself.
Mr. Ellis had carried this burden alone for years. Elizabeth marvelled at his quiet strength—however had he managed? Of course, there were places he could go and people he could seek out as a man that she could not—and she had duties as mistress he had not. She began to wonder if she had the fortitude to sustain this immense responsibility year after year.
Despite Mr. Ellis’s cautions, she would have to confide in Thatcher, at least to tell him that she was doing charity work and did not wish to be acknowledged for it. He could accompany her to Lambton when needed, and tomorrow evening she would need him to carry the box of these jars, which, unlike Mr. Glidding’s sample books, was going to be too heavy for her.
Her thoughts drifted to the idea of having a partner. Someone who could share this responsibility with her, someone who understood. Her mind, involuntarily, lingered on Mr. Darcy. She was not sure he wanted her, especially after last night. But it was late, and she was weary, so she allowed herself to imagine that he did. Would he be the right sort of man for this responsibility? The life of Christmas House required more than just a match of the heart; it demanded patience, generosity, and a deep sense of duty. Could Mr. Darcy fit into that role? Could he truly embrace what Christmas House was meant to be?
Elizabeth paused her work, holding an empty jar in her hand as the question hung in her mind. She could imagine him in his fine coat, surveying the estate, offering support in his quiet way. But did he understand the demands of generosity that Christmas House required all year long? Could he care for this place and the people beyond his estate as she meant to do?
She shook her head, feeling a wave of uncertainty. He had his own estate and people to tend to, but she supposed time would tell. For now, all she could do was keep going, jar by jar, task by task, hoping that somehow the disparate pieces of her life would come together.
Darcy stood at the edge of the gardens. He had come out for a moment in the cold air to speak with Thompson before retiring. He had done that and was on his way back inside when he spied Miss Bennet. His eyes followed her as she moved briskly across the lawn. Something about her furtive glances caught his attention. This was no idle stroll. Miss Bennet moved briskly, her cloak pulled tightly around her as if trying to shield herself from more than just the chill.
As she reached the stables, Miss Bennet paused, glancing around again before entering. Darcy frowned. Was she afraid? Moments later, she emerged from the stables with Thatcher by her side. They were headed towards the front of the estate, to the narrow road that led to Lambton.
Darcy felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. He considered stepping forward, asking her what she was doing, but something stopped him. She had a certain air of determination about her, and he could not shake the feeling that this was not something she would want him—or anyone else—to see. It was not as though she was engaging in anything improper, but there was an unmistakable secrecy to her actions that intrigued him.
This was her family’s home. If she did not want to be caught, he would let her continue unobserved—for now. But his mind churned as he returned inside, the image of Elizabeth’s hidden errand lingering. What could she be doing?
Then he heard the familiar sound of a wagon rolling away.
