Inside was a delicate necklace of rubies, with a bit of the holly sprig he had plucked during their walk nestled alongside. He had arranged it so the rubies shone in the place of the berries she so admired.
She gasped. “But I thought you had given the holly to the girls for their garlands!”
“All but one. I had intended to present this earlier, but after your father's gesture . . .” He shook his head. “I had no wish to compete when he had already won the field.”
Elizabeth's eyes shone as she looked up at him. “It is beautiful.”
“You like it, then? I did not know whether you might prefer a more substantial piece, but I thought it might be a little like gilding the lily.”
“That is an inaccurate quoting of Shakespeare, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “Forgive me for attempting to compliment you.”
She smiled. “You are so easy to fluster. I would not have guessed it.”
Only she could fluster him like this, but he would not admit it, or she would be forever making attempts. Darcy took a deep breath. “You have not answered my question. Do you like it?”
Miss Elizabeth cast him a look he could only call incredulous. “Mr. Darcy, not only do I like it, but I also adore the compliment that came with it. Will you put it on for me?”
Darcy swallowed, recalling her father’s admonition.Not a hair out of place.He took the necklace from her and opened the clasp. Miss Elizabeth faced away from him and lifted her hair away from the nape of her neck. Unfortunately, this made the front of her gown gape a bit and he could see down . . .
Steady,he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. If his fingers so much as brushed her skin, he was done for. He opened his eyes long enough to fasten the necklace and allow it to drop, making her stifle a laugh as she reached up to arrange it properly.
Darcy took a step back and felt a little safer. “They reminded me of the holly berries you admired, and of the warmth and passion you bring to everything you do,” he explained, his voice low and earnest.
“Mr. Darcy . . . Fitzwilliam.”
His heart leapt—he was not yet used to her using his Christian name.
“When I first learned of my inheritance, I thought it a great blessing, but I never imagined it would lead me here.”
“To Derbyshire?” he asked, still a little befuddled.
Elizabeth—surely, he could use her name now that she was using his—huffed with amusement. “Yes, of course, but I meant toyou.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “This necklace,Hollydale, they are wonderful gifts. But what we have found, this understanding between us, the promise of a life together . . . It is beyond anything I ever dreamed. I love Hollydale because it allows me to care for my family, but I love it even more because it brought me to you.”
Epilogue
Hollydale House, Christmas Eve, 1814
The crackling fire and the soft breathing of their newborn daughter were the only sounds in the room. Elizabeth cradled the sleeping child, whose tiny fingers were wrapped around one of her mother's. Darcy sat beside them, observing the scene with quiet satisfaction.
He reflected on the changes Hollydale had undergone since Elizabeth inherited it. She had done more than restore the physical estate; she had revived the legend of the Christmas House. More children were attending school, and any student who wished for a subscription to the lending library could apply for one. Fewer people went cold or hungry, for the church was well supplied with food, blankets, and the means to purchase firewood. Mr. Punchaby of Bakewell had discovered a new lathein his shop on St. Nicholas Day to replace the one that had finally given out.
But the most meaningful change Elizabeth had made was to his own life.
“She is perfect, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth whispered, glancing at their daughter.
Darcy kissed his daughter’s forehead. “Indeed she is. Bennet will be wild to see her tomorrow—poor little fellow will be sorry he slept through her arrival.”
Elizabeth's gaze drifted to the frost-covered window. “It is remarkable how much has changed since our first Christmas together.”
Darcy nodded, recalling the day the Sykes boys had inadvertently introduced him to his future wife. In the four years since, Mr. Sykes had left the area, abandoning his boys to the care of the Milners. It was the best gift he could have given them. Matthew, now fourteen, had earned the respect of Mr. Oliver and others in the village, and Harry, ten, was a beloved fixture in the homes of the elderly and infirm, always happy to run errands and complete other tasks for those who could not.
“I saw Matthew and Harry this morning,” Darcy said. “They were delivering firewood to Mrs. Travis.”
“They have become such a blessing to everyone,” Elizabeth mused. “I am so proud of them.”
“Speaking of blessings,” Darcy said, “Mr. Milner says the legend of the Christmas House is on everyone’s lips again.”
