Mrs. Hurst, who was reclining on a settee with a cup of chocolate, offered a languid wave.
“It is beautiful,” Jane said warmly.
“It is not yet complete.” Miss Bingley's smile turned mysterious. “I have saved the most important element for last. A new tradition and the very latest fashion from Town. I received the materials only yesterday.”
Elizabeth felt a flicker of foreboding.
Miss Bingley crossed to a small table where an ornate box rested, tied with crimson ribbon. She lifted the lid in a theatrical display and withdrew a cluster of pale green leaves dotted with white berries.
Elizabeth squinted. “Is that?—”
“Yes!” Miss Bingley's eyes gleamed with triumph. “The newest, most fashionable holiday novelty from Town. A sensation. A revelation.”
A beat of silence.
“Mistletoe.”
Jane blinked. “How lovely.”
Mistletoe was a perfectly ordinary holiday decoration. Elizabeth stared at the unassuming plant, waiting for the revelation to reveal itself. “I confess I am confused. Are we meant to do something with it?”
Miss Bingley's smile widened. “In London, when it is hung in doorways, and if two people find themselves beneath it...” She lowered her voice. “They must exchange a kiss.”
Jane's gasp was soft but audible.
Elizabeth started.
Somewhere behind them, a masculine voice made a sound that might have been choking.
Elizabeth turned to find Mr. Darcy standing in the doorway, his expression frozen somewhere between horror and disbelief. He had clearly arrived in time to hear Miss Bingley's explanation, and he looked as though he rather wished he had not.
“Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley beamed. “You have arrived just in time. I was explaining the newest mistletoe custom to our guests.”
“So I heard.” His voice was carefully neutral. “A... novel tradition.”
“It is all the rage in Town. Lady Ashworth hosted a party last season where three couples were caught beneath the mistletoe, and two of them were engaged within the month!”
“How efficient,” Elizabeth said faintly.
Mr. Darcy's gaze met hers across the room. Something flickered in his dark eyes—alarm, perhaps, or commiseration. Elizabeth felt an absurd urge to laugh.
Miss Bingley was already issuing commands to the servants.
“We shall hang it here—no, here, above this archway. And another spray there, by the pianoforte. And one more near the refreshment table. The placement must be strategic.”
Elizabeth watched the footmen scramble to obey and felt her foreboding crystallize into certainty.
Miss Bingley was about to weaponise foliage.
“Is it not charming?” Miss Bingley asked, watching a servant balance precariously on a ladder. “So festive. So modern.”
“So very... thorough,” Elizabeth murmured, noting that one spray had been positioned directly above the archway Mr. Bingley tended to use when escorting Jane.
Mr. Darcy appeared at her elbow, his voice low. “There do seem to be a great many of them.”
Elizabeth startled. She had not heard him approach. The man moved like a cat, silent and unnerving.
“I had not realized mistletoe required such... strategic distribution,” she said, matching his quiet tone. “One might almost think the placements were deliberate.”
