But that night, as she readied for bed, she could not stop recalling Mr. Darcy's expression when he saw her beneath the mistletoe. The alarm. The uncertainty. And beneath it all, something that looked almost like?—
No.
She would not think about it.
She would not wonder what might have happened if she had not stepped away. She would not imagine his lips on hers, his hands at her waist, the scandalized gasps of Miss Bingley and the knowing smiles of everyone else.
She would not consider any of it further.
Elizabeth fell asleep knowing one thing for certain:
The holiday entertainment was going to be a catastrophe.
And she was not entirely opposed to it.
THE UNWELCOME SIGHT IN MERYTON
Darcy woke exhausted.
He had spent half the night staring at the canopy above his bed, replaying the afternoon's events with torturous precision. Miss Elizabeth stepping beneath the mistletoe. Her startled expression when she realized. The flush spreading across her cheeks as she declared tradition could go hang.
She had been magnificent.
And he had been a coward, standing there like a statue, stammering about what tradition demanded, when every instinct had urged him to close the distance between them and?—
No.
He pressed his palms against his eyes. He would not think about it. He would not imagine what might have happened if she had not stepped away. He would not recall the disappointment that had flickered through him when she removed herself from danger—disappointment he had no right to feel, no business entertaining.
Breakfast was an exercise in endurance.
Caroline was triumphant, her satisfaction radiating across the table like heat from a fire. She had spent the morning recounting yesterday's “successes” to anyone who would listen—the elegant arrangements, the fashionable mistletoe, the near-misses that had set the entire room buzzing.
“And poor Miss Elizabeth,” Caroline said, stirring her chocolate with exaggerated sympathy. “Caught beneath the mistletoe with no warning at all. How mortifying for her.”
Darcy's grip tightened on his teacup.
“She handled it with admirable composure,” he said, more sharply than intended. “There was nothing mortifying about it.”
Caroline's eyes glittered. “How gallant of you to defend her. One might almost think?—”
“One might think nothing at all,” Darcy interrupted. “The incident was trivial. I see no reason to discuss it further.”
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken implications.
Bingley, oblivious as ever, launched into a new enthusiasm. “I have been thinking—we ought to have a winter excursion. A walk through the countryside, perhaps to Oakham Mount. The views are spectacular this time of year. And afterward, we could return for hot punch by the fire.”
“That sounds delightful,” Mrs. Hurst offered, in the tone of a woman who had no intention of walking anywhere in December.
“Does it not? And we could invite the Bennets, of course. Miss Bennet would enjoy?—”
“Charles.” Caroline's voice held a warning note. “Surely you do not mean to drag our guests through frozen fields.”
“It is not dragging if they wish to come. And the exercise would be invigorating.”
“For those who enjoy such rustic pursuits, perhaps.”
“Everyone enjoys a winter walk! Do they not, Darcy?”
