“A grievous oversight.”
“Indeed. We are barely recognizable as participants in the Christmas season. Our neighbors will talk.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “We cannot have that.”
They fell into step together without conscious decision, walking along the frosted path as though it were the most natural thingin the world. The silence stretched between them—but it was comfortable, Darcy realized with surprise.
“I wished to thank you,” Miss Elizabeth said finally, her voice soft. “For yesterday. The warning about the mistletoe.”
“It seemed the least I could do, given the circumstances.”
“The circumstances being Miss Bingley's determination to compromise as many guests as possible?”
Darcy coughed. “I would not have phrased it quite so directly.”
“No, you would have found some elegant circumlocution. Fortunately, I am not burdened by such delicacy.”
“I had noticed.”
She laughed—that bright, surprised sound that had haunted his sleepless night—and Darcy felt something loosen in his chest. Here, away from drawing rooms and prying eyes and the complications of society, she was simply Miss Elizabeth: quick-witted, warm, disarmingly honest.
He could almost forget Wickham. Almost forget the impossibility of his situation. Almost believe that a woman like her might someday look at him with something other than guarded curiosity.
“I confess I am dreading the entertainment,” Miss Elizabeth admitted. “Miss Bingley has promised mistletoe in every doorway. I shall have to memorize the floor plan and navigate by memory.”
“A sound strategy. I intend to employ something similar.”
“Then we shall be allies in avoidance. Comparing maps, as you suggested.”
“I did suggest that, did I not?”
“You did. Though I believe you called it mutual self-interest.”
“The most honest foundation for any alliance.”
She glanced at him sideways, her expression thoughtful. “You are not what I expected, Mr. Darcy.”
The words caught him off guard. “What did you expect?”
“I am not entirely certain anymore.” She paused, considering. “When we first met, I thought you the proudest man in Hertfordshire. Cold, dismissive, convinced of your own superiority.”
“And now?”
“Now I think perhaps I judged too quickly.” A small smile curved her lips. “I believe those were your words, were they not? At Miss Bingley's tea?”
He remembered. He remembered every word of that conversation, every flicker of expression that had crossed her face.
“They were,” he admitted. “And they applied to me as much as anyone.”
“A mutual failing, then.”
“It would appear so.”
They walked in silence for a moment, the only sound the crunch of frost beneath their boots. The path curved through a stand of winter-bare trees, and Netherfield appeared in the distance, its windows glowing faintly in the afternoon light.
“I should return,” Miss Elizabeth said, though she made no move to leave. “My mother will be wondering what has become of her holly.”
“And I should face whatever new schemes Caroline has devised in my absence.”
