“Nag, then? Pony? Mule?Goat?I do not know! Do something else, for heaven’s sake!”
Mrs Gardiner ceased galloping and stood on the rug with her hands on her hips, glaring at her husband.
“‘The Provoked Wife,’” Matlock called.
The room erupted into laughter, though a feeble exclamation, barely audible above the merriment, caught Fitzwilliam’s notice. Heturned to his aunt, sitting on his left, and enquired whether anything was the matter.
Lady Catherine withdrew an emaciated hand from her blankets and pointed at Darcy. “You are correct. He is happy. He looks the picture of my sister when he laughs.”
The observation was as unexpected as it was moving, and Fitzwilliam knew not what to say.
His aunt, never plagued by such difficulties, spoke on. “And sheis jousting.”
“Pardon?”
“Mrs Gardiner is jousting.”
“Inspired, madam!” Fitzwilliam swivelled back to the room and called, “Joust” over the hubbub.
Mrs Gardiner pounced upon it, waggling her ear forcibly.
“Sounds like joust?”
“Faust!” Gardiner roared, coming to his feet exultantly.
“About time, sir!” his wife replied, to the delight of the entire room.
Gardiner doffed an imaginary cap and scuttled past her in deep obeisance, apologising facetiously. He then began his turn by re-enacting the exact same gallop across the room as she had. A chorus of groans went up from everybody else, but Mrs Gardiner instantly and correctly guessedcanter, showing her husband how easy a thing it could be to make a sensible suggestion.
“The Canterbury Tales!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed, to an uproarious round of applause. “How can you find these two aught but agreeable?” he whispered to his brother before standing to take his turn. “I think they may be the most diverting couple of my acquaintance.”
Ashby only grunted but notably refrained from demurring. Fitzwilliam left him to brood upon his prejudice, full in the belief that it was as at much risk as every other prepossession in the room of being overturned.
All the hilarity sank in Darcy’s awareness next to the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter. Her countenance glowed, and her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. Her merriment was wholly unaffected—demure, yet altogether without ceremony. He marvelled at it, for despite all their prior hostility, she was genuinely enjoying his family’s society.Moreover, his family appeared, quite against their will in some cases, to be genuinely enjoying hers. It was all her doing. This was Pemberley as it was intended to be: a true family seat. And this was his family, with Elizabeth at its heart.
Because he was watching her, Darcy noticed her laughter ebb. She shifted in her chair and rubbed the swell of her stomach. He reached to lay his hand over hers and whispered a query as to her wellbeing.
She bit her lip and slid her hand from beneath his to press his palm to her belly, whereupon he felt a small but unmistakable nudge. His heart thudded in his chest, and he waited, staring at his own hand, and was rewarded with another palpable shove. Overcome with wonder and delight, he raised his eyes to Elizabeth’s. She was beaming, her countenance suffused with joy.
“Happy Christmas,” she whispered.
It was a moment before he composed himself enough to whisper back how very dearly he loved her.
Absorbed in their own private rejoicing, they missed the end of the game, alerted to it only when Anne guessed Fitzwilliam’s charade, and he roared an exasperated “Hallelujah!” After that, the festivities drew to a natural conclusion. The elders took themselves off to bed, and everybody else adjourned to the great hall to check the Yule log was still burning and to enjoy a last glass of mulled wine.
Fitzwilliam came to stand next to Darcy and gave him a firm slap on the shoulder. “I own I was not convinced even you could accomplish it, old boy, but a pleasanter Christmas I cannot recall.”
“Do not believe me ignorant of the fact that is because you won your wager with Ashby.”
“You wound me, Darcy! What wager?”
“Whether or not I would exclude at least one relative from the house before Christmas Day.”
Fitzwilliam grimaced. “I am discovered, though still ten pounds richer than my brother.”
“Not so, regrettably, for I wagered him fifteen pounds he could not make you give up your hip flask. By my reckoning that makes him five pounds richer and significantly drunker than you.”
Fitzwilliam muttered an unseasonable imprecation.
