As the first pale streaks of dawn slipped through the frosted edges of her windowpane, Elizabeth stirred, her internal rhythm rousing her before the household began its bustle. The fire had been stoked while she slept, filling the room with a hearth-born warmth that contrasted pleasantly with the chill seeping through the glass. She stretched beneath the quilts, loath to leave the cocoon of comfort, yet her eyes had already fixed upon the small table beside her chair.
There, nestled atop the surface, lay another package.
Larger than the last, it too was wrapped in brown paper and tied with coarse twine, but something in its precise folds and symmetry bespoke particular care. A thrill of anticipation shot through her as she sat upright. She cast aside the blankets and stepped into her slippers with uncommon alacrity, reaching for her warm, quilted wrapper and drawing it over her night dress. Her pulse quickened with each step toward the parcel.
She seated herself next to the table, folding her legs and tucking them beneath her, then drew the parcel into her lap. The paper crackled as she untied the twine, lifting each fold with deliberate care, savoring the secrecy of it all. Who could be behind these mystery offerings? The locket alone had been too fine a gift to be given without purpose, and the accompanying verse had hinted at more to come. Had it been a jest? A mere whim?
No. This was deliberate.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she peeled away the final layer of wrapping. Whether the admirer was known or unknown, bold or bashful, she could not deny the delight his efforts had inspired. What would this day’s gift bring? Inside the brown paper was a small box. She lifted the lid, and atop it lay a note:
On the second day of Christmas,
With his beloved in view,
Two silk gloves,
Stitched delicate and true.
Beneath the folded note lay a pair of white silk gloves—exquisite in every particular. Elizabeth gasped as she lifted them from the box, her fingers trailing along the delicately embroidered edges. The silk shimmered in the pale morning light, smooth as water beneath her touch, and the embroidery—fine gold thread forming an understated floral pattern—was wrought with the kind of skill only a true artisan could boast.
She slid one glove onto her hand with care, marveling at the manner in which it fit as though fashioned expressly for her. It embraced each finger perfectly, with no bunching or strain, and the wrist ended at precisely the right point below the sleeve of her wrapper. These were not gloves to be worn for running errands in Meryton or calling upon neighbors; no, they were meant for an assembly or a fine dinner—something elegant and festive. She could not possibly wear them on an ordinary day.
Her gaze returned to the note—another stanza, clever and well-composed, with a tone that danced between lightheartedness and tender regard. Whoever had written the verse owned a practiced hand and a romantic spirit.
She studied the gloves anew. “Three guineas at the least,” she murmured. It was no exaggeration. Elizabeth knew quality when she beheld it, and these were of the highest. Such a sum placed them firmly beyond the reach of many, including, regrettably, Mr. Wickham. She liked him well enough, but she could not delude herself as to his financial constraints. And generous though he might be with his smiles and overt charm, he had never struck her as particularly extravagant in his affections.
A thoughtful crease marked her forehead as she considered which gentleman of her acquaintance might be her admirer. Generosity, poetic skill, refined taste, an eye for detail, and ample fortune; these were the marks of her mysterious suitor. Mr. Darcy flickered through her thoughts, like a shadow at the edge of her imagination. She dismissed the notion nearly at once.
“Mr. Darcy…” she whispered, incredulous. “He has not a romantic bone in his body…or does he?” She blinked, unsure whence the thought had come. His solemn demeanor hardly suggested secret passions, and yet…he had looked at her oddly the other day, had he not? But no—surely not. It must be someone else. Still, she smiled.I shall have to be diligent in uncovering the answer.
Her thoughts drifted to the conversation she had shared with Mr. Darcy some evenings past. Though love must rest not only on material offerings, she could not deny that a thoughtful token might increase one's admiration and regard.
A gentle knock at the door stirred her from her reverie, and Jane entered, fully dressed and ready for the day, an uncommon sight at such an early hour.
“You are up early.” Elizabeth teased her, eyes alight with amusement. “Why, Jane, you are dressed as well! What has drawn you from your bed before your usual hour?”
Jane returned a knowing smile and perched herself upon the arm of Elizabeth’s chair, just as she had the morning before. “Your secret suitor, of course,” she said lightly. Her eyes sparkled with shared excitement as they fell to the open parcel in Elizabeth’s lap. “You received another gift—what is it on this day?”
Without a word, Elizabeth handed her the gloves.
Jane caught her breath, her face alight with admiration as she examined them. “Oh, Lizzy! These are splendid. I have not seen such workmanship outside of London. The embroidery is exquisite. How is the fit?” She paused, and without waiting for her sister’s reply, looked up, her voice hushed with awe. “Who can it be?”
Elizabeth laughed. “The fit is perfect, and I cannot say,” she admitted with a sigh. “I truly have no answer, though I have puzzled over it until my head aches. All I have been able to deduce is that he must be a gentleman of means—and someone terribly romantic. That eliminates most of the gentlemen of our acquaintance.”
Jane tilted her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps your admirer has hidden depths.”
Elizabeth smiled wryly. “I suppose I ought to make an effort to see past outward appearances, as it seems my initial judgments are not always accurate.”
“Then you have grown,” Jane said with a proud smile.
“If you think it so, Jane, I shall take that as progress. I am learning, at least.”
A momentary hush filled the room as both sisters reflected on the mystery before them. At last, Jane broke the silence. “As it is the servants’ day, no one will be entertaining, and we shall spend it contentedly at home. Charles has promised to call, though. I expect he will bring Mr. Darcy with him.”
Elizabeth shifted in her seat, her smile dimming slightly.
“I am sorry you are left to entertain his friend. I have been a dreadful sister, leaving you in his company for so long without reprieve.”
