She laughed, though there was a touch of hesitation. “He is not so bad as I once thought, Jane. Indeed, he improves upon further acquaintance. I do not know if I can absolve him of all his faults, but…he is not as objectionable as he once was.”
Jane beamed. “Then I am glad. I never thought he was the villain you believed him to be. Perhaps he will further redeem himself.”
Elizabeth pulled a face in reply, her nose wrinkling in playful skepticism. “I cannot see it. Nevertheless, you need not worry about my welfare. I can speak with Mr. Darcy without pain or discomfort. Feel free to give your betrothed all your attention.”
Jane took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Then I shall. But let us trust this day brings you clarity.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Indeed. If nothing else, I am being most delightfully wooed.”
Breakfast was simple fare, though sufficient to satisfy a household still buoyed by pleasures of the Christmas season. The kitchen servants had laid it out ere departing for their well-earned respite. Only necessary staff without family nearby remained for the household to ensure the family did not descend into chaos, and a groom was kept back at the stables to tend the horses and see to any arriving guests. Their free day would come on the morrow. Elizabeth was pleased they were granted the time at all—too many households treated their servants as little more than necessary furniture.
She and Jane entered the dining room together, the warmth of the fire spreading pleasantly through the space. The scents of toast, stewed apples, and tart preserves mingled with the faint, comforting aroma of cold slices of Christmas goose. Upon the sideboard lay a generous spread: hot rolls, slices of crusty toast, boiled eggs with bright yolks, cold meats artfully arranged, jewel-toned preserves, and tender apples spiced with cinnamon and cloves. Two large pots, one of tea, the other of hot chocolate, steamed gently nearby, offering their contents like old friends inviting conversation.
They selected their food in companionable silence before taking their seats. Elizabeth poured herself chocolate and inhaled the rich, sweet scent just as her father entered, his nose buried in a book.
“Good morning, Jane. Good morning, Lizzy,” he said, without glancing up, as he moved to his place at the head of the table.
They greeted him in kind and began to eat, the clink of porcelain and silver a soothing accompaniment to the gentle crackle of the fire.
“When is your young man to arrive?” he asked dryly, eyes still fixed upon the page. “Did he not mention he would attend you this afternoon?”
Jane smiled, clearly unbothered by her father’s habitual teasing. “Charles is to come at one o’clock. Have you something of which to discuss?”
Mr. Bennet shook his head. “No, but I expect he will bring Mr. Darcy. He promised me a game of chess when next he called at Longbourn. I have not had a worthy opponent in some time. I find myself eager to see whether we are evenly matched.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Mr. Darcy? When did you speak with him?” She had not seen him approach her father the evening prior, though she had not observed him closely after dinner. Or had she?
Her father at last looked up, a trace of mischief in his eyes. “Just after the ladies withdrew he remained behind, and we had a pleasant exchange. He seems a sensible man, certainly well-read. We debated Locke and Hume, and were discussing crop rotation by the second glass of port.”
Elizabeth set down her cup, her expression caught between amusement and disbelief. “You surprise me.”
“I surprise myself,” Mr. Bennet replied. “I begin to question whether the fae have replaced Mr. Darcy with one of their own, for he is not at all like the gentleman with whom we shared company in the autumn. That Darcy would scarce look at a lady but to observe a blemish.”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “It is peculiar,” she agreed. “Charlotte believes it may be the absence of Mr. Bingley’s sisters that has prompted the change. Without their constant whispering in his ear, perhaps he is now able to form opinions of his own.”
Mr. Bennet gave a short laugh. “’Tis a sound conclusion. Miss Bingley scarcely let him from her sight. I imagine his time at Netherfield was intolerable, with her forever lurking about corners like a cat in search of cream.” He shuddered and closed his book, laying it aside. “’Tis no wonder he was out of sorts. If Miss Bingley had shadowed me so closely, I should have turned sour long before he did.”
“Papa!” Jane exclaimed.
“What? I speak as I find, dear daughter. She trailed after him like a ship dragging its anchor—heavy, clumsy, and impossible to ignore.” He reached for his tea, then added with a pointed glance, “See that she does not do the same to your future servants, my dear, else they will be taking orders from the wrong mistress.”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane, her amusement tempered by a flicker of agreement. Still, a part of her wasunsettled. Mr. Darcy engaged in a chess match with her father? Debating philosophy? Discussing crop rotation of all things? Was he…attempting to endear himself to her family, or simply revealing that he was not so insufferable as she had long believed?
Jane watched her, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“I suppose,” Elizabeth said slowly, “I must admit he is not so great a villain as I once painted him. I do not know that I can absolve him of all his faults, but he is…well, less objectionable than he was before.”
Jane beamed, her satisfaction plain. “Then I am glad. I never thought him so dreadful as you believed.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and reached for a muffin. “We shall see. In any case, you need not worry for my welfare. I can speak with Mr. Darcy without pain or discomfort. You are free to devote all your attention to your betrothed, and I shall manage well enough.”
Privately, however, she resolved to watch Mr. Darcy with additional scrutiny. If he had truly changed, she would be the first to perceive it—though she was not entirely certain she trusted herself to recognize what she might see.
Darcy
The gentlemen arrived at Longbourn promptly at one o’clock, their coats brushed free of snow and their boots freshly cleaned by the grooms. Though Darcy preserved his usual reservedcountenance, a restrained eagerness stirred within him. It had been less than a day since he last beheld Elizabeth, yet he felt that a peculiar tension lingered—an anticipation at the prospect of seeing her again. Would she wear the locket? Or deem it too fine for such casual company?
The thought preoccupied him more than he cared to admit. His mother and grandmother had both worn the locket while mistress of Pemberley, unconstrained by time of day or formality, and he had selected it in part for its versatility. Elizabeth, however, was practical. She might consider it too conspicuous. He wanted to believe otherwise.
