And yet, it was not envy that stirred in Darcy. It was hope. Quiet, unfamiliar hope.
Elizabeth’s company was in high demand. Sir William declared her the most admired young lady of the evening, and several gentlemen were eager to stand up with her. Her wit and charm made her the natural center of any circle she joined.
Darcy caught glimpses of her between sets—her laugh at something Sir William said, her delighted applause when Charlotte played a lively jig at the pianoforte, her gentle encouragement as she helped Miss Maria recover from a misstep. She was everywhere and nowhere at once, brisk as a bee.
He wished for more than a glimpse. He had, rather foolishly, intended to speak with her again—to engage in a discreet exchange that might edge them closer to understanding. But the evening wore on, and every attempt he made to cross the floor to her side was interrupted: by Lady Lucas, who insisted upon hearing how Christmas was celebrated at Pemberley, or by the vicar, or some well-meaning matron eager to remind him of his duty to the younger, unmarried ladies in attendance.
It was maddening. No one knew of his interest in Elizabeth but himself. The crowd was not conspiring to keep them apart. And yet, that was precisely how it seemed.
But still—she suspects. And she does not object.
The idea curled warm and possessive within him. Was that not the purpose of the combs? Of the gloves? The locket from the first day, and all the gifts yet to be given? Not to win her favor through material offerings, but to express, in the only way he knew how, the depth of his admiration—his respect. His love.
He could not speak it aloud, not without certainty that her heart was engaged. But these tokens were his silent language—a testament to all he felt but could not yet say.
As the night waned and couples departed in clusters of laughter and hooded capes, Darcy stood near the window, watching flakes drift past the frosted glass. His eyes sought Elizabeth once more. She stood beside Miss Bennet, wrapping a scarf about her shoulders, her countenance touched with gentle contentment.
A good evening. A happy one.
Mayhap when she later unpinned the combs from her hair and laid them on her dressing table, she would think of him. Not merely as the man who had once wronged her, but as the one who lingered at the edge of her world, longing for another dance, another word, another chance.
Perhaps soon, he would be brave enough to offer all three.
Chapter Ten
December 28, 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Thepreviousevening’ssnowfallhad continued through the night, leaving a delicate veil of white across the landscape. Ice crystals wreathed the edges of her window, their fragile beauty casting shimmering patterns upon the glass. Elizabeth awoke to the gentle crackle of flames; the maid had coaxed the embers in the grate into a lively blaze, and the room was already warmer than on previous mornings.
Snug beneath the counterpane, her head nestled upon a soft down pillow, Elizabeth lingered, loath to stir. Sleep still clung to her senses, and she blinked drowsily as her dreams, sweet as they had been, slipped swiftly from her memory.
Then, sitting up with a sudden start, she glanced toward the fireplace and noticed a small parcel resting upon the table beside her chair. Eager curiosity stirred her fully awake. Casting aside the counterpane, she slid her feet into the waiting slippers, shrugged into her dressing gown, and drew the sash tight before crossing the room in quick steps to retrieve the package.
Lowering herself into her chair, Elizabeth gathered the parcel onto her lap. Her fingers trembled as she untied the twine and peeled away the paper.How delightful a pleasure the opening of a present can be.Perhaps we ought to make it a tradition.
Beneath the wrappings lay a length of satin, concealing a tender weight within. She unfolded the fabric carefully, snatching up the slip of paper that fluttered free before it could fall to the floor.
On the fourth day of Christmas,
Wrapped in satin so rare,
Four velvet ribbons
To adorn thy hair.
She began to lay the slip aside, only to notice writing upon the reverse. Curious, she turned it over and read two more lines.
These ribbons could never compare to the color of your lovely eyes. It is impossible to capture the exact shade, for never have I seen any so fine.
The ribbons, in truth, were nearly to the exact hue of her eyes. She admired them instantly and resolved to tuck them safely away when not in use, lest Lydia discover them. Theywere far superior to anything to be had in Meryton, and her youngest sister, ever quick to covet, would be sorely tempted to claim them. Fortunately, the whirl of activities and invitations had thus far kept Lydia from noticing any of the small treasures Elizabeth had received.
She did not venture out that morning. Instead, she dressed in one of her warmest walking gowns, intending to walk into Meryton after breakfast. She wove one of the violet ribbons through her curls, pausing to admire her reflexion in the looking glass before descending the stairs. Jane looked up as she entered, her knowing gaze flicking to the ribbon in Elizabeth’s hair before returning to her meal.
“Good morning, Lizzy.” Mr. Bennet glanced up from his paper. “Did you sleep well?”
