"We should."
But as they walked back to join the others, walking side by side in the snow, Elizabeth Bennet knew that the war was over. She wasn't fighting him anymore. She was fightingwithhim.
And Lady Catherine de Bourgh didn't stand a chance.
Chapter Eleven: A Cheapside Christmas
The dining room at Gracechurch Street did not possess the gilded cornices of Matlock House or the ancestral portraits of Pemberley, but on this particular Christmas Day, it held a far more valuable aspect: an abundance of genuine warmth.
The table had been extended to its maximum length to accommodate the assembly of Bennets, Gardiners, and Fitzwilliams. Candles flickered in silver holders, casting a golden glow over the remains of what had been a truly heroic goose. The air smelled of sage, roasted chestnuts, and the rich, spicy aroma of Mr Gardiner's best claret.
Fitzwilliam Darcy sat at Mrs Gardiner's right hand, a position of honour he was occupying with a surprising amount of ease. A month ago, the idea of dining in Cheapside would have been a social concession, a duty performed with stiff upper lip. Tonight, it felt like a privilege.
His gaze travelled down the table. At the far end, Mr Gardiner was holding court. He was not the "warehouseowner" Darcy had once dismissed in his mind. He was a man of the world, engaging a Colonel and a Viscount in a lively debate regarding the navigational challenges of the Spice Islands.
"The currents in the Molucca Sea are treacherous in the winter months," Mr Gardiner was explaining, using a breadstick to demonstrate a shipping route on the tablecloth. "One must rely on the monsoon winds, or risk losing the cargo entirely."
"Fascinating," Robert said, and he actually meant it. The Viscount, who usually bored easily if the conversation did not revolve around horses or hounds, was leaning forward, chin in hand. "And the Dutch? Do they still control the nutmeg trade?"
"They try, my Lord. But there are ways around a blockade if one has a fast ship and a captain with steady nerves."
"I need a ship," Robert announced to the table. "Richard, why did we not buy a ship? It sounds infinitely more exciting than plain old horseflesh."
"Because you get seasick in a bathtub, Robert," the Colonel pointed out cheerfully, spooning more potatoes. "Stick to land. You are safer there."
Darcy smiled into his wine glass. He felt a light touch on his arm and turned to find Mrs Gardiner watching him with amused eyes.
"You seem content, Mr Darcy," she observed softly.
"I am, Madam. Your hospitality is very restorative."
"I am glad. We were concerned, you know. When Lizzy first wrote of you from Hertfordshire, she painted a portrait of a man who found joy in nothing but his own discontent."
Darcy winced. "Her portrait was accurate at the time. I was struggling with the scenery."
"And now?"
He glanced across the table. Elizabeth was seated between Georgiana and little Henry Gardiner. She was currently helping Henry dissect a particularly stubborn parsnip, in a way that made the boy giggle. The candlelight caught the stray curls at her temple, turning them to copper. She looked up, feeling his gaze, and offered him a smile that was intimate, knowing, and entirely devoid of the sharpness that had defined their early acquaintance.
"Now," Darcy said, his voice rough with emotion, "I find the scenery has improved immeasurably."
Mrs Gardiner followed his gaze and smiled. "She is special, my niece. She requires a partner who understands that her spirit is not to be tamed, but to be matched."
"I am beginning to understand that," Darcy added with a sigh.
As the covers were removed and the Christmas pudding—a flaming spectacle carried in by a footman—was presented, the conversation shifted from global trade to more domestic matters.
Jane Bennet sat beside Robert, looking like a winter queen in her blue silk. She was listening to him describe a particularly disastrous fox hunt he had participated in, her eyes wide with mirth.
"And the fox?" she asked.
"The fox remained atop the wall and watched us fall into the ditch," Robert admitted. "I swear it waslaughing. It had a very smug expression. Much like my cousin Darcy when he wins at chess."
"I do not look smug," Darcy protested from across the table. "I look victorious."
"Same thing," Robert waved his spoon. "The point is, Miss Bennet, I was covered in mud, my horse had deserted me for better company, and I had to walk three miles back to the lodge. It was humbling."
"It sounds dreadful," Miss Bennet sympathized, though her eyes were dancing.
