"It was the best day of my life," Robert said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, intimate register he reserved solely for her. "Because the nurse who bandaged my ankle was very kind, and it taught me that I quite like being taken care of. A lesson I am hoping to apply to my future."
She blushed a deep crimson, but she didn't look away. "I am sure you will find many volunteers for the position, my Lord."
"I only require one," he murmured.
Richard groaned loudly. "Robert, please. There are children present. Save the poetry for the balcony."
"You are just jealous because the only thing you have courted this year is a promotion," Robert shot back.
"And I got it," Richard grinned. "Less complicated than a wife, and the uniform is excellent."
Mr Gardiner tapped his glass with a knife, bringing the table to order. He stood up, a glass of his famous port in hand.
"If I may," he began, his voice warm and authoritative. "On this Christmas Day, I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude. For my family—my dear Madeline, and our children. For my nieces, who have brought such light into our home this winter."
He looked at the Bennet sisters with deep affection.
"And," he continued, nodding to the guests, "for new friends. It is a rare pleasure to find that the boundaries we draw in our minds—between the City and the West End, between trade and the peerage—are often just lines in the sand, easily washed away by good company and a shared bottle of wine."
"Hear, hear!" the Earl of Matlock would have shouted had he been there. As it was, Robert did it in his stead.
"To new friends," Mr Gardiner toasted. "And to the year ahead. May it bring clarity, courage, and happiness to us all."
"To the year ahead," the table chorused.
Darcy raised his glass, but his eyes were on Elizabeth.Clarity and courage,he thought.I shall need both.
She caught his eye over the rim of her glass. She tipped it slightly towards him—a silent acknowledgment, a private toast between two people who had fought a war and were now learning to navigate the peace.
To us,her eyes seemed to say.
To us,he answered silently.
The pudding was served, rich and dark and sweet. Laughter filled the room as Henry found the sixpence in his slice and declared he was rich enough to buy a ship of his own.
It was chaotic. It was loud. It was entirely unlike the silent, formal dinners at Rosings Park. And Darcy, sitting amidst the noise, realized he never wanted to eat a silent dinner again.
After dinner, the party migrated to the drawing room. The fire had been built up, casting a cozy glow over the comfortable furniture. The children, exhausted by the excitement and the sugar, were sent up to the nursery, leaving the adults to the quiet leisure of the evening.
"MissDarcy," Mr Gardiner said, gesturing to the instrument in the corner. "My niece tells me you are quite accomplished. Would you honour us?"
Georgiana shrank back slightly, her old shyness flaring. "Oh... I... I am not... I have not practiced..."
"She plays beautifully," Darcy said firmly, stepping to her side. "But only if she wishes to."
"I should like to hear you, Georgiana," Elizabeth added, coming to stand by the piano. "I have no doubt you will put my own playing to shame, which will be an excellent lesson in humility for me."
Georgiana looked at Elizabeth's encouraging smile and her brother's proud support. She took a breath, smoothed her skirts, and sat at the bench.
"I... I have been working on a sonata," she whispered.
"We are all ears," Robert said from the sofa, where he had somehow managed to sit close enough to Jane to share her shawl without technically breaking any rules of propriety.
Georgiana began to play.
It was hesitant at first, a little shaky on the opening bars. But as the music took hold, as the familiarity of the keys soothed her nerves, the hesitation vanished. The melody flowed from her fingers—complex, emotional, and technically precise.
Darcy stood by the fireplace, watching his sister. He felt a lump form in his throat. A year ago—six months ago—she could barely look a stranger in the eye. Wickham had nearly broken her spirit. But here she was, in a stranger's house, playing her heart out.
