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“Yes. So you have said.”

At Netherfield, he had often suspected that half Miss Elizabeth’s amusement came from the pleasure of provoking him. Now she seemed to be enjoying their exchange without wishing to defeat him in it.

He was not certain this was safer.

Master Henry was not yet finished with him, for he rose up on his toes and asked, “What happened the next Christmas?”

The next Christmas? His mother had been ill by then. Not desperately, or so they had all believed. Several illnesses and several recoveries followed over the years. When he was nearly eleven, she had given birth to Georgiana. She had not lived to see his sister’s first birthday.

Miss Elizabeth met his gaze for a moment. She understood before he said anything.

“There were other Christmases,” he said, “but I believe that is the one I remember best.”

“Because Colonel Fitzwilliam split his breeches?” Master Henry asked.

“Henry,” Mrs. Gardiner said, exasperated.

Darcy almost smiled. “In part.” He ought to have stopped there. Instead, he heard himself say, “Christmas was never quite the same after my mother was gone.”

The children quieted.

Darcy regretted the admission almost immediately. It was too sombre for the afternoon and too personal to say before a group of people he had known only a matter of days. But then Bingley and Miss Bennet came back from Miss Bingley’s chamber and Master Henry began to spin in place. He returned his attention to the chessboard.

Master Edward peered at him. “Is my knight safe now?”

“For the moment.”

“Good.”

The matter was apparently settled. Darcy wished adult conversation could be disposed of so efficiently. Although he found it easy to speak with the Gardiners and their children. The thought came from nowhere, and with it the recollection of what he had once believed about Miss Elizabeth’s family, their connexions and situation.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to reconcile that opinion with the warmth and pleasure to be found in this room.

Before he had come to visit, he would have called a house near Cheapside unsuitable. He could not now say that he had been correct.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said, “are you engaged for dinner on the sixteenth?”

“I do not believe so.”

“Mr. Gardiner has asked Mr. Frederick Pye to dine with us. Mr. Bingley has already accepted, and we should be pleased if you joined us as well.”

“Frederick Pye?” Darcy recognised the name.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“I know of his family. His father and mine were acquainted.”

The Pyes had an estate in Middlesex, and the second son had gone into the city rather than the church or the army as was expected. Darcy’s father had not thought it a poor choice—Middlesex being located as it was made exposure to the business world an easy thing, and he believed that having a second son in trade might help bolster the family estate financially in ways many peers might one day envy. Darcy, who had met the family when he was twenty, had thought it a waste of a gentleman.

Mrs. Gardiner glanced between them but said nothing. “Mr. Pye and Mr. Gardiner went into their first venture together some ten years ago, and he has been a close friend ever since. His family is always in Rutland with relations for Christmas and so we see a good deal of him this time of year. We should be glad to have you as well.”

“Thank you. I should be pleased to attend.”

Before he had met Miss Elizabeth, an evening in Gracechurch Street with a gentleman’s son who had chosen trade would not have been something Darcy considered a desirable engagement. It embarrassed him a little that his father had been more understanding in such matters than his son. But then, his father’s treatment of Wickham had spoiled Darcy for such things. At least, it had until he had met Bingley.

Now he found himself rather eager for the sixteenth to arrive.

Master Edward moved his rook, and Darcy looked down. The boy had taken his queen, and Miss Elizabeth clapped her hands together.