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“Mr. Darcy,” Margaret said.

They both turned to see the eldest Gardiner standing before them. She had managed to tie the blue ribbon in her hair, but one end was twice the length of the other.

“Yes?”

“Can you do bows?”

He studied the ribbon. “My sister was never pleased with my efforts.”

“You undid the knot,” Margaret reminded him.

“I fear that pulling out a knot and creating something attractive are not the same skill.”

“I will do it, Margaret,” Elizabeth said, rescuing him.

Margaret came to sit next to her. Mr. Darcy rose to make room, and Elizabeth concentrated carefully upon the ribbon. Fortunately, her fingers knew the work because her mind was somewhere else.

Tomorrow. Mr. Darcy was coming tomorrow to see her. Not because Mr. Bingley required his carriage to see Jane, not because Miss Bingley remained under the Gardiners’ roof, not because Uncle Gardiner had invited him to dine or because he happened to be in Gracechurch Street.

“You are tying it too tight,” Margaret complained.

“A thousand pardons,” Elizabeth said and began again. She finished, adjusted the size of the loops, and asked, “There, is that better?”

“Yes,” Margaret said and hurried away.

Mr. Darcy had crossed the room to speak with her uncle, who lowered his newspaper. Mr. Darcy said something Elizabeth could not hear, and her uncle looked first at him, then directly at her.

Heat rushed into her face.

Her uncle’s brows rose. Elizabeth gave him what she hoped was a forbidding look, but he had the audacity to smile at her. Then he returned his attention to Mr. Darcy.

In Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy had judged her uncle as harshly as Mr. Bingley’s sisters had, despite never having met him. Now he was asking that same uncle for leave to call on her.

Elizabeth busied herself with collecting the remaining ribbons.

Jane came to sit beside her. She glanced at Mr. Darcy, Uncle Gardiner, and then Elizabeth. “Lizzy—” she began.

She was not ready to answer questions about Mr. Darcy. “No.”

“I was only going to ask whether you knew where Aunt Gardiner put the green thread,” Jane said, all innocence.

Elizabeth blushed. Jane managed perhaps three seconds before she laughed.

It was impossible to defend oneself against Jane when she teased. “He is only asking to call,” Elizabeth warned.

“I am glad,” Jane said. “It will make Christmas even better, knowing I am not the only Bennet daughter who is to be made happy in the new year.”

Across the room, Mr. Darcy was listening to her uncle, his head bent slightly, his expression serious. Tomorrow Mr. Darcy would call upon her, and Elizabeth found that she was already anticipating it.

The following afternoon, Mr. Darcy arrived carrying a book.

He greeted Aunt Gardiner, Jane, and the children, endured Henry’s immediate report that the mysterious button did indeed belong to Eleanor’s doll, and then came to Elizabeth.

“For you.”

Elizabeth took it and read the title. It was a book on watercolours and included colour plates. “I mentioned this book, did I not?”

“Twice.”