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“What did my uncle say?”

“He asked me the same question you asked me on our walk back from the wine merchant, and I gave him the answer I gave you yesterday.” Mr. Darcy’s eyes lingered on her lips. “Your uncle was given permission to accept offers for you, and he has accepted mine. However, if you agree, I shall travel to Hertfordshire next week and speak with your father as well.”

She could not help but smile. She was betrothed. Betrothed, and to Mr. Darcy. “Shall we join the others?” she asked. She was not ready to share his company, but they were here alone and he was a very proper gentleman.

Mr. Darcy did not answer. He was occupied with his coat pocket, which required both hands and a good deal of concentration. He grunted in a way that indicated satisfaction, and then he held out a white berry.

Elizabeth looked at it. Then at him. “You plucked two?”

“Three.” He considered. “One was crushed in my pocket at church. I have been in some distress about it all day.”

“You might simply have returned to the bough and taken another.”

“I might.” He was still holding out the berry. “However, the custom is not particular on when the berry is obtained.”

She took it from his fingers.

It was a brief kiss, because they could hear Henry attempting to instruct the others. But it was not quite so brief as it might have been, given the circumstances. Mr. Darcy’s hand came up to the side of her face and stayed there afterwards. Their eyes met, and neither of them said anything for a moment.

Then they heard someone say, “Where is Elizabeth?”

Her uncle.

Mr. Darcy stepped back into the passage and offered her his arm, completely composed. He was very practised at it, but Elizabeth had lately learned that with Mr. Darcy, composure was not the same as indifference.

She put the berry in her own small pocket and took his arm.

From the drawing room came a swell of laughter. She pulled him along by his hand. “Come, then. We have charades to survive.”

They were able to slip inside without too much teasing, but the evening dissolved after that. Edward cheated. Eleanor accused him of cheating. Henry guessed each charade incorrectly but with great confidence.

Miss Bingley proved unexpectedly good at guessing and was rather insufferable about it. Mr. Bingley acted out his charade so enthusiastically that no one could determine what he was doing, while Jane laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

Margaret shook her head at them all.

Elizabeth leaned towards Mr. Darcy. “Are you enjoying Christmas on Gracechurch Street, sir?”

His gaze travelled around the room, then moved back to her. “Immensely.”

She smiled at him and thought with pleasure that Mr. Darcy was no longer a visitor among them.

He was someone who had found his place.

And when his hand closed over hers, Elizabeth knew she had found hers too.

EPILOGUE

DECEMBER 24, 1816

Darcy had been forbidden to purchase oranges.

He discovered this after he returned from carrying his daughter upstairs, a task that had required considerably more negotiation than putting one small girl to bed ought to demand.

Anne had not been tired. She had not wished for her nightgown. However, she had needed her wooden dog from downstairs, although Darcy had pointed out that she had managed to sleep without it every previous night of her life.

This argument had failed because Anne was nearly three and therefore impervious to logic.

Eventually the dog was found, the nightgown accepted, two stories read instead of one, and Darcy had managed to leave Anne in the care of the nursemaid and extract himself.