Page 15 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
Kerr held it up to Elizabeth and nodded. “I think Miss Bingley would swallow her turban, feathers and all, if she saw you in this.”
“Is it not too fine for a family dinner?” Elizabeth asked. “Perhaps we ought to save our best ammunition for a more formal occasion.”
“Very well,” Kerr said doubtfully. “But my mother always says that if you wait too long, that occasion may never come.”
Elizabeth nodded, acting as though the words had not struck her to the heart. “Your mother is very wise. I shall not wait long. But not tonight.”
Reluctantly, Kerr put the gown away. “How about this one, then?” she asked, holding up a rose-coloured gown. This one was also silk, though it was not as fine a weave. Elizabeth had inherited it from Jane a year ago, for it complemented her complexion better than it had Jane’s. She did not believe Miss Bingley had ever seen her in it. It would do for tonight.
“Yes, thank you, Kerr.”
“Would you mind if I made a few alterations, Miss Bennet?”
“What sort of alterations?”
“The sleeves are from last season, but it would not require much to change the shoulders here.” Kerr pointed to the seam. “And Mrs. Bingley told me she has some lace she was saving for you. A bit of that along here”—she trailed a finger down the neckline without touching it—“would be the very thing. Not too much, just enough to set it off.”
“Kerr, I think you and I are going to get along very well,” Elizabeth said approvingly. “Will you have time to make these adjustments?”
“Of course, Miss Bennet.” Kerr was the tiniest bit affronted. “I would not suggest it were I unable to complete the task.”
Elizabeth smiled brightly in order to placate the miffed maid. “Yes, I would like those changes very much.”
Mollified, Kerr made quick work of unpacking and hanging the rest of Elizabeth’s gowns and went in search of the lace.
Darcy sat before the fire with a brandy in one hand and a book in the other. He ought to be content, but his almost uncontrollable desire to be away from the pain that the memories of this place engendered kept him distracted. After a time, he placed the book down on a small table nearby and gave the brandy his complete attention.
He remembered Elizabeth in this house. He could almost hear her voice drifting past the door and catch the faintest traces of the jasmine perfume she preferred. There was something complex in the scent, not unlike the woman herself, for the sweetness of the jasmine was balanced with the sharpness of lemon and just a touch of something he recalled from his travels abroad. Lingonberry, perhaps? He remembered her perfume very clearly from their brief walk to Longbourn from the church; indeed, he did not believe he would ever forget it.
“Darcy!” Bingley exclaimed cheerfully as shut the door of the study behind him. “Still here! What is it now? Has your coach lost a wheel?”
“Nothing so dire. A horse has lost a shoe.”
Bingley lifted his eyebrows. “The same horse? That is unlucky.”
Darcy felt foolish. “No, it was a different one. Horatio.”
“And that was enough to put you off another day?” Bingley poured a glass of brandy for himself.
“I begin to think I shall never leave this place.”
His friend poured another glass and held it out to Darcy. “I begin to think you do notwishto leave.”
“Bingley, your sister is here. Of course I wish to leave.” Darcy snapped. He grunted, annoyed with himself for giving into his vexation. “That was rude. Forgive me.”
Bingley sipped his brandy, looking troubled. “I had no idea you felt so strongly.”
Darcy did not know what to say. How could Bingley not be aware? Finally, he sighed. “I cannot look upon my behaviour here in Hertfordshire last year without abhorrence, Bingley. Your sister was a part of that.”
“Your behaviour is not her fault, no more than my behaviour in deciding to remain in London last autumn is yours.”
Bingley was correct. “No, you are quite right. It is the reminder of my ungentlemanlike conduct that I cannot tolerate.”
“Tolerate,” Bingley said, and nodded as though he had unravelled some great mystery. “Hmm. Jane and I will be downstairs for dinner. Will you join us?”
He was surprised that Bingley had latched onto the word “tolerate,” rather than asking about his ungentlemanly behaviour, but then, Bingley had witnessed it all, so there was no need. “No thank you. I am not in the proper frame of mind to be polite, and I will soon be gone. Best to avoid her. Does she even know I am in the house?”
Bingley appraised him before saying, “I do not believe so, and if you do not wish her to know, I shall not be the one to tell her.”
