“We do not do this each night until Christmas,” Mr. Gardiner said as he settled back in his chair at the top of the dining table at the conclusion of their meal, “but the first night that we mark in our celebration must be special.”
Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy’s expression carefully. She had been observing him all evening, and she had not seen him scowl in disapproval or arch a critical eyebrow since he arrived, save for twice – once, when his sister had mentioned going to Netherfield and again, when he had been asked to take part in the festivities at Gracechurch Street. She would dearly love to know why those two things had caused his features to briefly darken with discomfort. Was it because he found both the society of Hertfordshire and here, at her aunt and uncle’s home, to be too lowly for his sister and himself? Or was it something else?
She had wanted to put it to simple arrogance, and she had tried. However, the way in which he had greeted her two young cousins as if they were people of importance had made her doubt that it was superiority which had made him uneasy.
“Your cook has done an excellent job of making our meal a feast of celebration,” Mr. Darcy said with a smile that appeared to Elizabeth to be genuine and not affected. “I have not had such delicious rabbit pie in an age, and I shall have to request that my cook presents it in such an enchanting fashion, as it was tonight, the next time it is served.”
“You have never had it served in the form of a beggar’s purse?” Elizabeth asked. She had been almost positive that he would find their meal wanting in some way. Or maybe she was just hoping that he would so that she would have another reason, other than his comment at the assembly, to dislike him. It was truly disappointing that he was being all that was pleasant – even if he was doing it in a reserved fashion.
“It is a present,” Martin corrected.
Elizabeth shifted her gaze from Mr. Darcy to the eldest Gardiner child who sat across from her and next to his mother. “My apologies, Martin.”
She turned her focus back to Mr. Darcy, who sat at the top of the table next to her uncle and across from Mr. Bingley. “Have you never had rabbit pie in the form of a present, Mr. Darcy?”
His lips twitched in amusement. “No, I have not.”
Was he laughing at her? Or did he find Martin’s insistence on the correct term being present to be humorous?
“Good food is an indulgence which I cannot deny myself,” Mr. Gardiner interjected before Elizabeth could decipher the source of Mr. Darcy’s amusement. “Therefore, an excellent cook is required, and we treat him well.”
Mr. Bingley chuckled. “As you should! An excellent cook should never be treated in any other way than well since they can be a trial to find.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Darcy agreed. “Netherfield also has an excellent cook, as does Longbourn.” He glanced for a fleeting minute in Elizabeth’s direction.
“I have not sampled any of the delights of Netherfield, but I have eaten at Longbourn many times and would have to agree. Both of my sisters are very accomplished when it comes to entertaining guests, and an accomplished cook is paramount to such enterprises.” Mr. Gardiner lowered his voice. “Do not tell either of them this, but Mrs. Bennet is perhaps better than Mrs. Philips. I cannot hope to do so well as either of them.” Mr. Gardiner laughed. “However, Maddy can outshine them both.” He winked at his wife, who smiled and shook her head.
Aunt Gardiner was fond of her husband’s praise, but she often scolded him for it because, according to her, she only did what needed to be done for her family in the best way she knew how to do it. It is what any good wife should do, she would say. To which, Uncle Gardiner would always reply that commending his wife on her excellence was what any good husband should do. Elizabeth hoped that she would be so fortunate as to marry a gentleman like her uncle who did not hide his admiration of his wife.
“I hope you will not be put out if we do not have our dessert course now,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “The children do better with some time between their main meal and any sweets.”
“I think that is an excellent plan,” Mr. Darcy assured her.
He was being exceptionally friendly and agreeable this evening. Elizabeth tipped her head and studied his handsome profile. She supposed he had always been polite – well, except for that time at the assembly when he said that horrid thing he said. She sighed. Perhaps it was just her that he did not like, which meant, of course, that there was no hope of him ever considering her.
“We have promised the children a game and a story before they can have their Christmas wafers and a touch of tea,” Mr. Gardiner said.
“A game?”
Elizabeth smiled. That was a third time that Mr. Darcy had looked apprehensive this evening.
“Which game?” Mr. Bingley asked eagerly, looking down the table to the Gardiner children.
“Hunt the Slipper,” Nora said. Her eyes twinkled in the candlelight, and her cheeks were rosy. Five-year-old Nora loved to play games. She was not so good, however, at losing games.
“And whose slipper shall we use?” Mr. Bingley questioned her. “Mine?”
The little girl giggled and shook her head.
“Mr. Darcy’s?”
Elizabeth could not help but join her cousin in giggling at such an absurd suggestion. Mr. Bingley was very amusing. Jane would do well to have him as her husband. Her children would never want for entertainment.
“I do suppose his slippers would be too big to hide,” Mr. Bingley gave Mr. Darcy a teasing grin.
A quick peek at Mr. Darcy could not be helped. Elizabeth simply had to see how he would respond. His left eyebrow arched, and he gave his friend a withering look.
“They are not that much larger than yours,” he said in defense of himself.
Surprisingly, when Elizabeth turned her eyes back to Mr. Bingley, he looked pleased with himself for having drawn such a response from his friend. The sight went against everything she had thought of Mr. Bingley before. Hopefully, he was not the sort to provoke others for sport.
“Mine,” Nora said. “Papa said we could use mine.”
“That I did,” Mr. Gardiner agreed.
“Then, yours it shall be, Miss Gardiner,” Mr. Bingley said.
“Shall we go to the sitting room?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.
“Oh, yes!” Martin cried.
Six-year-old Martin also loved a good game, and he was particularly good at winning them. His trial with playing games came in the form of an inability to be a humble winner, which did little to aid his younger sister with her struggle in losing graciously. Perhaps tonight, they would be fortunate and someone other than Martin would win.
It did not take long at all to walk the few steps from the dining room to the sitting room. While her aunt and uncle’s home was spacious enough for their growing family and any guests they might have visit, it was not sprawling. The corridor was narrower than Longbourn’s, and there were fewer rooms on each level of the townhouse.
“You must sit in a circle on the floor,” Martin instructed once everyone had entered the sitting room. That was another thing at which Martin excelled – telling others what needed to be done.
“Try again,” Mrs. Gardiner said with a pointed look for her eldest. “But this time, request that we join you rather than demanding it.”
Mr. Darcy’s lips twitched with amusement again. While the response to a child being reprimanded was odd to Elizabeth, the affect amusement had in softening Mr. Darcy’s features was appealing. She sighed. If only she were more than tolerable.
“You must sit by Mr. Darcy,” Mary hissed in Elizabeth’s ear.
Elizabeth shook her head.
“You must,” Mary mouthed without sound. “Please.”
“I would be quite pleased if you would sit on the floor in a circle,” Martin said.
“Better,” his mother assured him when he looked to her for approval.
“Who will stand in the middle first?” Mr. Bingley asked as he sat down.
“Martin because he is the oldest,” Nora said as she took a place next to Mr. Bingley. To Elizabeth, it looked as if the slightly silly Mr. Bingley had found an admirer.
“Is it not the youngest who goes first?” Mr. Bingley asked.
“No,” Nora answered simply.
“My sister, Caroline, always said it was,” Mr. Bingley replied.
“It is not.” Nora’s expression was all seriousness.
“We need your slipper,” Martin said to his sister.
“Try again,” his mother said.
“May I have your slipper, please?”
“Better.”
For a third time since the end of dinner, Mr. Darcy’s lips twitched with amusement. If he was laughing at a child being corrected… well… that was not something which Elizabeth could condone.
“At the risk of being far too impertinent,” she whispered, as she took a seat next to Mr. Darcy to please her sister, “may I ask what is so humorous about a child being scolded?”
His eyes grew wide. “My apologies. I was not laughing at your cousin.”
He looked disquieted enough that Elizabeth had to believe him.
“I was simply remembering how often either I or one of my two older cousins had to repeat things more politely when we were younger.” He turned his attention back to Martin with a pensive look on his face.
The thought of a young Mr. Darcy being reprimanded for his behaviour by his mother made her smile before it cast a shadow of melancholy on her. She glanced at the gentleman sitting next to her. He had neither mother nor father. Had it been his mother who had reprimanded him? Or was it his father? Who was he remembering?
“Did it happen often?” she asked.
He nodded. “Far more often than it should have.” His lips curled up into a small smile. “Much to my shame, I have not outgrown that fault. However, I rarely have anyone who scolds me for poor behaviour now.”
“Cobbler, cobbler mend my shoe…”
Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth turned their attention back to the game just as Martin handed the slipper to Mr. Bingley and closed his eyes. As quickly and quietly as possible, the slipper passed from hand to hand behind each person’s back.
For half an hour, laughter and fun filled the Gardiner sitting room as Nora’s slipper was hidden and then hunted. Several got to take their turns standing in the middle of the group trying to find the slipper, though anyone taller than Martin was required to stand on his or her knees so they could not look over the heads of the slipper passers.
“And now for a story!” Mr. Gardiner cried once Nora’s slipper had been returned to her foot and all had claimed a seat on the furniture instead of the floor. “What story shall it be, Nora?”
Nora clapped her hands. “I get to choose?”
“You do, indeed,” her father replied.
“The one about the landlord and Fanny.”[1]
“She always picks that one,” Martin grumbled.
“Not always,” Nora retorted.
“Almost,” Martin replied.
“Children,” their father interrupted, “go sit by your mother.” He waited until he saw that both his children had obeyed before turning back to his guests. “This story will require some help for it is a bit of a play.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together so that she would not laugh at the look of sheer horror that washed over Mr. Darcy’s face before it could be hidden.
“Who reads the best among you?” Mr. Gardiner continued. “I know that Elizabeth and Mary are both excellent readers.”
“I will be Betty,” Mary offered eagerly, “and Elizabeth can be Fanny.”
“Gentlemen, do you read?” Mr. Gardiner posed the question to Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.
“Darcy is the better reader,” Mr. Bingley answered.
“You are more expressive,” Mr. Darcy said with a shake of his head.
Mr. Gardiner chuckled. “Reluctant performers, are we? Then, I shall play the landlord, and,” he scanned the story he held, “Mr. Bingley can be John – he is the farmer – and Mr. Darcy will play Thomas – the farmer’s son. The parts are nearly the same length. Will that suit?”
“Yes,” Mary answered with alacrity and a smile for Elizabeth.
Dread settled in Elizabeth’s stomach as her uncle gave instructions for Mary and Elizabeth to share one copy of the story while Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley shared another. Swiftly, the sitting room was rearranged to have a gallery of observers – consisting of Mrs. Gardiner, her two eldest children, and Miss Darcy – and a performance area with one chair in the middle and two sets of two chairs on either side of the central chair.
“Is this not perfect?” Mary whispered to Elizabeth after they had taken their places on the right side of their uncle and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley had been seated on Mr. Gardiner’s left. “Perhaps playing the part of a gentleman in love with you will be just the thing.”
“No, it is not perfect,” Elizabeth hissed. She had no desire to read the part of Fanny, the orphan girl who was promised to the farmer’s son.
“It is Providence,” Mary whispered happily. “Providence and a bit of Yuletide magic.”
“I do not think the Good Lord uses magic at any time of the year,” Elizabeth grumbled.
“No, of course, He does not,” Mary said with a wave of her hand, “but you know what I mean.”
“You are sounding like Lydia,” Elizabeth cautioned.
Mary batted her lashes. “I intended to.”
As her uncle stood to welcome their audience, Elizabeth sighed and wished for the old Mary to return just until Mr. Darcy had departed for the evening. Then, she prepared herself to read her part and declare her determination to join her lot as Fanny with Mr. Darcy’s as Thomas.