“Your aunt . . .” Miss Elizabeth’s voice cracked, and she began again. “Is your aunt truly disposed to be officious, sir, or is this the complaint of a man who cannot best her in a debate?”
He smiled at her recovery. “I would not know, I am afraid. I have never been able to slide a word in edgewise.”
“Her condescension is priceless treasure!” Mr. Collins announced.
Darcy pulled a face. “She does believe her advice is like treasure. Unfortunately, she does not believe in hoarding it.”
Mr. Bennet laughed. “Is she a dragon, sir, that you describe her in such a way?”
“Only when my cousins and I tracked mud into her drawing room, Mr. Bennet. Then the fire was very hot indeed.”
This elicited laughter from around the table, except from Miss Mary, who was confused, and Mr. Collins, who seemed uncertain how to respond. “Mr. Darcy!” Mr. Collins said at last, scandalized. “How can you say such things about your own aunt?”
“My aunt needs no coddling from me, Mr. Collins. She would sneer at the very idea. Do not go so far as to suggest she requires it.”
“I would never,” the pastor said with a sniff.
“Good,” Darcy replied directly. He wished to be certain that even this most obtuse of men would take his meaning, so he spoke very slowly. “I would not like be compelled to write her to say that you had.”
“Mrs. Bennet,” Bingley said, clearly desperate to turn to less acrimonious topics, “this goose was done to a turn. Do you suppose your cook would be willing to send the receipt to mine?”
Bingley must truly be at his wits’ end to ask about the cooking.
Mrs. Bennet made a happy, humming little sound and sipped her wine. Miss Bennet smiled at Bingley, and his gaze for her was all but indecent.
Darcy chanced to glance at Miss Elizabeth, who was pressing her lips together very tightly. She met his eyes, and he sent his up to the ceiling much as he had earlier. Her shoulders lifted, and then she glared at him for nearly making her laugh again.
His heart swelled with hope.
These few extra days in her company had changed everything. Had Miss Bingley’s plan succeeded and they all remained in town this winter, he was not sure Bingley would ever have recovered. Miss Bennet, too, would have been wounded by the desertion. It would have been a disaster.
And now . . . Was it possible that he could successfully address himself to Miss Elizabeth? That she might see him in a different light than the man who had purposely kept himself aloof for the past two months?
If she did, it would be nearly on the order of a Christmas miracle.
Darcy blinked. That was the kind of wild, romantic exaggeration he would have expected from Georgiana. Thank goodness he had not said it aloud or in the company of his cousin Fitzwilliam, for the man would never have let him forget it.
What was this woman doing to him?
Plan. He needed a plan. Rational, orderly, effective.
Just at the moment his mind was beginning to work out a strategy for winning Miss Elizabeth, she finally gave in and laughed at something her eldest sister said. It was soft, gentle, loving. Her face was luminous in the candlelight, and her fine eyes were bright with happiness.
All strategy abandoned him at once.
There had been something between them under the mistletoe today. He had paused before the kiss, and rather than waiting, Miss Elizabeth had lifted her cheek to his lips. He was not sure she realised she had done it, but she had. Of course, then Mr. Collins had pushed her, and in the end, he had not kissed her cheek.
Her lips were as soft as rose petals.
Now that Bingley was mending and the idiot at the end of the table was departing for Kent on the morrow, Darcy would be able to spend more time in Miss Elizabeth’s company. He would try to show her who he really was when he was not trying to hide his feelings. That was plan enough for now.
Darcy ate and listened while Mrs. Bennet expounded about her baked apples. Gads, Bingley was right. Everything Mrs. Bennet served was remarkable. If he remained here much longer, he would add at least a stone to his frame. Greyson would be put out were he required to let out all Darcy’s trousers, and Darcy had no wish to look like Hurst.
“Do you have apples on your estate, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth inquired.
It was a polite question, meant to include him in the conversation her mother had started. But it made him smile, nonetheless.
Mrs. Bennet blinked at him, then at Mr. Collins, and then at Miss Elizabeth. She was figuring out what Miss Elizabeth had not, and the speed of that deduction was impressive.