“As you see, I found another lantern. Hearing what I thought was tapping on the wall, I came to investigate. Imagine my surprise!” Stepping forward until her stockinged feet were toe-to-toe with his, she spat, “So, that’s your opinion of us, of our hospitality?”
Without boots, she was a bit shorter than she’d been during their row in the barn, yet, to William, Elizabeth appeared even more imposing than before. She certainly makes me feel small.
“I invited you—without knowing you from Adam—to sleep in our loft. Yes, it once held hay, but it’s now a cosy, ensuite bedroom. Then I invited you into my home, offering you shelter from the storm, warm food, and drink. Tonight will be a special time, a time for family traditions. Yet I was willing to share it with a complete stranger. And this is how you thank me! Honestly, after hearing that representation, you’re the last person on earth I want to spend Christmas Eve with. But I’ve made my bed and now must lie on it.”
She looked away, pressing a hand to her stomach. “I pity poor ‘Georgie.’ Not because the pampered princess won’t get the pink sweater she wants but because she has such a prat—whatever that means!—for a boyfriend.”
“What did I say that wasn’t true? Meryton is remote. Your society is rustic—with its tiny farms, folksy handicrafts, and a hokey extra R on your welcoming sign. I suspect your town council ordered it. Such simplicity is, however, charming…although I could do without all those Homespun puns.”
“I’m not responsible for those. Dad, the English lit teacher, is. Look, I know Mom can be a bit grasping, but you didn’t have to—”
“Technically, she did clutch my arm. Your sisters are dappy, and your cousin is full of hot air. And you… Your apron and hands were grimy, and”—holding up his own palm, he forestalled her—“I admire your hands-on, shall we say, managerial skills.”
“Thanks for the back-handed compliment. But what you said about my sisters and me…”
“Admittedly, some remarks bordered on inappropriateness. I apologise. I’m neither sexist nor, I hope, a prat who doesn’t realise how grateful he should be for all you’ve done. Thank you, Elizabeth. Now, I’d be even more grateful if we could head to the dining room before I faint from lack of food. You might not have guessed, but I can get in a bit of a strop when I’m famished. But, first…” Stepping back, he extended his hand.
She eyed it with suspicion.
“I washed it!”
They clasped hands, mutually letting go after two seconds.
He snatched up her lantern with his left hand, flexing the fingers of his right while Elizabeth guided him along the hallway.
“By the way—not that you’d care one way or the other—Georgiana, the so-called pampered princess, is my sister, not a significant other. FYI. Just so you’d know, and…all that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her hip bumped his. “I’ll bear that in mind the next time I jump to a conclusion.”
William thought he saw a flash of white teeth, but he couldn’t be sure. His own smile faded as voices reached him from the front hall.
“Google it, Cat. Zilli. Made in France. Pure silk lining and— Hold the light closer! Um, pure Peruvian v-i-c-u-n-a wool.”
“Got it. One of the world’s rarest natural fibres and… Holy mother of pearl, Lyddie! $23,093.37 for a coat! Add that to the $2,408.37 for his cashmere hat and $1,504.60 for those shoes. That’s way more than you and I, combined, make in a year. Who is this guy?”
“Google him!”
“I can’t,” Cathy wailed. “My data ran out, and my battery just died. Dang it all to heck! No WiFi. I can’t afford more data, my juice pack is drained, and now my phone is dead. How long will this outage last? I’ll die without internet.”
“Not a problem,” said William, making the two girls jump. “The SUV can charge up to eight devices at a time. It’s also a WiFi hotspot. Just don’t waste petrol unnecessarily.”
Lydia squealed as he tossed her the key fob, lunging forward as if she might embrace him. William backed away, bumping into Elizabeth.
Turning to apologise, he shone the lantern in her direction. Face pale, one hand over her mouth, she backed away, eye wide, shaking her head.
“Come and get it,” called Jenny.
Was it her sisters’ snooping or my extravagance that disgusted her? Either way, Elizabeth is appalled because of me. Should I stay or should I go?
A moment later, William stood in the candlelit dining room, waiting for the ladies to be seated.
“Don’t stand on formality, Son,” said Tom, turning away from toasting Anadama bread over the fireplace embers. “Grab a seat. It’s casual dining tonight. We don’t bring out the fine china, good linens, and best manners until tomorrow.”
Still, William waited until Elizabeth chose a chair. She wouldn’t look his way, and he agonised over her behaviour and his available seating options. The decision was taken away from him when the other men situated themselves around the table. Bill had claimed the coveted seat beside Elizabeth.
Every place was taken, save for the one that, under more formal circumstances, would have been William’s anyway—the chair to his hostess’s right, leaving him almost as far from Elizabeth as the table could possibly divide them.
“We take turns getting up and serving. The lobster course is mine.” Jovial smile in place, Ed Gardiner told William to jump in, if so inclined. Jabbing the air over his left shoulder, he added, “Kitchen’s that way.”
Criminy. With my luck, I’d dump chowdah into Elizabeth’s lap.
That course was served instead by Martha Gardiner. “Clam or corn, William?”
With Elizabeth watching, he blurted, “Corn, please.” Damn. I meant clam.
The chardonnay was smooth, the fare simple but tasty, and the conversation lively. Other than compliments on the rich but tender texture of the boiled lobster, its pristine white flesh, its mild flavour, and how easy it was to eat with a fork from the shell, William contributed little to the natter.
He watched Elizabeth, though, attending her every word and becoming more and more impressed by her intelligence, her lively spirit, her generosity. And drawn in by her deep, green eyes. Blimey. Never before have I been so potty about someone.
As with every family gathering, however, there just had to be a degree of petulance.
Seated in front of the fire and next to Elizabeth, Bill, sweating profusely, complained about the temperature.
“Well, you know what they say,” Tom and Cathy muttered together. “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the farmhouse.” Everyone familiar with the source chuckled while William and Bill frowned in confusion.
During crab cakes, quiche, and a lull in the conversation, Jenny turned to William. “And what is it you do for a living?”
Choking on a sip of chardonnay, he gasped, “I— I’m— I’m an MD.”
“A doctor!”
Dabbing the corners of his mouth with a serviette, he glanced down the table at Bill. “No, not a doctor. Amongst other titles and responsibilities, I’m a managing director, an MD, which is equivalent to CEO over here.”
“How modest of you, Will. Obviously, you take after your aunt Catherine—the very model of self-effacement.” Looking around at the others, Bill shook his head. “Don’t you read Forbes? Don’t you know who your esteemed guest is? Haven’t you heard of F. William Darcy or his conglomerate, the FWD Group? You have, sitting at your humble table, one of the wealthiest, most prestigious men in the world.”
Scowling, William threw down his serviette. “Now, see here. That’s hardly accurate.“
“It’s true. Your aunt Catherine says so.” Bill stuffed half a crab cake into this mouth, speaking around it. “And Will’s uncle is an earl! My dear cousins, even had Will not inherited an outrageous fortune from his parents, he’d still be a billionaire several times over. His business savvy in the worlds of finance, investment, and real estate is nothing short of legendary. What are you worth now, Will? Come on, tell us. You’re among fr
iends.”
Scraping back her chair, Elizabeth stood, glaring down at her greasy relative. “You’re out of line, Bill. Can’t you see what an awkward position you’ve placed our guest in? The poor man is spending Christmas Eve with strangers, not friends. And though he wishes to be anyplace else but here, I will not allow him to be embarrassed in our home.”
“Actually, Elizabeth, you’re only half right.” Gentleman that he was, William could not remain seated while a lady stood. Gaining his feet and with eyes fixed on her, he spoke in a clear, calm tone. “Yes, he’s out of line, and, yes, I’m uncomfortable discussing my finances. Otherwise, you’re wrong. At least, I hope I’m amongst friends. And, right now, there’s no place I’d rather be than here with you. Er, that is, all of you… Well, with one exception.” William glared at Bill.
Silence reigned until one of the little boys cried for his dessert.
“Ah! My favourite course,” said William. “I volunteer to serve the afters, or pud, as we civilised people call it. Er, that is, if Elizabeth will help me find my way around the kitchen.” Smiling as she nodded, he snatched a torch from the sideboard. “And what am I serving?” he asked, following her out.
“Guess.”
“I hope it’s not Jello, rice pudding, or baked apples. I’m in the mood for something decadent. Something sinful,” he whispered, his breath teasing the back of her neck.
Stopping at the kitchen counter, she turned to face him. “Guess again.”
“You’re no fun. Hmm. This being New England, it’s probably something maple-flavoured.”
“What’s wrong with maple?”
“Not sinful enough. Oh, dear god! Not fruitcake! I despise fruitcake. Please tell me it’s not fruitcake, or mince pies…or Oreos.”
“You’re a snob, you know that, right?”
“Think of poor little whatshisname out there and how disappointed he’ll be if I serve him fruitcake. Think of the little boy, Elizabeth. Think of the little boy.”
She laughed, and his heart soared. Her laughter does things to me. Things. “Wait. Where are you going?”
Their dessert, he was informed, was sitting in an ice-filled cooler buried in snow on their back deck, and she needed her boots to fetch it. He argued he should go. She argued he’d just fall again.
Too late. I’m already falling for you.
Although he did nothing but dish it out into small glass bowls which he placed on a tray, carried into the dining room, and distributed, William beamed as his adopted family dug into the Ben & Jerry’s festive flavoured ice cream. Caramel, chocolate chunks, pieces of crunchy gingerbread. Sinful.
With the exception of Bill—who retired to the pull-out sofa in Tom’s den to sleep off his supper and his faux pax—they all shuffled to the living room, groaning, and sinking onto every available soft surface, even the thick woven rug covering the hardwood floor. In front of the crackling fire, a black Lab and a Maine Coon cat snuggled together.
Togetherness. William watched the two little girls help their younger brothers hang stockings from the mantle. It’s all about togetherness.
“Look, William,” said Jenny, pointing. “Jane and Liz’s teddy-bear stockings. They’ve had them since they were Sophia and Emily’s ages. Mary and Cat own the Homespun ones—‘Snowmen are Flakey’ and ‘Mother Nature Always Snows Best.’ The tacky, stockinged-leg-lamp one is Lydia’s.”
Grinning, William turned to Elizabeth, beside him on the love seat. “You still hang a stocking?” She nodded. “Well, do you know why Santa is so jolly?” She shook her head. “He knows where all the naughty girls live.”
Rising from his easy chair, Tom claimed everyone’s attention. “It’s Christmas Eve, the tree is trimmed, and the stockings are hung. Time for the Bennet annual carol sing. Take it away, Mary. William, please join in.”
He hadn’t noticed the upright piano tucked in an alcove, but William joined the others at the instrument, wishing Georgiana was with him. My happiness would be complete. Asked to select the first two pieces, he chose “The Holly and the Ivy” and “O Tannenbaum.” While others followed the English translation, he sang the latter song in German from memory.
At Jenny’s request, “I’ll be Home for Christmas” came next. Noticing William’s faraway look as they sang, Elizabeth sidled up, touching his hand, giving it a squeeze, then letting go. He wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing back, holding on till the end.
Martha exchanged places with Mary, flexing fingers over the keys. “This song is for my four little scamps. ‘Old Toy Trains’ is a favourite in our family. Ed, come sing it to our children with me before they go to bed.”
William didn’t know the song, but something tugged at his heartstrings as he listened and watched the young family.
That! That’s what I want. That’s what I’ve been missing in my world of meetings, cynicism, and stuffiness. Without conscious thought, his eyes turned to where Elizabeth softly hummed along with her parents and sisters.
Finally, as Mary and her parents performed “Away in a Manger” and the children went about the room saying their goodnights, William felt a tug on his trousers.
The eldest boy peered up at him. “Are you Jesus?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you Jesus?”
“Certainly not.”
“But you have an Uncle Earl and I heard Aunt Jenny say that makes you as good as the Lord, and Mary said we should pray ’cause you might be Mariah’s saviour, and there was no room at the inn so you’re gonna stay in the barn and sleep in the hay. Are you Jesus?”
Elizabeth hurried over. “Silly goose is half asleep. Doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
The boy pouted, hugging a cuddly toy. “Do too! I heard—”
“Reindeer prancing on the rooftop,” said Elizabeth. “Best scurry off to bed! But first, let’s see what Jane has on that plate.”
“Look what I found!” Jane lowered a plateful of biscuits for the children to see.” Shortbread Christmas cookies! With Jimmies! Save some for Santa, though.”
William turned to Elizabeth. “Jimmies?”
“Sprinkles.”
“Ah. Hundreds-and-thousands.”
“Of calories, yes. What would Christmas be without them? If you prefer, Mary is bringing in bowls of cut-up apples, Cabot cheddar, kettle-cooked potato chips, peppermint bark, and mugs of hot buttered rum. Yum. Or you can have some of Dad’s brandy.”
“I’m still stuffed to the gills with chowdah and seafood,” he groaned. Admiring her trim figure, he asked where she put all the food she packed away. “You haven’t an ounce of fat on you…not that I was checking you out or anything.”
While Lydia pranced around the room singing “Santa Baby,” William told Elizabeth he should head to the barn.
“Okay. Dad went over twice to stoke the fire, so the loft should be comfy. Get bundled up while I fetch another duvet, just in case. Do you want to borrow a pair of Dad’s boots? I don’t want you falling on top of me after all that food you’ve packed away tonight.”
Such sweetness and light! Such cheekiness!
Dressed for outdoors, Elizabeth returned—pockets full of candles and matches—laden with a quilt and lanterns. “Is it okay if I charge my phone awhile in your jalopy? You should plug yours in, too. You’ll want to call your folks tomorrow and check on your flight.”
He’d forgotten about leaving. He didn’t want to think about it.
As they sat in the SUV, Elizabeth asked about William’s family and why he was in the States so close to Christmas. She learned his parents died in the family’s Cirrus Vision SF50 in a crash in the Peak District and, consequently, William was afraid of flying. She learned sixteen-year-old Georgiana had suffered some trauma but was taking music lessons at a conservatoire and would probably go for a Master of Music. She learned of his Fitzwilliam relatives—“an embarrassing assortment of odd-bods”—and of his friend, Charles—“geek, prankster, tech expert”—who had saved one of the FWD companies fr
om ruin. The havoc had been wreaked by a man named Wickham, a disgruntled former employee with a personal grudge against William.
“And you, Elizabeth? Tell me about yourself. Is there some nice boy-next-door type you’re involved with? Some hometown heartthrob?”
He learned, to his relief, there was no man in her life. She was enrolled at an art and design college in nearby Longbourn, taking fashion and textiles, focusing on fibre craft. “So, are you to become a fashion designer? Shall I run into you some day in Milan?”
“Heck, no! I’m a down-home kinda gal. Warm woollen mittens and sweaters are a few of my favourite things, not haute couture. Ugh!”
“So, if not high fashion, what are your aspirations?”
Shrugging, Elizabeth said she’d probably end up teaching like her parents and Jane. William asked why—with such an interest in textiles, a talent for managing, and her skill at turning old, felted sweaters into mitts—she wouldn’t make Homespun a real business.
“I told you. It’s a fundraiser, not a business.”
“Your friend’s sister will have the meds she needs. There’ll be a donation made to your cause that will cover all expenses.”
Elizabeth stammered her thanks, looking down at her hands.
Blimey. I’ve made her uncomfortable again. Quick, change the subject! “So, tell me about the bizarre over-population of inflatable Santas hereabouts.”
He learned Ed owned—amongst other businesses—a discount Christmas store and had offered his profits on that item to Homespun. The Bennets’ neighbours had snapped them all up.
“I like your family, Elizabeth. They’re good people, but I could do without Bill’s wittering.”
She frowned. “You think he’s a wit?”
“God, no! I meant he talks long after his audience’s interest has gone, assuming there was any interest in the first place. I shan’t be subscribing to his YouTube channel or watching his TED Talk…unless I need a cure for insomnia.”
Yuletide Page 14
