“Not according to Mr. Woodhouse. He made her put it on—”
Emma gave a gasp.
“Above stairs in her bedchamber,” amended George. “Her intention was to prove that it would not do, that it was too daring. Ha.”
“Why do you say that?” said Elizabeth.
George swallowed down a giggle. “When she came in, I thought the poor fellow’s eyes would pop from their sockets. Your mother is a beautiful woman, Mrs. Darcy. That ruby color suits her down to the ground.”
“It makes no difference what the color is called,” said Emma. “How could Papa excuse it?”
“All too easily. He showed her the ruby ring he wears. And he mentioned a set of rubies kept in a vault or some such place.”
“Not the hideous parure of Grandmama’s! Who would wear those antiquated pieces?”
“Mrs. Bennet would. That gown would show them off admirably. Pigeon’s blood red, they call that color.”
Emma was aghast. “Did he promise the rubies to her?”
“Your father knows better than to do that. But he wanted to, oh, he did. And she was flattered by his interest.”
“So she is now scheming to entrap him.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said George. “Curious, is it not? For someone who has been driven to marry off her daughters, she has been incredibly blind. The idea that she could become the next Mrs. Woodhouse has only just occurred to her.”
“Huzzah!” cried John. “The battle is won!”
“If this is the case, who is with them now?” said Emma tartly. “We daren’t leave them unattended, not if she is wearing a scandalous gown!”
“At the moment, that task has fallen to Darcy,” said George. “No doubt he is squirming in his seat.”
John jumped to his feet. “Why should you and Darcy have all the fun? I demand to have my share!” Out he went.
Darcy came into the library a few minutes later.
“Well?” said Elizabeth pleasantly. “We have heard that Mr. Woodhouse has decided to attend the ball. What else?” She poured out a cup of tea and passed it to him.
Darcy settled into the chair vacated by John. “You will never guess his reason. He is to lend your mother countenance.”
“At her age?”
“He believes his social credit will be enough to carry the day. If he does not censure her, no one else will dare to.”
“Could Mama be scheming to entrap him?”
“I rather doubt it,” said Darcy. “Her first thought was to have Mary wear the gown, but Mr. Woodhouse put a stop to that. As to schemes, the man has a few of his own.”
“Such as?”
“He has decided to dance, so that she will not sit against the wall with the matrons.”
“They will set all the tongues to wagging.”
“I expect so.” Darcy turned to Emma. “Apparently, when your father was young, he was very fond of dancing.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“Just this: We have all heard Mrs. Bennet say that he is not an old man.”
“Nonsense. Of course he is old.”
“She has given him a powerful inducement to prove that she is right. Moreover,” said Darcy, “when she objected and said that no one would ask her to dance, he stepped right up.”
“Now that,” said Elizabeth, “was by design.”
“I cannot see why he would be taken in,” said Emma. “For years Miss Bates has given a stream of compliments.”
“For his generosity and courtesy, yes,” said George. “That sort of thing wears thin. But Mrs. Bennet praises him as a man. There is a difference.”
The library door banged open. “I am hereby relieved of my duties, thanks to Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet,” said John.
He drew up a chair and sat. “They are to take turns at the pianoforte. Mrs. Bennet has gone up to have what she calls a little lie-down. I take it she means to have a nap. Old Woodhouse has agreed to do the same. Er, not together, of course.”
“Has he proposed?” George wanted to know.
“It is far too soon,” protested Emma.
“Not yet, but I daresay he is thinking about it. We can thank the gown for that.”
“A proposal,” said Emma, “is mere speculation.”
“Is it? It appears that your father did not know Mrs. Bennet’s Christian name. So she told him. And he used it.”
“Er,” said Darcy, “what is her Christian name?”
“Fitzwilliam!”
Darcy spread his hands. “I have never heard it. How should I? Your parents were always very formal.”
“Her name is Jane,” said Elizabeth.
“Apparently, friends and family used to call her Janie,” added John, “but no one has done so for years. Until old Woodhouse, that is.”
“Behold, the height of passion,” quipped George.
“Do not laugh,” said Emma. “You recall how difficult it was for me to stop calling you Mister Knightley.”
“You cleared that fence soon enough. Now you abuse my poor name with regularity.”
“Only when you deserve it.”
“Did Mama call him Henry?” demanded Elizabeth. “How did he respond to that?”
“He fairly kicked up his heels. Wondered how long it had been since a pretty woman has done so.”
Darcy bit his lips to keep from chuckling. Poor Mr. Woodhouse!
“I hope you appreciate my sacrifice,” continued John. “It was deuced awkward, having to sit there and listen to all of it.”
“I expect Mama was rather thrilled,” said Elizabeth. “My father never gave compliments of that kind.”
John heaved out of the chair. “So there we are. I ought to return to Donwell, if only to get the mistletoe into position. I daresay it will inspire a few kisses tonight.”
Emma passed a hand over her eyes. “The thought of that is rather—goodness, I should not use the word disgusting, but there it is.”
“Confound it, Emma,” cried John. “They’ll have to kiss. It is part and parcel of deciding to marry.”
Darcy coughed to cover a laugh.
Later that evening, the Knightleys and Mr. Woodhouse waited in the entrance hall. The carriage would make two trips to Donwell Abbey. Darcy’s wife, sister, and the Bennets would not depart until later.
Since he had nothing else to do, Darcy stood beside George and listened to Emma Knightley. She had the most to gain by the proposed match, and yet she was protective of her father. Darcy could hardly blame her for that.
“You are determined to attend?” she asked Mr. Woodhouse again.
“Yes, my dear. Doubtless there will be too much noise and merrymaking. However, Donwell is a large house. I should be able to find a quiet nook or corner.”
“Mind, there will be a crush of people. I worry that someone might knock against you, causing you to fall.”
“Bah,” he said mildly. “I might as well put my walking stick to use.” He then gave a pat to a pocket of his frock coat. “As you see, I have my dancing gloves at the ready.”
“But Papa,” she protested. “Is that wise?”
“Surely I am able to walk through a reel, my dear. Mr. Perry claims that walking is healthful. I shall simply be doing that, but with musical accompaniment.”
She gave a great sigh. “I fear it will be too lively for you.”
“Emma,” he said. “Everyone sees me as an old stick. Worn out and past any enjoyment. Well, I am not. One cannot wait until life has no struggles to decide to be happy.”
“I—suppose.”
Mr. Woodhouse shrugged into his overcoat and buttoned it up. “Besides, this is Christmas Eve, my dear. It is only fitting that we are merry.” With a word of thanks, he accepted his hat from the footman.