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She should have been kept busy, with all that was required of her as the mistress of Pemberley and with all of the responsibility and expectation that came with hosting her first Christmas there. She had her new husband to please and the servants to impress. But Fitzwilliam would be made happy by anything she did and the servants all seemed to follow his lead, and though Elizabeth certainly had a great deal to do in terms of the planning, and though she was anxious to make this Christmas a marvelous one for her guests, Georgiana and the Gardiners were scarcely less easy to please than her husband and Elizabeth had much too much time to think.
It would have been easier if her family were more demanding, if she was endlessly overseeing the cleaning and decorating, ringing for better wine, scrambling to cater to particular tastes and choosy palates. And to be entirely truthful, there had been several instances of rush and worry: there had been the general pressure of making things cheerful and pleasant, before everyone proved to be so inconveniently agreeable; Mrs. Reynolds had come down with a cold, so Elizabeth's greatest helper was out of commission; and there had been a tense moment when the gingerbread she had requested specifically for Fitzwilliam had never appeared (though in that instance, Fitzwilliam himself was at fault, as he had sneaked down to the kitchens to scarf it up hot from the oven, so it was not the calamity she had almost made it out to be). But after these minor troubles had been swept aside, Elizabeth found herself presiding over a small party of very cheerful people, and she had nothing to distract herself from the fact that she really rather thought that she wished them away.
Oh, she did not wish them away all of the time– they were among her favorite people in the world and she loved being surrounded by them. It would not be an exaggeration to say that she owed her current happiness to her aunt and uncle, and she and Georgiana were growing closer everyday; they would be as fond of each other as she and Jane were before long.
But that still didn't stop her from experiencing those silly moments of frustrated impatience, when all she wanted to do was order everyone else to their rooms so that she could be alone with Fitzwilliam.
She had been reasonable and cheerful for most of Christmas Day. The five of them had taken a lovely ride around Pemberley's grounds in the bright morning sunshine, and Christmas dinner was full of good food and good conversation. Elizabeth smiled and laughed and thoroughly enjoyed herself.
But at some point, after their enormous feast had been eaten and they were gathered around a blazing fire in the drawing-room, Elizabeth grew restless. Surely her aunt and uncle were growing tired; surely Georgiana wanted a rest.
"It is growing quite late," she said in an offhand sort of way.
"Not too late," her uncle said heartily. "I am perfectly content where I am."
Well, she had tried.
She did her best to appear unbothered as one hour stretched into two, striving to keep her countenance relaxed and her smile bright. It was possible that she might have started to look a little unnaturally rigid, however, for Fitzwilliam looked at her questioningly, an eyebrow raised. She shook her head and attempted to become engrossed by her aunt's story about one of the children.
Finally - finally - her guests began to yawn and talk of turning in for the evening. Elizabeth was accommodating and gracious, offering everyone another round of hot chocolate or some more cake (every inch the perfect hostess now that your trial is over, said a voice in her head that she hastily shushed), but she was just as graciously declined, and the party said their good nights and went their separate ways.
Elizabeth was standing in the hall, waiting for Fitzwilliam to return from checking in on Mrs. Reynolds, when she spotted it. She grinned at the sight; that certainly hadn't been there before dinner.
“Mistletoe," she said slyly as she heard Fitzwilliam's footsteps approach. She glanced upward and he followed her gaze.
“Where did it come from, I wonder?” he asked.
She stood on her toes, tugging gently on his cravat, pulling him closer.
“I do not find that I care very much,” she whispered, and kissed him.
“Nor I,” he said with a slow smile when she had done, his eyes still closed. “But I did not notice it there earlier.”
“It is a Christmas miracle,” she breathed, and drew him to her once more.
They were alone together at last - precisely what she had been longing for and everything that she wanted - and she was going to make the most of it.