“Will we bring his presents back home, Papa?” Audrey’s question halted Lizzy’s sharp retort, Darcy chuckling as he again focused on his daughter.

“Of course we will, princess. You can help him open them tomorrow. He is too young yet to accomplish the task alone, nor is he old enough to be fully aware of the festivities surrounding him.”

“He loves to look at all the decorations. He laughs and tries to touch everything. Yesterday he escaped Nanny Lisa and climbed onto the table while we were mixing the dough and fell face first into the bowl! He was covered with flour and molasses. Oh, you should have seen him, Papa. It was very funny.”

“I heard about it. Another reason to keep him here rather than running amok at Rivallain. Here he will be safe, warm, and happily playing with his toys between naps and meals.”

She nodded her agreement, but then stayed his hand with a gentle clasp of her delicate, gloved fingers. “But you are wrong, Papa. He will miss us.”

Darcy flashed a warning glance to Lizzy while answering. “Perhaps a little, but it is the wisest decision.” Lizzy snapped her lips shut, knowing he was correct but remaining disturbed at the idea. “His grandpapa and Uncle George will dote upon him while we are away. And then we shall make it up to him with an abundance of kisses and hugs when we return. How is that?”

“Ow! It is too tight! You pinched me on purpose!”

“I did not. And you wouldn’t have been pinched if you would just hold still!”

Darcy engaged his wife’s eyes for a brief reaffirming exchange, Lizzy smiling and nodding before rolling her eyes and indicating he deal with the squabbling duo. With a smile of relief that his wife was appeased followed by an exasperated sigh at the bickering Noella and Michael, he rose from the bench. “Enough, you two. Michael, help Nathaniel with his coat. Here, Noella, let me button that.”

“He did do it on purpose, Papa. Is my neck red?”

“Not in the least. Flawlessly beautiful, as always.”

“Good,” she said, lifting her chin so Darcy could finish clasping her bonnet, “I must look my absolute best.”

“And why is that?”

“Hugh will be there.”

“Ah, yes. Young Mr. Pomeroy. Still sporting a crush on your cousin, are you?”

“Papa,” she sighed, piercing him with her patented longsuffering look, “Hugh is not my cousin, not really. And I do not have a crush,” her tone clearly conveying her derision for that definition.

“Of course not,” he smiled, brushing her cheek with a soft kiss. “How foolish of me.”

“I intend to marry him.”

Her announcement was firm and completely matter-of-fact, Darcy stammering slightly in a combination of amusement and surprise. “Do you now?” He finally managed, noting Lizzy’s attempt to refrain from bursting into laughter. “And is Mr. Pomeroy aware of this arrangement? After all, he may not be so pleased at betrothal to an eleven-year-old.”

“I will be twelve tomorrow,” she informed him flatly, as if that made all the difference in the world, “and will tell him eventually.”

“Perhaps I should break the good news to him,” Alexander interjected dryly. “He may need the next eight years to prepare for the concept. Bolster his fortitude, practice the proposal speech, save up for the ring, and so on.”

But instead of erupting into a tirade, as they all expected—Michael dying to chime in on his opinion of poor Hugh’s bleak future—Noella merely shrugged and calmly pulled on her gloves.

“Well, since I do not foresee any of my children becoming engaged in the next day or so, I say we put the topic aside and get into the carriage so we can arrive at Rivallain for breakfast as planned. Mrs. Darcy?”

Darcy’s prediction proved correct. The feeble snowfall ceased before they reached Beeley, and clear, crisp skies remained throughout the day. Their celebration with the Fitzwilliam clan and local friends at Lord and Lady Matlock’s grand estate was lively, entertaining, and wholly wonderful. The wrapped gifts, hampers of Mrs. Langton’s favored holiday fare, and baskets of Christmas cookies and pies baked by the Darcy women were exchanged for fresh piles of gifts, restocked hampers of feast remnants, and different cookies and pies.

To the fascination of the adults, Noella utterly ignored Hugh all day!

“Strange way to capture your chosen man, don’t you think?” Darcy asked the group in general.

“She is a female and who can understand the subtle intrigues of a woman?” Richard responded, winking at his wife and Elizabeth, who laughed.

“Noella’s declaration apparently isn’t trammeling Mr. Pomeroy’s roving eye,” Lady Matlock pointed out with a chuckle, indicating the object of Noella’s infatuation. The handsome nineteen-year-old Hugh was one of several unattached gentlemen brazenly flirting with a cluster of young ladies sitting near a far window. Alexander had shared his sister’s intentions with his friend, Hugh laughing so hard that tears sprang to his eyes. Whether it was his flippancy at the idea or some female machination on her part was unclear, but Noella pointedly pretended he was invisible, even to the degree that she endured Michael’s taunts in stoic silence. It made for a humorous afternoon amid the typical holiday festivities.

Just as the sun touched the horizon, the seven Darcys said their adieus and crammed into the spacious coach that was rapidly becoming too cramped even with the smaller children sitting on laps. They embarked on the hour-long ride back to Pemberley with hearts and stomachs filled to bursting. It was Alexander’s idea to play a memories-and-forfeit game reciting “The Twelve Days of Christmas” and using evenly distributed candy canes as the “payment” for blundering in remembering the proper sequence. The first round made it as far as “seven swans a-swimming” when Michael, who possessed a memory as reliable as a rusted bucket holding water (according to Nathaniel), stumbled over what came after “four colly birds.”

“Three French hens! How could you forget that?” Noella dramatically wailed, collecting her hard sugar cane and taking a bite just as the carriage rocked ominously, causing them to collectively gasp and grab onto the nearest body.

The occupants had no time to process the aberrant break from the normal rhythm of bobs and sways when the loud crack of splitting wood was immediately followed by the strident sound of twisting, scraping metal. Mr. Anders, the coachman, shouted a warning to Mr. Darcy and barked an order to the horses just as the carriage abruptly lurched to the right. An audible crunch shuddered through the walls and ceiling of the carriage, mixing with the loud snap of a leather strap on the roof and the crash of a dozen packages as they tumbled onto the solid ground. The carriage came to a sudden stop, careening dangerously off-balance as it continued to shake from the stress.

“Be still!” Darcy bellowed, his voice rising above the shrieks. Relative silence fell as a blanket, harsh breathing and muted whines low enough to hear the coachman and footman warily leap to the ground. Darcy scanned the white faces of his family before cautiously shifting his weight and unlatching the window shade. “Mr. Anders? Watson?”

“Here, sir. Hold fast and don’t move. The rear felloe shattered and the wheel is bent beyond repair. We need to brace before I trust ye to move. Those rocks there, Watson. The bloody thing is sittin’ on the axle. Can’t fathom how it happened…” And his voice lowered into mutters of disgust at what the proud coachman would perceive as a failing on his part.

Eventually, he was sufficiently satisfied with the carriage’s stability for the family to disembark. It was a procedure, with Darcy personally lifting his wife and children to the ground and sending them well away from the precariously perched carriage. Darcy took one look at the damage and knew they were stranded.

Lizzy and the children gathered the scattered packages, amazed that most appeared to be intact. Darcy surveyed the surrounds, immediately recognizing where they were. “Mr. Anders, unhitch the horses and ride to Pemberley. Bring back the other coach. Watson, I request you stay here with the carriage and horses on the off chance thieves are about on Christmas Eve. Elizabeth, we cannot stay out here in the dark and cold. It will take near two hours for Mr. Anders to return from Pemberley.” He pulled her gently against his side, brushing a light kiss over her temple and whispering softly, “I know you are distressed, love, and I am sorry for the delay. But we will be home with Thomas before he falls asleep for the night.”

She smiled through the tears that threatened to spill, bravely shoving the emotion aside. “‘Accidents happen. That is why they are called accidents,’ as I always say to the children. He is safe and warm, but we are not. Do you have a plan?”

“We seek shelter until Mr. Anders returns. A bit of a walk will do us good.”

“There isn’t much here, William.” She nodded toward a cluster of faintly lit buildings off to the east a good quarter-mile. “Is that a village?”

“Of a sort,” he answered. “This is Haversmith’s land and that is Hogslow.”

“Hog’s Low? You’re joking? That hardly sounds reassuring.”

Alexander laughed. “It isn’t as it sounds, Mother. Mr. Spane works this parcel, does he not, Father?” Darcy nodded, the prideful expression at his fifteen-year-old heir knowing the residents this far south of their lands evident even in the gloom. “That is his cottage there. The village isn’t much and there isn’t a pub, but it is clean and I am sure we can find warmth and shelter.”

“That building is well lit. See, Papa?” Audrey pointed to a large barn-shaped building set apart.