What did one make or purchase the man who had everything?

It had been just her luck to draw Darcy's name from the hat. She would have thought Jane arranged it that way, but there was no trickery Elizabeth could think of to ensure such an occurrence. Having to present him with a gift would make staying away from him all the more difficult.

It would make not thinking about him nearly impossible.

"Take time and truly consider the person before you make or purchase their present," Jane had instructed. "We should use this as an opportunity to get to know one another better."

As if she needed to know Darcy better!

She knew him well enough now . . . did she not?

The man in question walked at her side, back straight, and his hands clasped behind him. She glanced at him, noticing that the tip of his nose was ever so faintly pink. So, he was a mere mortal, after all. . . .

The observation gave her much satisfaction.

"Are you cold, Mr Darcy?"

He broke his reverie to give her a quizzical glance. They were both bundled up in their winter outerwear, and he looked as elegant and dignified as one could when trussed up all in black.

"The temperature is tolerable for the time of year it is," he said, noncommittally, and glanced up at the sky. "Any day the sun shines is a gift."

"I did not know you could derive joy from such simple pleasures."

He tilted his head and slowed to a stop. "Why would you think I cannot? It is the simplest gifts that give the finest pleasure. A cup of tea on a cold morning, a warm fire on a cold afternoon. Agreeable company on a cold night."

The snap of cold in the air exacerbated the blush rising to her cheeks. He held her gaze as he spoke, but she refused to read anything into his words.

"Why have we stopped?" she asked.

He nodded his head forward. "This is the first shop you said you wanted, correct?"

Elizabeth turned, feeling foolish. "Indeed, it is, which proves I have not been paying proper attention."

She began to enter the shop and started when he reached around her and opened the door, bowing his head.

"Thank you," she murmured. "But I fear such courtesies are wasted on me."

"Courtesy is never wasted on an enchanting woman," he whispered, his voice close to her ear.

Elizabeth almost froze as the words caressed the hair alongside her cheek. She controlled herself, determined that she not reveal how he affected her.

Browsing through the merchandise selecting items Jane needed for her gift baskets, Elizabeth remarked, "It is a pity Miss Bingley refused to come. Not even she could disdain this selection."

The shopkeeper hovered at his counter, having already approached once and been sent scurrying away by the polite, but forbidding expression on Darcy's face. And now she knew what kind of shopper Darcy was—he did not like to be sold to, but preferred to browse in peace.

He did not complain once as she stopped to linger over her choices, merely stood at her shoulder, a silent presence.

She could not take it any longer, however. Her spine tingled, ants marching up and down until she broke the détente in the conversation.

"Surely, you have a more pressing business than to stand watch while I peruse, Mr Darcy?"

"There is nothing more pressing than keeping my word to your sister," he replied.

Elizabeth turned back around, grimacing when he could not see her expression.

Thank you very much, Jane, for insisting I would need an escort to help me with packages. Thank you very much for insisting only Mr Darcy would do, and not a footman.

Traitor.

"Commendable," she said.

He must have caught the displeasure in her tone, though she tried to keep it neutral.

"Does my presence displease you?"

"Not at all, Mr Darcy. Why would you think so?"

She set down the stack of plain handkerchief.

Examining them closely, she finally chose the bundle with a bit of blue embroidery around the edges. She recognized the pattern—one of the local wives' groups made these handkerchiefs and sold them to the shop to earn some meager income. As handkerchiefs always came in handy when one had small children, several stacks of these would do nicely as part of the care packages she was considering.

"You are usually more loquacious, Miss Bennet. I hope I have not offended you," Mr Darcy offered.

She waved away his concern. "You would have to speak more than two sentences for there to be enough words with which for me to take offence, Mr Darcy."

"Ah. I see. I suppose, then, that I should keep my conversation under two sentences at a time, to assure I am safe."

She turned, narrowing her eyes at him. "What does that mean?"

He lifted a brow. "Only that I wish to remain—or perhaps enter, I should say—into your good graces."

Her heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze. "I can hardly think why you should desire to do so?"

"Can you not?"

His tone was pleasant. Very pleasant.

"Can you not think at all? Not hardly?"

"You are mocking me."

"I would never be so bold."

"You just did it again!"

His eyes widened.

"I would never suggest that you are incorrect, but perhaps you are mistaken?"

"That is the same thing, Mr Darcy. Literally, the same thing. Just different words."

He appeared puzzled. "How can different words mean exactly the same thing? Then why have different words?"

They both paused, considering.

Then Elizabeth remembered herself. She refused to allow him to—to . . . bait her into one of their debates. The debates that had always seared her soul with joy and anticipation.

Until they hadn't. . . .

Their first argument had been their last, she recalled:

"Her influence on my sister is untenable. Elizabeth, surely you can see that your father has allowed your sisters to run wild? If you cannot manage them, I cannot have them at Pemberley once we are wed."

"If you cannot accept my sisters, then we cannot wed! I am not ashamed of my family, and their youthful exuberance will calm as they grow older."

"Exuberance! Elizabeth. They are the silliest, most ill-mannered girls I have ever witnessed in my life! They are far more than exuberant."

Even now, her temper sparked at recalling the conversation, spoken in low, angry tones that then devolved into nearly shouting.

She shook herself, and walked towards another display. She smiled at him, the satisfaction that she was correct regarding his character a warm cloak around her shoulders.

"In fact," he continued, "I believe Georgiana could benefit from time spent around girls of an age who demonstrate such fearlessness regarding the opinions of others. Too often, I have seen individuals cave where good sense and morality should dictate they stand their ground. And only for the most vapid of reasons—approval, inclusion, usually some form of expectation that one favour fashion over integrity."

Who was this man, and when had he absconded with Fitzwilliam Darcy?

"My sisters are not brave," she said, gathering herself. "They simply are too silly to care if their opinions are shared by others who should have more wisdom and experience."

"I think you do them too little credit, Miss Bennet," Darcy countered. "Miss Bingley is no easy woman to hold one's ground against. From the forces of her scorn alone, I have seen her banish lesser people to dark corners. Yet, Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty laugh in her face."

His lips curved, his blue eyes glinting with something that, charitably, one might call humour.

She instead thought of it as satisfaction. The satisfaction of seeing a not-quite-enemy experience a public comeuppance.

"It is a refreshing sight," he continued. "I have noticed that lately, though, you choose to simply ignore her."

"I hardly ignore her. I have decided to arm myself with Jane's arsenal."

"Goodness?" His mouth pursed. "It works for her because she is so skilled at appearing sincere and desiring, all that is good for others no matter how poorly they treat her. Forgive me, but I do not think you would be able to successfully employ those tactics."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

They noticed another woman enter the shop and begin to browse, but neither of them moved. "Are you implying I am not good? Not sweet? Or, is it that I lack the skill for feminine dissembling?"

He gave her a look. "Elizabeth, you always twist my words to take the most negative connotation. That is why you will never be Jane. She can make herself believe in the goodness of others and their intentions. It is why she is successful even when she is mocking. The best lie is the one based in truth."

His words stung, but only for a moment. They were sincere, after all, and truth had never bothered her. Much. Except when it came to Mr Darcy.

She picked up the knife set, and examined it. It was sub-standard to her tastes, but it might find some use in the kitchens of a poorer household.

She set it aside.

"Well, I wish to enjoy this family holiday, so I will try not to bait or otherwise arouse Miss Bingley's wrath," Elizabeth said. "Though I have no idea why she should dislike me so."

"Now you are dissembling convincingly. Well done."

Elizabeth scowled.

Darcy lifted his hand, as if to smooth the expression away, but lowered it back to his side. "Did your mother never tell you that when a beautiful woman scowls—"

Her heart leaped in her chest. "She is courting the disaster of premature wrinkles?"

That was a small bit of hypocrisy, coming from him. A faint scowl was Darcy's perpetual resting face when in a large company of those other than family and close friends. She was surprised the expression was not forever etched onto his countenance.

But, just now, his expression was inscrutable.

"No. When a beautiful woman scowls, it is a challenge to a man to make her happy. To ease it away."

"You speak such nonsense, Darcy."

She had quite had enough of this conversation. Unwilling to admit how the intensity of his gaze, the message in his voice, unsettled her, Elizabeth brushed past him to resume her shopping.

He seemed content to end their duel for now, for he occupied himself with purchasing oranges for the gift baskets, to be delivered to Netherfield on the morrow.

"It is a thoughtful gift," she said. "An offer of nutrition, so it is practical, but also enough of a delicacy to make it seem something special."

"I am glad you approve," he said with no apparent sarcasm. "I had also wished to ask for your advice on selecting a gift for Miss Kitty."

"Oh! You drew her name from the hat. She will be ecstatic."

And would spend all year crowing over how Mr Darcy had given her a Christmas gift.

His lips curved again. "I would like to give her something special, as she was so amenable to Mrs Bingley's idea. We should reward her show of generosity and cooperation."

He would be well aware of his appeal to the female gender, especially the class of females that particularly appreciate rich, handsome bachelors.

Elizabeth's lips pursed. "If it is a message you want to send disguised as a gift, then I have an idea."