A Merry Darcy Christmas, page 11
He would doubt her motives. He would be disagreeable. He would be as implacable in his family pride as she had been in her own pride of discernment.
But she had to face him for Jane’s sake. She had no choice in the matter.
Tomorrow, she would confront Mr. Darcy.
Chapter 13, Christmas Day
Rosings Park, 1812
“Merry Christmas, Lizzy!”
Elizabeth looked up as Jane scampered into the room and dove under the covers, pulling the blankets up around her neck.
“It’s frightfully chilly,” Jane said. “The servants slept late I’m afraid, and the fires haven’t been burning for long.”
“Merry Christmas, Jane,” Elizabeth said.
“What a glum face you have for Christmas morning,” said Jane with concern. “Whatever is the matter?”
Elizabeth looked at her sister, who’d snuggled up against her. She wondered how she could possibly explain the contents of Mr. Darcy’s letter? She held it in her hand and had held it all night.
There’s nothing to be done. It was beyond her power to explain. She would have to let Jane read it for herself.
“Last night I received a strange Christmas gift,” Elizabeth said removing her hand from underneath the bedclothes and holding up Mr. Darcy’s letter. “The letter is from Mr. Darcy.”
“Did Mr. Darcy give it to you?” Jane asked. “I remember you saying he tried to give you a letter once before, in the past, here at Rosings, and you refused it.”
“No, Darcy did not give it to me,” Elizabeth said, and then reconsidered her answer. “At least I do not think it came from him, although he was its author. Kitty told me of it last night. She said that Anne told her to tell me to look for a gift on my dressing table.”
“That is strange indeed,” said Jane. “Have you read it—of course you have, that was a foolish question. Well, what does it say?”
“You may read it for yourself if you wish,” said Elizabeth, handing Jane the letter.
Elizabeth waited impatiently, as her sister read the letter making, as she did, small explanations of surprise, or consternation.
“Poor Mr. Darcy,” Jane said finally, putting his letter down on the coverlet.
“Poor Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth could not believe her ears. “That is your response after reading his letter, which concerns, in no small part, yourself?
“Yes,” said Jane. “It seems that we have judged Mr. Darcy more harshly than he deserves.”
“And you are not in any way annoyed by his actions concerning you and Mr. Bingley?”
“No, not really, Lizzy,” Jane replied. “It accords, at least generally, with what I suspected, and with what little Charles has told me.”
“You’re not bothered by it?”
“Well, Mr. Darcy was only looking out for his friend. He may have been wrong concerning my affections, but it was an honest mistake and not arrived at through any spite or malice on his part.”
“You are too good, Jane!” Elizabeth said exasperated. “I really cannot believe you sometimes.”
Jane smiled and laid her hand on Elizabeth’s arm. But then her expression changed to one of concern.
“And I do feel bad for Mr. Darcy,” she said. “You believed—and I believed this as well—Mr. Wickham’s representations about him, and I can tell, judging by the tone of the letter, that they must have been false.”
“On that,” Elizabeth said, “we are in agreement. I do not see any way around it.”
“And poor Mr. Wickham,” said Jane. “What a position to have found himself in.”
“Poor Mr. Wickham? On what grounds do you feel pity for him? Surely he is the author of his own misfortune?”
“He is our brother now, Lizzy,” Jane said. “And I do not believe him capable of behaving badly. He is, you must admit, a very agreeable gentleman, and seems to love Lydia a great deal.”
“But they cannot both be good,” said Elizabeth, nearly beside herself with frustration. “If Mr. Darcy is telling the truth, as I believe he is, then Mr. Wickham is very much in the wrong. You must choose one or the other to feel pity for, Jane. You cannot feel sorry for both.”
Jane sighed. “But I do, Lizzy. We are guilty of misjudging Mr. Darcy, and we must also feel kindly disposed towards our brother, who has suffered much whether through his own hand or not.”
“I give up,” said Elizabeth. “You’re too good for this world, Jane. It seems that one of the gentlemen has all of the appearance of goodness, whereas the other has all of its attributes. If we could combine them both into one, we should have a very agreeable gentleman indeed.”
“How does this change your feelings towards Mr. Darcy?” Jane asked. “It seems to me that the biggest mark against him in your eyes must now be removed.”
Elizabeth wondered how her feelings towards Mr. Darcy had changed. It seems that they went back and forth of their own accord swinging now in his favor, and then back again against him.
“I do not know that the biggest mark against him has been removed, Jane,” Elizabeth replied after a moment’s reflection. “For it seems to me that his interference between you and Mr. Bingley is a very hard thing to forgive.”
“You must not hold that against him, Lizzy,” said Jane. “Believe me when I tell you that I do not. That is all in the past. You must forgive Mr. Darcy for whatever role he played in my disappointment, which is passed anyway now as Charles and I are—I do not know whether to tell you this yet, Lizzy, for I can hardly believe it myself—very much in love.”
“Did he—”
“Yes,” Jane said shyly. “Charles has told me that he has been in love with me since my illness at Netherfield, and that his feelings towards me now are stronger than they have ever been.”
“And has he—”
“Yes,” said Jane. “And before you ask, I accepted his proposal. We are to be married in the new year.
“But you must not tell anybody yet, especially Mother. But not anyone, please, Lizzy, as Charles wishes us to announce it near the end of our visit here, rather than just now.”
“Because he has not yet told his sisters, and realizes that they will not be pleased with your engagement?”
“There is that, yes,” Jane said. “But I know that in time they will accept me. You will remember that Caroline and Louisa were very kind to me at Netherfield. We got along very well, and I’m sure we will get along well again. Indeed, we do even now. It’s just that Charles does not wish to announce our engagement just yet.”
There was another reason than Mr. Bingley’s sisters, Elizabeth realized when she had had a moment to digest the news. Mr. Bingley was doubtless aware of her mother’s inevitable reaction to the engagement. Mrs. Bennet’s delight at the prospect of Jane marrying into “5000 pounds a year,” would be as vocal as it would be exuberant, and unseemly in the current company.
“I’m so happy for you, Jane,” Elizabeth said warmly. She gave Jane a hug. “Mr. Bingley is a very fortunate man.”
“And you, and poor Mr. Darcy?” Jane asked. “Does that gentleman have any hope of his fortunes improving?”
That is a very good question, thought Elizabeth. She was quite certain that she did not know the answer to it.
Christmas dinner was indeed a feast! It was everything the Bennet family had hoped for and more, though there were not so many guests as there had been the previous evening.
Conspicuous by his absence was Mr. Darcy, who Elizabeth had not seen since the morning Christmas service in the chapel—which had been conducted by Mr. Collins with a great deal of ceremony, and much praising of Lady Catherine and the many Christian qualities she exemplified—and she wondered where he could be.
It was very odd for him not to be present at Christmas dinner of all times. She worried that he might be ill, or had suffered some accident, but no, surely she would’ve heard if that had been the case. Perhaps he had left Rosings Park, and returned to London?
But Georgiana was there, seated by Mr. Pettigrew, and it was unlikely that Darcy would’ve left without her, unless he had been called away by some urgent business.
The Bennet family was again seated at the same table as Mr. Bingley, and his two sisters and Mr. Hurst, and throughout the meal Elizabeth watched as Mr. Bingley and Jane exchanged meaningful glances.
Caroline Bingley was seated next to another gentleman, and since he was not with his mother, it seemed to Elizabeth that she fared somewhat better than she had done with Mr. Smythe.
The dishes were so many and varied that the table nearly groaned beneath their weight, and the footmen were kept busy removing plates and trays, and bringing new ones.
Elizabeth lost count of the courses. She thought there must’ve been above twenty. There was white soup to begin the meal, of course, and vegetables of every kind and there was an endless variety of fish dishes, together with roast beef, venison, mutton, and brawn. Fowl dishes too, enough, had they have been in flight, Elizabeth thought, to darken the sky—goose, capon, pheasant, grouse, pigeon, and partridge—all prepared in cunning and artful ways.
The dessert courses were still more delightful, with black butter, trifle, and the crowning glory, the Christmas pudding!
“A gold sovereign!” Kitty exclaimed joyfully, and so loudly that Elizabeth could hear her even though she was not at their table but was again seated at the main table beside Anne, to whom Kitty exclaimed, “I did not see it until you pointed it out to me!”
Elizabeth watched as Kitty raised the coin in the air to admire it and display it to her friend.
“There is nothing in mine,” said Mary. “Not so much as a thimble.”
“I’ve found something,” Elizabeth said noticing something shiny in her pudding. It was round, and made of silver, though it was not a coin. With her fork, she pulled it from the pudding and held it up.
“It’s a ring!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Our Lizzy’s found the ring for the bride!”
Chapter 14, Boxing Day
Feast of St. Stephen
Elizabeth awoke early from a dream that she could not recall. It was very pleasant and put her in good spirits. When she looked out the window of the upstairs sitting room at the freshly fallen snow and saw how pristine and beautiful Rosings Park looked in its formal winter whites—unmarred by so much as a footprint—she hurriedly dressed, bundling up to go out-of-doors for an early morning walk in the crisp virgin snow.
When she was dressed, she ran down the stairs two at a time and was nearly to the doorway when she heard a voice behind her.
“Miss Bennet?”
She turned. It was Mr. Darcy.
“Good morning,” Elizabeth said.
Mr. Darcy had his arms full of boxes. He looked at her hesitantly.
“Can I help you with those?” Elizabeth asked.
“Please,” said Mr. Darcy. “It’s Boxing Day, and most of the servants are off, including my valet.”
It was the custom to give servants the day off on Boxing Day and to give them small gifts as well. Elizabeth had given Giselle a silk handkerchief.
“Are these for the poor?” Elizabeth asked. The boxes were similar to those she and her father distributed on Boxing Day at Longbourn.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Darcy. “It is my custom at Pemberley to distribute boxes to the poor on Boxing Day, and I saw no reason to depart from it during my stay at Rosings, especially given that I know so many of the local families, and know which ones may be in need.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “We do that in Longbourn as well. Father and I, and Jane.”
He stopped and turned to her. “Would you care to accompany me? I could use your assistance.”
Elizabeth considered for a moment, but only a moment. She had intended to go outside anyway, and riding in his carriage would be warmer than going for a walk, and she would see more of the countryside. More than that—perhaps it was just the season—but Mr. Darcy seemed more relaxed and good-natured than ordinarily. For some reason, his company cheered her.
“I would be delighted, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “As you can see, I’ve already dressed for the weather.”
“It’s not cold at all,” said Mr. Darcy. “Perhaps a little brisk. It always warms up when it snows. The clouds operate to keep the heat from dissipating. They act as a sort of blanket holding it in.”
As they loaded the boxes into his carriage, Mr. Darcy explained various meteorological peculiarities of Kent, and generally. He seemed to know a great deal about the weather and its effects.
When she asked him about this, he explained to her that in the management of his estate he had had to learn a great many things about the seasons, and how they would affect agriculture and other important matters.
“I’ve learned a great deal from the local farmers here at Rosings as a boy, as well when I would spend summers here,” he said. “I got my hands dirty in the fields, but I was never happier.”
“Did you pack these up last night? Is that why you were not at dinner?” Elizabeth asked.
“Well, it would be fairer to say that I supervised the packing of them, but yes, that is why I was not at dinner. In all candor, Miss Bennet, I do sometimes need a break from my aunt. I was not motivated to miss Christmas dinner solely by altruism.”
Elizabeth laughed. She did not blame him for wanting to escape Lady Catherine’s company. She recalled how she had had an impossible time so much as tasting her soup given the interrogation she had received from Mr. Darcy’s aunt the first time she had dined that Rosings back in the spring.
Mr. Darcy’s team of chestnuts stomped impatiently to be off, their breath steaming in the frosty air.
The lane leading out of the manor house was covered with snow, but the carriage rolled through it without difficulty.
“It’s no more than a dusting,” Darcy said. “We could manage far deeper snow.”
“It’s very beautiful,” Elizabeth said.
She watched as they passed snow-covered fields which undulated under a sparkling white blanket. The evergreen trees too were decorated with snow, their boughs drooping under the weight.
Elizabeth turned back and looked at the manor house, and saw the cupola catching the morning sun. It was a dazzling sight, and she mentioned it to Darcy.
“It is indeed striking,” Darcy said. “I have to confess that it looks far better than I imagined it would. Although,” he added in a low tone, “it is a shocking waste of money which could be better spent elsewhere.”
That was Elizabeth’s opinion too, for it seemed to her that Lady Catherine was more concerned with the appearance of things, than with their substance. Tentatively, she mentioned this to Mr. Darcy.
“I could not agree with you more,” he said. “Our station in life—and by this, I am referring to that occupied by my aunt as well as myself—comes with duties, not just privileges. When that is forgotten, there are consequences.”
Elizabeth knew that he was referring to France, and the shocking events that had transpired there which the nobility in her own country, including Mr. Darcy, had not forgotten.
But it was too splendid a day to dwell on such dark matters. She decided to change the subject.
“Mr. Pettigrew mentioned that your sister’s birthday is very early in the new year.”
Mr. Darcy slowed the horses as they turned onto a lane which was, although covered in snow, nevertheless heavily rutted and caused the carriage to shudder and lean.
“January 2,” he said when he had reigned in his team. They were so spirited that this required some effort. “Georgiana turns eighteen.”
“That is a very bad time to have a birthday,” Elizabeth said. “My father’s birthday is on New Year’s Eve, and he always complained that everybody forgot about it as it occurred amidst the season’s festivities. I always told him that we would’ve forgotten it anyway, and at least he was spared the offense.”
Darcy laughed. “Georgiana is so reserved that she likely prefers not to have a fuss made on her birthday, and so the date probably suits her. Indeed, for that purpose she probably would’ve preferred it to fall on Christmas Day.”
“That is a charming scene,” said Elizabeth pointing at a little stone cottage from which a tendril of smoke was rising from its chimney. The smoke was the only sign of life, and without it, Elizabeth thought, the cottage would’ve looked more like a painting than a place where people lived.
“It is our first stop,” Darcy said, and he turned the carriage onto a nearly invisible lane so covered with snow that Elizabeth wondered at how he could navigate it.
“Mr. Darcy! Merry Christmas to you!” an elderly woman wrapped in a tattered knitted shawl said as she opened the door. “Please do come in.”
Elizabeth and Darcy, who was carrying a large box, entered the tiny cottage.
“There is a fire on, so you will soon warm up,” she said this to Elizabeth. “I made a large fire because I thought well, it is the season and I should celebrate it as best I can.”
Elizabeth saw that the large fire consisted of a couple of small branches, and she couldn’t help but recall the huge Yule log that burned in Rosings’ hearth.
“Remind me to have Mr. Biddle deliver a load of firewood here,” said Darcy, lowering his voice.
He needn’t have lowered his voice, Elizabeth realized, as the old woman was almost completely deaf.
Mr. Darcy introduced her to Elizabeth as Mrs. Rose, but Mrs. Rose did not hear him properly, and she exclaimed, “I am so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Darcy!”
They could not disabuse her of the notion that Elizabeth was Darcy’s new bride. She met every protest in that regard by lifting her hand to her ear and then nodding vigorously with a happy expression.
“I knew that when you took a wife, you would choose a pretty one,” Mrs. Rose said. She beamed at Elizabeth and then turned to look in the box which Darcy had set on her small table. “Look at all these things! Oh, Mr. Darcy, you really shouldn’t have. You are too generous.”
