Midwinter in Meryton

by Meg Osborne

  Lizzy nodded, satisfied to hear this rendition of the story she had often heard throughout her childhood. The warmth with which her father recollected their courtship was an encouragement to her, for she had always wondered how it could be that two people so unlike could possibly have found happiness together, and yet she supposed they were happy.

  “Are you thinking of Jane, Lizzy, when you ask how one is to know whether one is in love?”

  Mr Bennet’s question was offered matter-of-factly, but Lizzy’s face flamed hot and she was certain he could tell by looking the truth of her thoughts.

  “I think we all knew that Jane was in love by the end of her first dance with Mr Bingley,” Mr Bennet remarked, with a sly smile. “As was he with her. We cannot all be so fortunate as to know our true feelings immediately and not deviate from them.” A shadow flickered over her father’s face but before Lizzy could inquire into what it might mean, he reached out a weathered hand and laid it warmly over hers.

  “I would suggest, Elizabeth, that it is perfectly acceptable - advisable, even! - to revisit one’s first opinions of a person. Just because you do not like someone on the very first instance you meet does not mean you must despise them forever. A great many people do not make good impressions at balls.” He darted a glance to the ceiling, as Lydia let out a shrill yell. “Your youngest sister, for instance. But let me tell you a secret of humanity that you will learn as you get older, Lizzy.” He dropped his voice to a whisper and winked. “You are allowed to change your mind.”

  CAROLINE WAS MISERABLE. Oh, she did not seem miserable. She was, in fact, working very hard to ensure that she did not appear to Mr Darcy and her brother as anything other than entirely content, but inwardly she was seething.

  Charles would have had her keep to her room and be brought dinner on a tray, but she had worked quickly enough to squash that idea, insisting that already she felt as if her ankle was healing. She would have gone all the way to suggesting she was almost completely well again until she caught sight of a disbelieving flash in Mr Darcy’s eyes, which prompted her to admit, with regret, that whilst her foot still pained her she could at least bear it well enough to stay downstairs, and she did so long to see dear Jane again.

  And so she had commandeered a sofa, after ordering their servants to position it in a more favourable aspect, where she might observe the entire room, and be easily observed by its occupants when they chose to arrive. She had managed to ensure Mr Darcy remained by her side, too, for whilst he had tired quite quickly of reading, and found some excuse to be away from her, he was the first to return to the parlour readied for dinner, as Charles always took far too long to dress, as Caroline had known he would, particularly on that evening when he would be reunited with the young lady he was so hopelessly in love with. Mr Darcy had hesitated on the threshold of the room and Caroline suspected he might have retreated back upstairs had she not seen him and been quick to encourage him to join her.

  “Shall we return to our book, Mr Darcy?” she asked, putting a heavy emphasis on the word our. She liked to have something in common with him. Elizabeth Bennet could not even boast of that, surely. It was a small win in the grand scheme of things, but she would not relinquish it when she had little else to rejoice over.

  “Very well,” Mr Darcy replied, a hint of resignation in his voice. He had taken the seat next to her but had managed scarcely a page before there was a flurry of activity in the hallway, followed by the thunder of Charles’ footsteps on the stairs, and everybody arrived at once. Mr Darcy stood, handing the book back to Caroline and crossing the parlour in two long strides so that he could be ready to welcome their guests. He was second only to Charles, who had scarcely descended the stairs than he had greeted the party with beaming, enthusiastic good evenings and strong-armed the whole merry lot of them into the parlour, in a giddy wave of conversation.

  “Yes, I think it was a very fine idea of Darcy’s to invite you all here, for isn’t this precisely how one ought to spend the festive period? Surrounded by friends, eating, drinking, and being merry - oh, Caroline, look our guests are here!” Charles announced as he swept into the parlour with Jane Bennet on his arm, looking as if he could not be happier if he were crowned King.

  “I noticed,” Caroline said drily, before spying Mr Darcy escorting the other ladies into the room. She sought to rearrange her voice and her expression into something rather more welcoming. “How lovely it is to see you again, Jane, dear. Here, come and sit by me, won’t you?”

  Jane glanced questioningly at Charles, and Caroline noticed her reluctance to leave him, but politeness won out and she moved closer to Caroline, bending to greet her with an embrace that was entirely genuine on her part, if not on Caroline’s.

  “Has Charles told you of my misfortune?” she asked. “I slipped on the ice!” She pointed helplessly towards her feet, propped up on pillows before her. “And so I am forced to remain seated, alas!”

  “Oh dear!” Jane’s voice was warm with sympathy.

  “I thought you said you were aware of some improvement, Miss Bingley?” Mr Darcy asked, sweeping into the room and not, Caroline noticed unhappily, as sympathetic as he had been earlier in the day.

  That is Elizabeth Bennet’s influence for you! she thought, spitefully. Oh, how she would like to tell that young lady what she really thought of her. Manipulating her way into Fitzwilliam Darcy’s affections and engineering him to fall in love with her when it was obvious there were far more suitable, deserving ladies in his circle. She fixed Elizabeth with a cruel smile.

  “And Eliza! You have not changed a bit. Your cheeks are so ruddy and windswept, I wonder that you do not wish to stand closer to the fire and will some colour back into your wan features.”

  “How can she be both ruddy and wan, Caro, dear?” Charles asked, with a laugh. “Surely one must be either one or the other. But do, all of you, come closer to the fire. It has been a bitter Christmas here, so Darcy has been telling me, and I am quite sure we all of us will end the year frostbitten if we are not careful!”

  This provoked general amusement and everyone obediently shuffled closer to the blazing hearth.

  Charles steered the conversation towards a long table, laden with platters.

  “This also allows me to introduce you to our evening’s meal - or rather, meals!” He was utterly delighted by the idea that he had concocted that neither Caroline nor Darcy could dissuade him from. “I thought we would make a sort of picnic of it, and eat away to our hearts’ content, cosy in here with the fire. That way Caroline may join us without struggling to make it into the dining room, and we can all be a little more relaxed. What say you? Is it not the most marvellous idea?”

  Nobody said a word for a moment, and Caroline felt a malicious flicker of glee to see her brother’s hopes crushed. Perhaps this single faux pas would be enough to end Jane Bennet’s infatuation and she, Caroline, would need fear no more. Alas, a moment later, the silence was broken as Mr Bennet let out a low rumble of a laugh.

  “A delightful idea!” He patted his round midsection. “Capital fun! Come, my dear Mrs Bennet. We must position ourselves here, on this low love-seat, here, look, there is room for us both if you are content to sit close to me...” He slid an arm around his wife and cuddled close to her. “How cosy we shall be!”

  This was enough to provoke a ripple of laughter and activity as everyone followed suit, finding seats for themselves from the variety available in the Netherfield parlour. Lydia and Kitty, to Caroline’s horror, merely dropped down onto the floor, and the other Bennet sister - Mary? - the quiet, mousy one, found herself a corner and slipped a tiny book from her reticule that she began to read furiously in the light of the fire.

  “Is our company boring you?” Caroline asked, finding a target for her unhappy mood in this particular situation, and feeling gratified when all eyes turned, askance, towards that corner.

  “Mary!” Jane hissed, blushing and looking in apology towards Charles.

  �
��You may read if you wish!” Charles beamed, eager to diffuse any tension. “This is a holiday. We are picnicking after all, and everyone must do precisely as they want to!”

  Precisely as they want to? Caroline thought, sourly, as she glanced around the room and saw every one of her companions having fun except for her. Her heart sank even lower when she noticed Charles select a seat suspiciously close to Jane. Even Mr Darcy, after a long moment of hesitation, angled his own chair a little closer to Elizabeth, who seemed almost oblivious to his presence, so intent was she on watching the flickering of the fire in the hearth.

  Chapter Ten

  “I have not picnicked like this since I was a child!” Elizabeth laughed, juggling her plate and glass with difficulty.

  “I am sure I never did!” Darcy replied, with a grimace. “And certainly not in a parlour.”

  “I prefer it to being out of doors at present!” Elizabeth shivered. “I have had my taste of freezing temperatures for the day!”

  They both laughed, recalling their wintry walk, and Darcy glanced around the room. He was enjoying himself more than he had thought it possible to enjoy oneself. Everyone seemed somehow to be in on the joke of Bingley’s making, and even Mr and Mrs Bennet were laughing merrily as they talked with their host. Charles, Darcy noticed, gave every appearance of listening to his guests carefully, but his attention never strayed far from Jane, who sat beside him, although her attention was taken up at present in soothing Caroline, who seemed the only person not enjoying herself. She glanced mournfully towards him and he looked away.

  “I see you are in need of further sustenance, Miss Elizabeth. Would you like me to fetch a fresh plate for you?”

  “Oh, no!” Elizabeth laughed merrily and stood before he had the chance to. “I am well able to see to myself. But thank you.”

  Those few words of gratitude, uttered almost as an afterthought, made Darcy’s heart soar, and in a spirit of goodwill and generosity, he surveyed the room, spying Elizabeth’s quiet younger sister surreptitiously hiding behind her book. Carefully, he leaned a little closer to her, so that his words might be heard by her without drawing attention.

  “Miss Mary, I see you are as fond of reading as your sister.” He smiled. “And perhaps about as fond of gathered crowds as I.” He nodded towards the title. “You like to ponder Fordyce and his sermons?”

  Mary nodded, stammering an answer, and slammed the book shot with force. Darcy paused, uncertain as to whether his attempt at friendliness had been seen as such. Where was Georgiana’s voice of wisdom when he needed it? She would surely know how to draw shy Mary out of her shell and make her at ease. How could Darcy hope to do it when he was scarcely at ease himself in such a situation? Another thought struck him. What made him want to? Ordinarily, he would look at Mary with judgment for the poor manners of so openly ignoring everyone around her and escaping into her book, and envy, for wishing he could do the same. This evening neither thought had occurred to him, and he sought only to ensure that Elizabeth’s younger sister was enjoying her time, though it cost him an effort to do so and produced no tangible benefit to himself. He blinked, momentarily not recognising his own character, it seemed to have changed so much in so short a time.

  “I am not too familiar with them myself, at least, not as familiar as I ought to be. Do you mind?” He had reached for the book before Mary had time to reply and he scarcely noticed the wide, worried eyes she turned to him as he lifted the book and began to read.

  He frowned, rereading the sentence. Then another. Then another. This was not like any sermon he had read before. He flicked the book closed to check the title. Yes, it definitely said Sermons to Young Women. Then he noticed that the cover was loose, fitted around the spine of a different book entirely. His lips quirked in amusement, as he carefully closed the volume and passed it back to its owner, who took it gingerly and would not look at him.

  “You know, Miss Mary, I do not think your family would object to you wanting to read Frances Burney’s novels. My sister has read one or two herself and raptured over them.” He grimaced. “I do not see the attraction, but perhaps that is to be expected.”

  “They will tease me mercilessly,” Mary whispered, lifting her eyes to him for a moment before casting them away again. “I was always so very dismissive of - of novels.”

  This last was scarcely a whisper and Darcy struggled to keep from laughing, for he knew to do so would be to ensure poor Miss Mary never spoke a word again when he was present to hear it. She drew a shuddering breath and, when he did not speak to prevent it, spoke again.

  “At least if they think I am reading my sermons they leave me alone. Most of the time.” She eyed Caroline’s sofa, and then Lydia and Kitty. “They are used to me reading to improve my character and almost expect me to go everywhere with my Sermons tucked under my arm.” Her dark eyes flashed, then, and for a moment he saw a glimmer of Elizabeth in her younger sister. “It may be a sin for me to say so, but I find the writings of Mrs Radcliffe and Mrs Burney far more thrilling.”

  This time Darcy permitted himself to smile, thinking how much more enjoyable he might find numerous social occasions if he were permitted to escape sporadically into the pages of a book.

  “Well, in that case, Miss Mary, read on and do not let me stop you. I think your idea a supremely cunning one. I can see Mr Bingley and I shall have to watch ourselves with such a houseful of clever ladies nearby.”

  Mary blossomed under this unexpected praise, smiling at him, and ducking her head once more behind the pages of her doctored book.

  Darcy was still chuckling to himself when Elizabeth returned, holding her plate out towards him.

  “Such richness! It was very jolly of you to invite us, Mr Darcy, and so fun to spend the evening in such an unconventional manner!”

  Darcy held up his hands.

  “Ah, unconventionality I can take no credit for. That was all Charles.”

  He turned to catch a glimpse of his friend in a whispered conversation with Jane Bennet, looking as if they had entirely forgotten there was anybody present but the two of them in all the world.

  “Look, Miss Elizabeth, how happy my friend and your sister are to be reunited. What are the odds, do you think, of there being an announcement before the year is out?”

  Lizzy laughed, her eyes flashing with delight.

  “I think we may hear something favourable even before the end of the evening, Mr Darcy! I trust that you will not object?”

  “No,” Darcy said, his gaze resting on Elizabeth, as his own heart lifted. “I will not object.”

  ELIZABETH SET HER PLATE down, certain she could not manage to eat another thing. She let her eyes wander over the faces of her family and friends, thoroughly content in seeing so many smiles and hearing so much laughter. Everyone seemed happy. This was the Christmas she had missed, the togetherness that had seemed lacking at Longbourn, in spite of the fact that their family had been forced, by snow, to be together. She wondered what the difference was between this evening and that, and realised, with a start, that it was the presence of the gentlemen. And not just any gentlemen, but two quite specific ones. Mr Bingley had eyes only for Jane but was as genial a host as she had ever known, leaping up to ensure that all of his guests were well catered for, before returning to his seat and speaking a few quiet words to his beloved. For if there had ever been any doubt that what existed between Jane and Mr Bingley was true love, there was no denying it this evening. They exuded happiness and peace and Lizzy knew it would only be a matter of time before an announcement was made.

  Her heart constricted a little at the thought that she would so soon lose her sister, that this might be the very last Christmas season that they were all together in this way, before marriage and new families sought to separate the sisters as they must.

  “Is something the matter?”

  It was Mr Darcy who spoke, his voice lower and gentler than Elizabeth thought it possible to be. He had evidently noticed the turn towards melanch
oly her thoughts had taken, for they must have shown on her face. She smiled, unconvincingly, and shook her head, turning to meet his gaze with hers.

  “I was just thinking about how things change.”

  Mr Darcy nodded but did not say anything straight away.

  “Not that I am not glad that they do,” Lizzy continued, wishing she could somehow make her words explain what was unfolding in her mind and not knowing quite how to begin.

  “I am happy for Jane and Mr Bingley. Only...it will change things for me. I will lose my sister.”

  Her words came out as almost a sob and she sniffed, forcing a laugh.

  “You must think me dreadfully self-interested. Of course, I want my sister to be happy. But I shall miss her.”

  “Of course,” Mr Darcy acknowledged. “You are close. It is a testament to your friendship that you are reluctant to part.” His lips drew into a straight line. “You would miss the rest of your family, then, if you were the one to leave?”

  Lizzy frowned, struck by the strangeness of his question.

  “I do not think I would!” she confessed in a whisper, darting a glance over to the fireplace, where Lydia and Kitty continued to squabble over a last piece of cake. “I mean, I would miss them, of course, they are my family, but Jane...Jane is a friend as well as my sister.”