by C. P. Odom
Elizabeth’s thoughts were not as cheerful as she thought of Lydia and Kitty. Kitty had died in childbirth thirty years ealier, and Lydia had disappeared to America, embittered by her experience with Wickham and estranged from Elizabeth and Jane by her continued refusal to treat Darcy with respect — even after Mr. Bennet recanted his objections. Kitty’s death had been tragic, but at least she had prospered under the care of Jane and Elizabeth, eventually marrying a respectable man and bearing two sons before her untimely death. Afterwards, her husband had brought up their two surviving sons to be fine men, who even now sat at one of the side tables with their families.
But Lydia was simply a waste, Elizabeth thought sadly, and she had not heard from her youngest sister since she had turned one and twenty. On coming of age, Lydia had received a fifth share of their mother’s fortune and had disappeared to America after sending Elizabeth a venomous letter blaming her for all her misfortunes. In all that time, Lydia had never again communicated with any of her family, and Elizabeth had no idea what had become of her youngest sister.
As for Wickham, he had never again surfaced in their life though he had at length been released from prison some seven years after she and Darcy were married. But Elizabeth had certain suspicions about Mr. Wickham, for Major General Fitzwilliam had suddenly left his wife two weeks before Wickham was released. He had departed in company with former Colour Sergeant Henderson, who had finally taken off his uniform to enter service with the Fitzwilliam family in town, and the two men had not returned for some three weeks. After their return, neither man would ever answer a direct question as to where they had gone or what they had done. But Elizabeth had noted that her husband had never evidenced any curiosity about Fitzwilliam’s disappearance even though such an apparent desertion of his sister ought to have aroused Darcy’s protective instincts. Nor had Georgiana, in her turn, ever shown any curiosity about where her husband had disappeared. In any event, Elizabeth had asked no questions of Darcy since she had her own suspicions of what Major General Fitzwilliam and Colour Sergeant Henderson had been doing during their sabbatical. She suspected that Wickham had been confronted with Fitzwilliam and Henderson upon his release from prison, and those two men had given him a choice of leaving England immediately and forever or else meeting Fitzwilliam on the field of honour. It was also possible that Fitzwilliam had simply cut down the other man in cold blood, but she assigned that a rather low level of probability given what she knew of Fitzwilliam’s character. Whatever the actual facts were, it was noticeable that, when Fitzwilliam returned, both brother and sister were curiously uncurious. This fact was so singular that Elizabeth was convinced further enquiries into what had actually transpired during that absence were unnecessary, and her opinion proved correct since that man never plagued the happiness of her family again.
Lady Catherine had also never again plagued her family though she knew that Darcy had been unhappy when his attempts at healing the breach had been spurned. But Lord Matlock had consoled Darcy, telling him, ‘At least you tried your best, nephew. It is not your fault that Catherine continues to reject your peace offerings. At least we gave Anne some comfort and happiness before the end.’ Lord and Lady Matlock had brought Anne to live with them some months after Darcy and Elizabeth had married, and there the frail woman had stayed though her health had continued to decline until her death five years later.
Most interesting was Bingley’s sister, Caroline, as she sat beside Jane and Bingley that night while she held and rocked Elaine Bingley, Jane’s great-grandchild, on her lap. Caroline had rather surprisingly married a Scottish doctor of modest means about three years after her brother’s marriage, but she had been so devastated at his death from the influenza after only five years of marriage that Elizabeth and Jane had been forced to literally take her under their care. That formerly haughty and supercilious lady had been in a state of shock and breakdown after her husband’s funeral, for she appeared to have loved Andrew McGrath quite deeply and had become almost another member of the Bingley family. The couple never had children, for Caroline had miscarried twice, and it took many months after her husband’s passing before she could even attempt a smile. For so many years, Caroline McGrath had been such a true friend that Elizabeth had a difficult time recalling the arrogant and deceitful woman who Bingley had once banished from his house.
Elizabeth looked toward the head of the table as her husband rose to his feet and cleared his throat in preparation for the traditional toast at the Christmas season. Silence began to spread outwards as more and more of the family became aware of Darcy’s intention. The children’s tables were the last to become quiet, and Mary had to chide several of the children before they were stilled.
When the room was sufficiently quiet, Darcy began. “For my whole life, our family has gathered at Pemberley to celebrate this sacred season. I can remember my father standing here in this same position, and I remember wishing that he would hurry up so we could exchange presents and light the Yule log.” A ripple of laughter swept the room, louder in the sections where the younger people sat.
“But my father would always remind us that we should honour the most important things in our lives and would do so in their proper order: God, Family, and Country. So I will begin by speaking of this Christmas season and the reason for its celebration, which is the birth of our Saviour. I will not offer a toast, for we shall share communion with Reverend Mayfair at the Pemberley Chapel on the morrow, but I will just ask that all of us keep the reason for this celebration in our hearts as we enjoy the festivities.”
Darcy was silent for a few moments, his head bowed in either prayer or contemplation before he continued. “Now I shall offer the first toast to our family, who are gathered together in unprecedented numbers,” he said, raising his head to sweep the room. “These numbers are especially extraordinary since it seems we have finally found the limits of Pemberley,” he said, drawing another round of laughter, since the guests had filled the house to bursting and beyond, so that some of the late arrivals had been put up at one of the inns in Lambton. “But nevertheless, we are all gathered together on this most special evening, and it is overwhelming to look out on all those who are most dear to us. I speak of my brother, Charles Bingley, who was my good friend before he was my brother. I speak of my sister, Jane Bingley, who was my wife’s sister before she became my own. I speak of my first sister, Georgiana Fitzwilliam, and her husband, General Richard Fitzwilliam, who was my cousin before he so impulsively became my brother.”
The laughter this time was loud and long, and Richard was among those who laughed loudest. One young voice called from the back of the room, “Control yourselves, please, cousins! Else we shall again hear the story of his courtship!” This comment only made the laughter swell.
When the laughter died out, Darcy continued, “I speak of all our children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. And now I ask you to join me in a toast to all the members of our family on the occasion of this Christmas season. To our family!” he exclaimed, raising his glass of wine before draining its contents.
When all had lowered their glasses, Darcy continued, “And now, I shall ask my brother, General Richard Fitzwilliam, to offer a toast to our country.”
Turning to Fitzwilliam, he commented slyly, “And I would suggest that you keep this short, Richard.” The laughter was light amid the clinking of decanters against the rims of wine glasses as General Fitzwilliam rose to his feet.
“Friends and family,” he said, raising his glass, “I am honoured to give the toast to our beloved country, whose uniform I have worn my whole life. I give you England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and the British Empire, on which the sun never sets, and its sovereign, Victoria, by the grace of God, Queen and Empress. Ladies and Gentlemen, God Save the Queen!”
“God Save the Queen!”
Fitzwilliam took his seat after draining his glass, and Georgiana put her arm through his and leaned over to kiss his cheek fondly.
Darcy once again stood at the head of the table — to the surprise of everyone since the toast to Country was the traditional final toast at these yearly gatherings.
“Friends and family, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, “I ask your indulgence to make an additional toast this year, a toast to the most extraordinary woman I have ever known, who has made my life a delight since we exchanged vows on a bright April day that seems like it was only yesterday. The woman who has borne my children and shared my life and who has been an unequalled mistress of Pemberley. I do not deserve her, and I came unbearably close to never winning her, and I thank God every day for my good fortune!”
“Tell us about your courtship!” one of the guests called out, but Darcy only smiled.
“So now I propose that we drink to my wife these last 45 years.” He raised his glass toward the foot of the table, while tears stung at the corners of his eyes.
“I drink to you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy!”
“Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy!” came the thundering response.
End
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