by Bray, Ayr
KINDLE EDITION
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
About Ayr Bray
Other Books by Ayr
Copyright
Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy had enjoyed a fortnight of being totally irresponsible with regard to anything other than matters of the heart. They had spent the first sennight of their marriage in London at the Darcys’ townhouse. Although they left their residence rarely, they had the pleasure of enjoying an intimate family dinner with the Gardiners and some shopping on Bond Street for the Christmas season before they retired to the comforts of Pemberley, their family estate in the northern county of Derbyshire.
Since their arrival in Derbyshire, another sennight had passed. The servants were beginning to wonder if the master and his lovely new bride would ever emerge from their honeymoon chamber. Only the most trusted servants were allowed in, and then only to provide nourishment and draw the couple’s bath. The closest anyone else was allowed was the chamber door.
The newlyweds’ first venture from their room was nothing more than a walk to the Orangery. Elizabeth clung to the arm of her new husband while they walked, their heads bowed close together, sharing intimate secrets with whispered breaths.
Last summer, when Elizabeth had toured Pemberley with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, had praised the late Lady Anne Darcy’s appreciation of the place. She had explained that Lady Anne had regularly conducted her guests on tours of the Orangery where they were known to admire not only the fruits within but the architecture without; its Italian design blended well with the style of Pemberley. Lady Anne had overseen the addition of two fountains and a grotto during her life, and had often entertained in the Orangery in the event the unpredictable northern England weather turned foul. Elizabeth had been well pleased with the place. Now, as mistress of the manor, it was even pleasanter than she imagined. The Orangery could be achieved by a passage from the west wing of the manor; thus one seeking the place need not leave the house. It was perfectly situated, and a relief against the all-too-frequently inclement winter weather Elizabeth was still becoming familiar with. The weather in Hertfordshire was certainly more temperate than the wild and untamed climes of the north.
Each day thereafter, the couple walked the halls of the manor and Elizabeth gradually became comfortable in her surroundings. She developed a genuine love and appreciation of the place and even had the opportunity to meet a few of the staff, though most were advised by Mrs. Reynolds to keep their distance until the master and mistress were ready to resume their daily responsibilities. Mrs. Reynolds anticipated it would be soon, for it was only one week before Miss Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and the Bingleys were to arrive.
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said one morning before rising, “as much as I adore spending my days, and nights, here with you, I think we must emerge into the world. I have much to do, and little time to do it in.”
“Alas, you are probably right, my dear,” Fitzwilliam responded. “Mr. Carson has informed me twice that my steward is eager to discuss some small matters related to the modification of my investments now that I am married.”
“I hope all is well. I would hate to learn that taking on a wife has burdened your finances.” Elizabeth gave him a cheeky grin. “It would distress me greatly.”
“What a little tease you are.” Fitzwilliam reached for Elizabeth and drew her near, placing a tender kiss upon her lips. She accepted his sweet ministrations with pleasure.
“Come, let us face the world. Do not forget your sister and cousin are to arrive Friday, and Jane and Charles the day after. For my part, I must admit that I am excited to have them join us for our first Christmas together. I know we shall be a merry party.” She looked towards her husband and girlishly giggled. “I think this will be my favourite Christmas ever, my first in my new home,” she looked a little guilty as she leaned towards him and whispered, “and without my mother.”
Elizabeth swung her legs over the side of the bed and energetically stood up to face the day. Her chestnut braid bounced against her back as she swung open the armoire doors to choose a gown. Turning her head to glance over her shoulder at her handsome husband, still lying in bed, she caught sight of him watching her. Pursing her lips, she blew him a kiss, flashed a saucy smile, and reached for her pale pink gown. Walking across the room, Elizabeth sat at her vanity and picked up her brush. “Fitzwilliam, be a dear and ring the bell for me. I would like Gracie to come help me with my hair.”
Once Fitzwilliam rang the bell, he had no other choice; he must rise or be caught in Elizabeth’s bed when the maid arrived. He had just finished putting on his robe and slippers when Gracie arrived using the servants’ door.
Fitzwilliam had sent a message through Mr. Carson, his valet, to his steward informing him he was available to meet today. At the desired time, the man arrived with a satchel of documents in tow. Elizabeth had been sitting with Fitzwilliam in his study, occupying more of his attention than allowed him time to look over estate matters. A few months ago, the very idea of someone interrupting him would have been entirely unacceptable, but now it was an event he relished in mightily.
When Elizabeth noticed his steward arrive, she offered him a soft kiss, full of promise and enthusiasm, then rose and left the room to seek out Mrs. Reynolds. It was time the two began their preparations for the upcoming holiday festivities.
“Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds,” Elizabeth practically sang as she entered the sitting room where the kind housekeeper was straightening a statue that rested on the mantle underneath an oil painting of Pemberley adorned in autumn colours.
“Good morning to you, too, Mrs. Darcy. What can I do for you this fine day?” Mrs. Reynolds turned, offering her full attention to her new mistress.
“As you know, my dear sister Jane and her new husband Mr. Bingley are expected on Saturday. Miss Darcy and the Colonel will arrive the day before that.” Mrs. Reynolds acknowledged the information with a nod. “I would appreciate some of your time to discuss decorations we could place around the manor, as well as the menu while our guests are in residence.”
“It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Darcy.”
Elizabeth walked to the desk in the corner and took out a piece of paper, ink, and quill. Bringing them to the small table by the settee, the two sat and began planning the menu.
“I know my sister’s tastes and preferences; however, I would like to know some of Fitz …,” she paused to amend how she addressed her husband in front of Mrs. Reynolds, “Mr. and Miss Darcy’s preferred holiday dishes. After we speak about the food, I would then like to talk about the Darcy family traditions, as well as some decoration ideas.” Elizabeth looked into Mrs. Reynolds’s face and with all the seriousness she could muster she confided, “I depend upon you helping me make our first Christmas together perfect. I would be mortified if Mr. Darcy expected something and I did not provide it.”
“Yes, ma’am, I would be happy to tell you all I know.” Mrs. Reynolds smiled a warm, motherly smile as Elizabeth sat back and prepared to learn about her new family.
Mrs. Reynolds did not waste a minute, she began to speak animatedly about the Darcy siblings preferred foods and treats. The more she
spoke about the Darcys, the clearer it became to Elizabeth that Mrs. Reynolds loved the Darcy siblings as if they were her own children, and it clearly gave her immense pleasure to talk about them. It was exciting for Elizabeth to learn of her love’s favourite dishes, and the more she listened, the more she understood how she could indulge her new sister’s sweet tooth. Elizabeth would have never guessed Fitzwilliam liked caramel in his hot chocolate, or that Miss Darcy preferred marzipan to macaroons, but what mesmerized her most was Mrs. Reynolds’s descriptions of their holiday traditions, so elaborate compared to anything she had ever experienced at Longbourn.
“The late Mr. and Mrs. Darcy enjoyed nothing more than a festive holiday. Many years ago, Mr. Darcy visited the Continent during Winter Solstice. He brought back with him the German tradition of a Christmas tree. He then incorporated the traditions of the Protestant reformer Martin Luther by wiring small candles to the tree. Mr. Darcy always said that the evergreen boughs reminded him of all of the green plants that would grow again once the frost was off the ground.”
Elizabeth was entranced by every word Mrs. Reynolds spoke; the tree, the candles, the decorations on the banisters, table centerpieces, and the exchange of trinkets. “This is all so fascinating. I have seen only one Christmas tree in my life. It must have been about five years ago when I visited my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in London. One of the shops on Bond Street had a small tree sitting in the middle of a table. Though it was small, the memory of the tree has stayed with me. Where would we find a proper evergreen? Is there a tree upon the park grounds that would suffice?” Elizabeth’s questions came in rapid succession, and Mrs. Reynolds smiled at her enthusiasm. An evergreen tree had not been brought into the manor and decorated since Lady Anne Darcy’s death. The late Mr. Darcy had chosen to hide all of his emotions when his beloved wife died, to the detriment of his children, in her opinion. It was a shame because, although Fitzwilliam would remember, Georgiana would hardly recognize her family’s little tradition; she was so young when her mother died.
“As luck would have it, we do have the perfect trees here upon the Pemberley grounds. The late Mr. Darcy had a grove of trees planted of the specific variety the Germans use. It has been many years since the family has selected a tree, but the grove is still well maintained and there should be plenty to choose from.” Elizabeth’s enthusiasm was heightened with each proclamation from the beloved housekeeper. Mrs. Reynolds continued, “Her Ladyship would also decorate the most commonly used rooms and staircases with evergreen boughs lashed together. Mistletoe was hung in all the doorways, and a Yule log burned on Christmas Eve.”
“A Yule log, oh, how glorious. My family has long practiced the Yule tradition, and I am glad we can continue it here.” Elizabeth smiled sweetly and began sharing a part of her own family history with the housekeeper. “Every year my father would cut an oak branch and bore a hole in one end. My mother would make chrism by mixing wine, cooking oil, and incense. The chrism was added to the log and the hole plugged, then my sisters and I would wrap the log in the most glorious white linen and lace. On Christmas Eve, my father would say a prayer over the log and we would burn it all night. Christmas morning, all of my father’s tenants would gather, and my father would offer another prayer of blessing over every household under his care, as well as the coming year’s crops. In the spring, the ashes would be spread over the fields. It is believed that our family, the tenants, and crops will all be blessed with health and bounty.”
Mrs. Reynolds enjoyed listening to her new mistress share her family traditions. The two were nearing the end of their conversation and dividing the tasks when Fitzwilliam was noticed leaning against the doorway, watching his wife. That man will never tire of watching his wife, thought Mrs. Reynolds.
Fitzwilliam nodded a greeting to the ladies when they saw him at the door. Mrs. Reynolds stood, curtsied, and then stepped out of his way so he could take her position on the settee next to his wife.
“Nay, Mrs. Reynolds, you remain. I am just come to tell Elizabeth that I have completed my business and will await her in the library.” Fitzwilliam walked towards the settee. As he gained Elizabeth’s side he rested his hand upon her shoulder in a show of affection. Elizabeth looked up at him and, to her shock, in front of Mrs. Reynolds and without a care in the world, he bent over and kissed her sweet lips. He kissed her as a man kisses his wife, then he licked her taste from his own lips and stood erect. He straightened his vest and said, “Please join me in the library when you have completed your planning.” Fitzwilliam had started to walk away when his wife addressed him.
“Fitzwilliam, you should join us. We are almost done planning, but it would be wonderful if you would accompany me to select the Christmas tree and Yule log.”
“Very well, my dear.” He pulled a high-backed chair close to the settee so he could sit near Elizabeth without making Mrs. Reynolds abandon her position.
The actual planning only took a few more minutes, but now that the three were together much of the following hour was spent reminiscing about past holidays. Although their time together exceeded what was required to accomplish their tasks, it was to the enjoyment of them all.
It had been decided that Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth would take the sleigh and ride out to find the Christmas tree and Yule log posthaste. Nothing could deter them from their task, not even the icy temperatures of the north of England. They were determined to find the perfect tree. Dressed in the warmest clothes they could muster, they stepped into their horse-drawn sleigh, placing heating stones at their feet and warm blankets over their laps. Elizabeth’s eyes were glowing with the pleasure of adventuring out of doors with her new husband.
Although her family owned a sleigh, Elizabeth rarely went out in it. Hertfordshire was far enough south that the winter weather brought more rain than snow, and as a result they experienced mostly mud. When there was snow on the ground her mother’s palpitations ran rampant, and all five of her daughters were required to remain with her, confining Elizabeth to the house far longer than she preferred.
Once they were comfortably situated, Fitzwilliam snapped the reins and they set out at a trot over the snowy path. A gardener followed the Darcys’ sleigh with a cargo sled so the tree could be brought back with them. He also carried the necessary tools they would need to fell the tree.
The Pemberley grounds were extensive, more than 1,500 acres for the manor, gardens, and crops, not to mention the tenants’ homesteads and fields. In all, Mr. Darcy was responsible for the lands encompassing a full ten miles. The farther they rode the more in awe of her husband Elizabeth became; for a man so young to be responsible for so many people! The idea of such a man loving her warmed her heart. Wrapping her arm through his, she snuggled close to him.
Much of their journey was spent with Elizabeth listening while Fitzwilliam pointed out elements of interest on the estate grounds. He entertained her with stories of his youth frequently consisting of himself being led around by his cousin Richard, constantly getting into some mischief or other. She loved hearing his tales of adventure and easily understood the everlasting bond of not only familial love, but of friendship that the two had for one another.
Finally, Fitzwilliam slowed the sleigh at the edge of a grove of trees. The trees ranged in size from no more than knee-high to trees towering a full thirty feet. Looking at the expanse in front of them, Fitzwilliam explained. “My father had this grove of Evergreens planted the year he returned from the Continent. Some of them have been here more than twenty years, the others much less. You see, these trees are not native to our region, and so particular attention must be taken to grow them successfully.”
Elizabeth looked around in awe. Many of the trees she had never laid eyes on before; they were a rare sight to be seen. “However will we choose one?”
Stepping out of the sleigh, he offered Elizabeth his hand and helped her down. “Easy; we will walk around and look at them. When we have found the perfect tree, my man will chop it down and return it to
the house for us.”
At that moment the two were walking past a particularly large tree, and Elizabeth let out a small gasp. “Do you think it will fit in the house?”
Chuckling softly, Fitzwilliam teased, “If not, we will simply have the roof removed for the season. I think it can be restored easily enough next spring.” Seeing the laughter in his eyes as he spoke to her, Elizabeth swatted at his arm with her gloved hand. Turning serious, he said, “Let us look for a smaller tree. This one is far too tall. There are plenty more that will fit inside just fine.”
The next hour was spent rambling through the grove selecting a glorious tree and Yule log. When at last the gardener had it chopped down and Fitzwilliam had helped him fix it to the sled, he was sent back to the manor with his load. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam regained their sleigh, and the two set their return course to the manor. Rather than return the way they had come, they took a more leisurely path leading them around the grove and landing them at the westernmost façade of the manor, near the Orangery. Elizabeth took in the sight of the magnificent structure covered in its fantastic winter wrapping. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, please stop the sleigh. I must get out and take in this majestic scene before me.”
Fitzwilliam did as she requested, and for the second time the two stepped out to enjoy the sight together. He explained the architectural details of the Italian structure, his pride in his ancestral home visible in the features of his face. After standing in the same place for five minutes a shiver of cold coursed through him. “Come, Elizabeth, it is time we returned to the house. I fear we will develop a cold if we stay out here too long.” Fitzwilliam turned towards the sleigh, but Elizabeth dropped his arm and took a few steps forward. She sighed at the sight before her; she could scarcely believe she was the mistress of Pemberley.
Elizabeth began walking towards the sleigh. Fitzwilliam had turned his attention towards adjusting the reins on the horse, and Elizabeth took full advantage of his distracted state. She bent over and scooped up a large handful of snow and compacted it into a snowball. Launching the offending object with her right arm, she giggled as it hit Fitzwilliam’s back with a thud. He turned to look at her, but she was already preparing a second ball which she expertly launched at him. It struck him square in the chest, cold bits of snow flying into his face as it broke apart. He looked down at the clumps of snow clinging to his coat. With a roar he lunged at Elizabeth and gently tackled her, pulling her with him to the ground.
