Christmas at Darcy House

by Victoria Kincaid

  “Oh?” Elizabeth’s face was pale, and her hands clenched at her sides. “How old was Mama again when you married her?” Her voice was a vicious whisper.

  Bennet stopped advancing toward Darcy and focused his glare on his daughter. “That was entirely different. Your mother and I were engaged.”

  Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Darcy has made me the offer of his hand. I am the one who is delaying this engagement.”

  Despite his anxiety, Darcy was pleased to hear that she considered the engagement merely “delayed.”

  “Perhaps you should reconsider if this is how the man conducts himself!” her father cried. Fortunately, the hubbub from the crowd in the Amphitheatre drowned out his voice, or the dispute would be quite public.

  Elizabeth advanced on her father. “And you never stole a kiss from Mama before the wedding?” Bennet gaped at her; Elizabeth smiled. “I thought so.” It was extremely entertaining to see Elizabeth argue her father to a standstill.

  Scowling, Bennet threw his arms in the air. “Very well. You have made your point, Lizzy,” he conceded with a sad shake of his head, sinking into the first available chair. “I will give you some leeway on this. However, a decision must be made soon. Do you understand?”

  Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, coolly considering her father. “Yes, Papa. I will give my decision to Mr. Darcy within the week.”

  She would? Darcy swallowed, hoping that the decision would be in his favor.

  Elizabeth turned back toward Darcy, her stormy countenance giving no hint how she planned to decide. “Mr. Darcy, it appears the second act is about to commence. Shall we take our seats?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Darcy wanted nothing so much as to camp on the Gardiners’ front step until Elizabeth agreed to marry him. However, the Gardiners and Mr. Bennet were quite firm that such behavior would not be welcome.

  Therefore, the day following the visit to Astley’s, Darcy cast about for a distraction. In the morning he took his horse out for a vigorous ride on Rotten Row. Then he and Richard visited Bingley, whom his cousin had never met; Darcy was pleased at the opportunity to introduce them.

  The visit had been pleasant. Because Richard and Bingley were of similar temperaments, Darcy had expected them to delight in each other’s company. It had not happened; Bingley had been quiet and morose, and they had departed rather earlier than he expected. As Darcy walked back to Darcy House with Richard, he tried to puzzle out what had happened. Perhaps it was nothing; his judgment might be impaired by Darcy’s own distraction over Elizabeth.

  Richard cleared his throat. “I have always heard you describe Mr. Bingley as an exuberant man.”

  “He is,” Darcy said. “Usually.”

  “He appeared…subdued to me,” Richard said.

  “Hmm.” Darcy considered Bingley’s manner since…well, since their return from Netherfield. “I believe he wished to pass Christmastide in Hertfordshire, but his sisters would not agree.”

  “He did seem eager for news of your acquaintances there.”

  “Yes.” Darcy was not completely satisfied with his own behavior regarding their departure from Netherfield, and the more time he spent in Elizabeth’s presence, the more uneasy he grew.

  Nor was he pleased with his current conduct toward Bingley. Although his friend knew Darcy had contact with Elizabeth in London, he did not know Darcy was courting her. Bingley could rightfully accuse him of hypocrisy, but Darcy had no idea how to broach the subject. Perhaps Richard could help him sort it out. “Bingley…formed an attachment to a woman there.”

  Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “And she spurned his advances?”

  “Not at all. She seemed pleased by his attentions, if not overly so. But Miss Bingley thought the family was not desirable, and I did not believe there was a great attachment on her part, so she and I convinced Bingley to leave Hertfordshire.” Darcy now realized that his own eagerness to depart was driven in no small part by his desire to separate himself from Elizabeth. Not for the first time, Darcy considered whether Bingley had not been well-served by his advice.

  Darcy continued, “Something that Elizabeth said leads me to believe that perhaps her sister harbored real affection for him.”

  Richard came to an abrupt halt, forcing Darcy to stop as well. “Bingley was courting Miss Elizabeth’s sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is her family you and Miss Bingley considered objectionable?” Richard’s voice rose in pitch.

  “I expressed my reservations about the Bennets to you.”

  “Damnation, Darcy! Does Bingley know you are courting Miss Elizabeth?”

  “No. I thought it best to keep it quiet until—unless—she accepts my hand.” Even as he said it, Darcy knew it was an excuse, and a bad one at that.

  He would have continued walking, but Richard would not move. “You convinced him to stop courting Elizabeth’s sister because the family was undesirable, and then you make an offer to Miss Elizabeth yourself,” Richard said slowly. “I thought you valued your friendship with Bingley.”

  “I do.”

  “Then what do you think you are about? Whether or not Miss Elizabeth accepts your hand, you could lose Bingley’s friendship forever if he learns what you are hiding from him.” Richard shook his head at his cousin’s stupidity. “Particularly if he ever learns that Elizabeth’s sister harbored real affection for him.”

  Completely still in the middle of the path, Darcy considered his cousin’s words. People bustled around them; the carriages and horses sounded from the road. My God. How have I been so stupid? I had been thinking I was doing Bingley a kindness—rescuing him from the Bennets—and that he would be grateful. I believed I was being kinder to him than I was to myself. But how would I feel about a friend who separated me from Elizabeth?

  Darcy’s stomach churned, and for a moment he feared he would be sick. Some of his horror must have shown on his face, for Richard put a reassuring hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “What can I do?” Darcy asked. “Bingley will hate me forever if he finds out.” And Elizabeth… Oh, Good Lord, what if Elizabeth learns the truth?

  Richard shrugged. “I do not know, Cuz. What is done is done. But for your own sake, I hope Bingley never finds out. And while you are at it, you had better discover a way to keep the truth from Miss Elizabeth as well.”

  I am in trouble…

  ***

  Two days before Christmas, the Gardiner house was in a bit of an uproar. The Gardiners’ cook was ill, and it was not at all certain she would be well enough to make Christmas dinner. Shaw could cook—in theory—but Aunt Gardiner confided to Elizabeth that the results were disastrous. At this time of year, no other cooks of worth could be hired for a temporary position. Elizabeth’s aunt fretted and considered her options but found no solution.

  Elizabeth could not help with the cooking since her mother had made it a point to keep her daughters out of the kitchen, but she offered to help her aunt assemble the boxes she was creating for the servants and the workers in Uncle Gardiner’s warehouse. Full of clothing, food, and small gifts, the boxes would be given on the day after Christmas, Boxing Day. Elizabeth and her aunt were in the midst of this task at a little table in the drawing room while Elizabeth’s uncle and father sat by the fire discussing politics.

  Shaw opened the door. “Mr. Wickham is here, ma’am,” she announced to Aunt Gardiner.

  Elizabeth’s cheerful mood evaporated as all eyes in the room turned to her. She kept her face carefully blank as her aunt told Shaw to show him into the drawing room. Elizabeth had expected Mr. Wickham to avoid Gracechurch Street, but perhaps he believed he had something to gain by convincing everyone of the rightness of his cause.

  “Mr. Wickham!” As the younger man, quite handsome in his regimentals, entered the room, Elizabeth’s father stood and shook his hand warmly. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner likewise greeted Mr. Wickham with a cordiality that had been notably absent in their interactions with Mr. Darcy. How unfai
r. He went to a great deal of trouble to host a lovely evening at Astley’s, and yet they still prefer this scoundrel. If only I could tell them Miss Darcy’s story!

  Mr. Wickham shot Elizabeth a blinding smile; it was hard to resist, she now realized. However, the smile she returned was little more than bared teeth.

  Everyone chatted with their guest about the weather and trivialities for a few minutes; Elizabeth said little. Finally, Elizabeth’s father asked Mr. Wickham, “What brings you to Gracechurch Street today?”

  The younger man seemed taken aback by such bluntness, but a smile swiftly appeared on his face. “I hoped for a private conversation with your daughter.”

  “I wrote to you to discontinue the engagement,” she said coldly.

  He made a very credible sad face. “Yes, you did, but I had hoped to convince you to reconsider.”

  “That is very handsome of you, sir.” Her father regarded Elizabeth as he spoke to Wickham. “Mr. Darcy took shameless advantage of her.”

  Elizabeth managed to choke back a cry of frustration.

  Mr. Wickham turned soulful eyes to Elizabeth. “I am sorry I did not protect you from his brutal advances. It was all quite sudden.”

  Her father crossed his arms over his chest. “We do not lay the blame at your feet.”

  How had her life come to such a pass, where her family would rather see her married to this blackguard than to a man of ten times his worth?

  But Mr. Wickham smiled so winningly, and his face reflected such open, unassuming good humor, that for a moment even Elizabeth doubted the veracity of the Darcys’ story. What if Mr. Wickham was sincerely attached to her? What if Miss Darcy had been wrong?

  But no, Elizabeth reminded herself. Miss Darcy’s tale coincided in every particular with what Elizabeth herself had observed about the man’s character.

  Her father stood. “We should allow the young people a chance to speak in private,” he said to the Gardiners. Uncle Gardiner nodded in agreement, as did Aunt Gardiner, albeit with a concerned expression.

  Good Lord! They would leave her alone with the man? “That is not necessary, Papa,” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth.

  Her father leaned over and spoke into her ear. “Come, you were engaged to the man, albeit briefly. You at least owe him the courtesy of a conversation.”

  Everyone in the room clearly wanted her to speak with Mr. Wickham, as though her rejection of him were some misunderstanding that could be easily corrected.

  “I am certain they have much to discuss,” her father said to the Gardiners as they exited the room.

  Elizabeth very much doubted this. There were only so many times she could say, “Leave me alone, and do not come near me again.” But perhaps a conversation would allow her to finally banish Mr. Wickham from her life.

  The moment the door closed behind the others, Mr. Wickham asked, “Would you do me the honor of taking a walk with me?”

  Elizabeth wanted any conversation to be brief and final. “I believe it is a little too chilly for a walk today.”

  “Then a turn about the garden? It will be most refreshing.” He stood and offered her his arm.

  Elizabeth sighed. “Very well.” The sooner it was over, the better. Elizabeth strolled to the door, pointedly ignoring Mr. Wickham’s arm.

  They traversed the house in silence, donning coats and hats, before venturing into the back garden. The fresh, cool air lifted Elizabeth’s spirits, and she wished she could share it with someone else. The wintertime garden had its own stark beauty with bare tree branches framing the sky. It was not quite as warm as it had been upon their previous visit, but the temperature was tolerable.

  Mr. Wickham again proffered his arm, and again Elizabeth ignored it, clasping her hands behind her back as she strolled briskly along the pathway. He hastened to catch up. When it became evident that Elizabeth would not speak, Mr. Wickham broke the silence. “I do not know what Darcy told you about me, but it was certainly a lie. The man is the most convincing teller of falsehoods I have ever met.”

  Elizabeth stifled a laugh but said nothing in response.

  “Will you not tell me what he accused me of so that I might clear my name?” he continued. “I love you, Elizabeth. I do not want to lose you.”

  Now that Elizabeth had heard an authentic declaration of love, she could discern the falseness in Mr. Wickham’s. His words contained none of Mr. Darcy’s passion and desperation.

  Still, she said nothing.

  “Will you at least give me the satisfaction of knowing of what I am accused?” His voice took on a pleading tone. “What has Darcy told you?”

  Elizabeth stopped to examine a holly bush, heavy with berries; its branches would be very useful for Christmas decorating. “I do not discuss you much with Mr. Darcy,” she said to Mr. Wickham with a negligent air. “We usually prefer pleasanter subjects of conversation.”

  The insult did not register with the man. “Come, you must have discussed me with Darcy!”

  Elizabeth shook her head as she resumed walking. “Only a little. On the other hand, Miss Darcy was an excellent source of information about you.”

  Mr. Wickham’s face turned a satisfying shade of purple. “M-Miss Darcy is in town?” he stammered. “I thought she was at Pemberley.”

  “I had a most illuminating conversation with her.” Elizabeth tapped her lip thoughtfully. “You had told me she was arrogant and proud, but I found her most amiable and pleasant.”

  A muscle in the man’s jaw twitched. “You cannot trust the words of the sister any more than you can trust those of the brother.”

  Elizabeth’s hands clenched into fists. Miss Darcy was far too sweet to be maligned so casually. “I find it curious how many people lie about you, Mr. Wickham. Such a coincidence.”

  “They do lie. I am telling the truth,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She shrugged. “Perhaps we shall simply have to agree to disagree on that point, Mr. Wickham.” He was a good two feet away, and yet it was too close. Her entire body twitched with nervous energy, eager to flee his presence. “I do not believe I have anything further to say to you. Good day, sir.” Turning on her heel, she set a brisk pace for the house.

  She listened but heard no scuff of boots on the stone pathway—which is why she was taken by surprise when his hand grabbed her elbow and whirled her around to face him. “Do not walk away from me!” he hissed fiercely. “You agreed to be mine, Elizabeth Bennet! Not his!”

  With those words, he pulled her toward him and mashed his lips on top of hers.

  Elizabeth struggled, but his hands held her upper arms like iron bands. Kissing him was nothing like kissing Mr. Darcy. His tongue was cool and slimy as it forced her lips open and invaded her mouth. She tried to push him away, but he was too strong, and he was too close for her to kick him effectively.

  That leaves me only one choice.

  She bit down as hard as she could on his tongue.

  Mr. Wickham shrieked and tore himself away from her. Blood dotted his lips. Good. “You bit me, you chit! You trollop!”

  Elizabeth backed away down the path. There was no hope she could outrun him in her skirts, but perhaps if she also called for help… The garden was so large. Would anyone hear her?

  The man advanced on her. “I will make you pay for that!” The words were distorted by his swollen tongue. She gathered her skirts in preparation for running, not wanting to take her eyes off her attacker until the last minute.

  One minute he was advancing on her; the next something had pulled him from behind, dragging him off the path. A dark figure punched Mr. Wickham, who flew backward and fell like a sack of potatoes, sprawling in the dirt. Now Elizabeth had an unobstructed view of her defender.

  “Mr. Darcy!” she cried.

  He watched Mr. Wickham warily. “Elizabeth, please call me William.”

  She could not help laughing.

  Apparently satisfied that Mr. Wickham would not move, William lifted his eyes to hers and smiled.
Stepping over Mr. Wickham’s prostrate form, he scanned Elizabeth from head to toe for injury. “Are you well?” In two strides, he had enclosed her in his arms.

  “Y-Yes,” she sobbed into his waistcoat. “I am p-perfectly f-fine.”

  “I did not arrive too late?” he asked.

  “N-No. Your arrival was quite timely.” Peering around his arm, Elizabeth reassured herself that Mr. Wickham was still unconscious.

  “Thank God,” William murmured, stroking her hair soothingly.

  She settled thankfully into his arms, wondering how she could have ever doubted the man. Why have I not accepted his proposal? Delay felt ridiculous to her at this point. She peered up at him, refusing to release her grip on his waistcoat. “I should just tell—”

  “No.” He put a finger to her lips. “Now is not the time or place for such a discussion.”

  “I suppose an unconscious attacker is not conducive to a romantic atmosphere,” she conceded.

  William laughed.

  “Mr. Darcy!” her father barked. “Release my daughter at once.”

  “Not again,” William muttered. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Turning her head, she could see both Gardiners as well as her father marching toward them from the house.

  “Release her this minute!” her father demanded, stopping a few feet from them.

  “No,” William replied calmly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Her father’s mouth fell open.

  “Elizabeth is recovering from a shocking experience,” William explained. “The man you believed she should wed attacked her and imposed an unwanted kiss upon her.”

  The newcomers looked past William, gaping at Mr. Wickham lying unconscious in the dirt. “Is this true, Lizzy?” her uncle asked.

  Elizabeth nodded, pulling away from William, although she did not release him completely. “He might have hurt me if Mr. Darcy had not arrived when he did.”

  Her father stared at Mr. Wickham and then at William. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Darcy.”

  William shook the hand her father offered. “Thank you, sir.”