It had been a number of years now that these gatherings were relegated to the massive formal dining room in the north wing. The immediate Darcy family could comfortably fit into the smaller dining room, but Pemberley so often played host to visiting relatives and friends that the once dusty, disused larger chamber was frequently utilized throughout the year. This year the guest list only included Lizzy’s mother, aunt and uncle, and four sisters with their families. However, even that added up considering how prolific the Bennet girls were! This fact also made it utterly impossible to maintain an atmosphere of mourning, children not typically able to remain downcast for long.
Nevertheless, all except for the youngest children knew their beloved grandfather was dead. Voices were hushed, laughter dimmed, and indoctrinated manners frequently ignored were flawlessly expressed on this day. The latter miracle may have been commented upon, but it remained difficult to jest amid the sadness.
Jane’s tears, freshly rekindled when greeting Lizzy with an embrace in the upper hallway, pooled in the corner of her blue eyes. Mary sat at the tiny pianoforte playing a light but solemn tune. Kitty performed the motherly duties of assisting one child with cutting a slice of ham while shoveling steady spoonfuls of mashed squash into her baby’s mouth, but with an occasional wipe of a handkerchief to an escaping tear. Even Lydia, still wayward and egotistical after three marriages and a dozen personal imbroglios, was sitting sedately and absently chewing a slice of jam-smeared toast.
“Maybe it was not a wise idea to place Papa’s portrait in the room,” Lizzy mumbled.
Darcy nodded, glancing at the ornately framed painting of Mr. Bennet commissioned shortly after he settled at Pemberley nearly four years ago.
Longbourn Manor and the surrounding lands gradually became unmanageable and too isolated for the elderly gentleman, whose vision was failing. Nevertheless, pride and stubbornness kept him tied to his familiar environment despite Mrs. Bennet’s incessant complaining about boredom and loneliness with all her daughters married and busy. Her long absences to dwell with her brother and sister-in-law in Cheapside brought him a measure of peace but led to further isolation and the estate’s decline.
A broken leg resulting from a minor stumble upon the stairs prompted George Darcy to drive to Hertfordshire to rescue his friend. He goaded the cranky older man into a heated shouting match while the physician reset the bone misaligned by the local hack; verbal insults and expletives were flung back and forth with anger masking the residual pain not dulled by heavy draughts of brandy. George’s nagging and harassment persevered for days until finally convincing Mr. Bennet to relocate to Pemberley, which, of course, was the main purpose of the trip. Lizzy and Jane were profuse in their thanks, which George also quite enjoyed!
The years that followed were joyful ones for all the inhabitants of Pemberley. Mr. Bennet delighted in exploring the vast library that appeared to have a magically inexhaustible supply of new books. His friendship with Dr. Darcy was a sincere one that brought pleasure when the busy physician was available. And the immensity of Pemberley meant that privacy and quiet were easy to find even with the ever-increasing number of Darcy children, constant visitors, and a shrill wife, when Mrs. Bennet chose to reside at Pemberley rather than in London. Thus the skillfully wrought portrait depicted an aged, snowy-haired man with twinkling, intelligent eyes and a faintly mischievous smile.
“Mother, I have your tea poured and sweetened as you like. Noella is filling a plate with your favorites.” Alexander bent, planting a soft kiss to his mother’s cheek.
“Thank you, darling.” Lizzy clasped her son’s offered hand, smiling into the face that was a youthful image of her husband’s.
“Happy Christmas, Father. Aunt Jane, I believe Michael and Ethan are yet fighting over who should be allowed to bring your breakfast, but Charlie has your tea waiting.”
“He won that battle, did he?” Charles laughed, glancing to Jane’s designated table placement where their second son stood behind the chair, steaming cup of tea waiting.
“Only because Michael and Ethan were too busy arguing over boiled or scrambled eggs.”
“I never eat boiled eggs.”
“And of course Michael knows this, Aunt. Irritating cousin Ethan is the impetus, but I am sure he will relent before you perish from hunger.”
“Let us pray so,” Darcy murmured. “I would hate to be forced to publicly admonish my ornery son on Christmas Day.”
“Do not worry, Darcy,” Charles said. “Ethan is far too gullible. Michael is good for him.”
“Perhaps, but I rather doubt Michael has Ethan’s best interests at heart.”
“Merry Christmas, Mama! Papa! Your plate is ready, Mama. Shall I dish yours, Papa?”
“Thank you, Noella, but I can manage. A hug would be appreciated,” he said with a smile, opening his arms as Noella readily embraced him. “Happy birthday, holly berry.” He kissed her head, whispering for her ears only, “I have a very special gift for you.”
“Oh! What is it, Papa! Tell me, please!”
“Christmas first. One party at a time, as we always do, and then this afternoon I will reveal. No pouting, miss,” he tugged on her protruding lower lip, “and the sad eyes shall not sway me.” He winked at his wife, Lizzy smiling and shaking her head, well aware that Darcy was pathetically vulnerable to weepy manipulation from his daughters.
Noella knew this as well, but she laughed, tossing her head and causing her black curls to bounce prettily. “Oh, very well! I shall be patient. Does not Grandpapa’s portrait cheer the room, Mama? I still feel as if he is here, and Audrey said she knows he is watching over us. Do you think that is true?”
“Only God knows for certain,” Darcy answered, “but he lives on in our hearts to be sure.”
He glanced to the table setting nearest Mr. Bennet’s easel-propped painting where Audrey sat, her lips moving in a steady stream of quiet conversation to her adored grandfather’s image, relaying the antics of his daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren. Nathaniel sat beside his sister with Mary’s oldest girls across, all of them adding to the observations as had become a custom due to Mr. Bennet’s diminished far-sight. The gift of descriptiveness with colorful language and exaggerated recounting was possessed by all of them to varying degrees, their talents perfected via theatrical performances on a regular basis and later used to entertain their grandfather. It appeared to be an ingrained habit that would be slowly relinquished.
Lizzy left to assist Thomas with his plate while Darcy crossed to the breakfast sidebar where his Uncle George stood talking with General Artois, Kitty’s husband; Mr. Joshua Daniels, Mary’s husband; and Mr. Gardiner. Greetings and holiday well wishes were extended as Darcy poured his coffee.
“Is the birthday girl still clueless as to her present?” Artois nodded toward Noella, who now sat between Michael and Nathaniel, inhibiting the latter from pouring a sixth spoon of sugar into his porridge, a pronouncement he was clearly not pleased about.
Darcy nodded his head. “As far as I know. I have been most adamant that she cannot have a full-grown horse until she is fifteen, so she is not expecting it. And thank you again for supplying the headgear. Cleo is quite small, that being why I chose her for Noella, and none of our bridles or halters fit her. The decision was a sudden one—”
“And displeasing to Mrs. Darcy,” George added with a chuckle.
“—and I did not have time to order a new one from London,” Darcy concluded, ignoring his uncle’s remark. Lizzy had relented all opinions ages ago when it came to the boys riding horses with their equestrian obsessed father, but she fought the notion with Noella. However, the reality that Noella was far more enamored with and competent on a horse than Michael could not be denied, so Lizzy was gradually learning to accept defeat. Nevertheless, they had argued over gifting Cleo, and it was only the mare’s smaller stature that convinced Lizzy to agree, albeit reservedly.
“My pleasure,” Artois said. “It will be fun to see her face. Cleo
is an excellent mount for a first horse. Thankfully the weather is pleasant enough for her to ride today.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Darcy,” the ever-polite solicitor to the Pemberley Estate began, Mr. Daniels forever maintaining his formality despite years as a brother-in-law, “but when is the birthday party to commence? Mrs. Daniels wanted to take the children to Mr. Bennet’s graveside sometime this afternoon but we do not wish to place a damper upon the festivities.”
“Not until after present opening is completed and luncheon has been served. I think Elizabeth has arranged three o’clock with the kitchen staff for Noella’s portion of the day. At teatime, more or less, with birthday cake and sandwiches. Elizabeth already discussed visiting the cemetery before the party. Grief is a part of this Christmas, as it is often a part of life. The two frequently coexist—a reality the children need to learn.”
“Perhaps the stark combination will finally be the catalyst to Elizabeth’s proper grieving,” George said softly.
Darcy nodded. “I pray so. She needs to release her grief. I worry for her.”
“She will, William. Soon. Elizabeth takes her duties as Mistress and hostess too seriously. Her responsibilities have given her a structure to hold on to, but that task is almost done, with Christmas here and the family returning to their dwelling places in the next week or so.” George squeezed his nephew’s shoulder. “Just be there, as you always are, when the dam breaks. I do not envy you!”
Darcy said nothing. Observing tears from any of the women he loved was never easy, but when it came to his wife he preferred her grief manifest with him there to comfort.
George’s chuckle brought him out of his reverie. “I suppose there is no point taking bets on what Michael and Charlie are harassing Alexander about?”
The men’s eyes returned to the table. Alexander sat in perfect repose, calmly dining, and, if not for the slight color to his cheeks, presumably oblivious to the smirks and gibes directed his way. Lizzy, sitting several chairs away, was clearly trying not to laugh and pretending not to hear what the younger boys were saying as she conversed with her mother and Kitty.
“It might help if he did not carry Miss Lathrop’s card in his jacket pocket and take it out every few minutes,” Mr. Gardiner said.
“I honestly do not think he cares,” Darcy said with a faint laugh. He looked at his brothers-in-law, explaining, “You should have seen his face when the Royal letter carrier delivered it yesterday. It was like he was witnessing the most brilliant, heart-piercing sunrise of all time. He actually smelled the envelope—it was perfumed—and his eyes lost focus for a solid ten minutes! Even I could not resist joining the taunts. I am still not sure when that relationship shifted from friendship to love but they seem certain. Time is needed to be sure for the future, however.”
“He reminds me of James with Anne,” George interjected, his old eyes misty in remembrance of his brother. “They knew almost instantly and never questioned. Merely bided their time until your mother was old enough. Of course, we tortured him as mercilessly as they are Alexander.” He grinned, years dropping from his countenance as the devilry of youth took over. “All part of the fun!”
“How are Mr. and Mrs. Lathrop accepting the arrangement? The two are quite young.”
“Indeed, Mr. Daniels, you are correct. At this juncture we are maintaining our peace. None of us have any misgivings to the match. In fact, it is delightful to think of our children married. However, they are far too young.”
“In years Alexander is young, yet he has ever been mature for his age. A serious and tenacious lad as I have never seen. I was not at all surprised when Lizzy wrote us that he insisted on enrolling at Cambridge at sixteen and after only two years at Harrow. I surmise this is a young man with a goal in mind, and that may not just be to co-manage Pemberley with his father.”
Darcy frowned at Mr. Gardiner’s comments. “Alexander’s studies at University keep him too occupied to dwell upon affairs of the heart.”
“So you hope.” George winked, his grin downright salacious. “I tend to agree with Mr. Gardiner as to his diligent application. The sooner he pleases his parents and himself with all that book learning, the sooner he can please other appetites.”
“Precisely why Lathrop is keeping Fiona at home. Alexander may be starry-eyed, but his sense of propriety is more rigid than mine. She, on the other hand, is fiery like her mother.” Darcy shook his head. “God knows I adore her, but we all feel it best to limit contact to censored letters for now, as distressful as that was for Lathrop to allow for his un-betrothed daughter. Elizabeth reports from Mrs. Lathrop that the pleading was fervent and highly dramatic. Poor Stephen was doomed to acquiesce.”
“Seems we have our fair share of headstrong women in this family, with the probable exception of your three daughters, Mr. Daniels.” The solicitor blushed, but appreciatively inclined his head at the General Artois, who then turned to Darcy, continuing with a smile. “I overheard Noella exuberantly sharing with her cousins a recent encounter with Mr. Pomeroy. I daresay it was highly embellished, but the females were appropriately swooning.”
Darcy shook his head and grimaced. “My stubborn daughter has her mind so set, and Hugh pays her scant heed. I truly do not know how she will cope when he finally marries. At least that does not seem probable any time soon, according to Richard. Hopefully she will mature out of her infatuation and set her sights on another, since he apparently quite enjoys his bachelorhood.”
“Well,” George declared with a deep breath and broad grin, “all this youthful zeal and drama keeps us young, yes?”
“Indeed it is amusing. Quite difficult to wallow in sorrow when the children persist in theatric entertainments. Now I think it is time I play my part as disciplinary figure before the teasing turns to physical blows. By now I am certain the playful harassment is bordering on provocation. Alexander is losing his composure and as proud as I am of my eldest’s strength, he is no match for Michael in a brawl.”
“This you know from experience, I take it?”
Darcy grunted, pouring more coffee as he answered Kitty’s husband. “Years of experience. Michael applies equal commitment to athletics, especially pugilism, as Alexander does to books. I fear that only on a horse would he prevail over Michael.”
“They could joust.”
Darcy lifted a brow as the men laughed at Artois’ sally. “Not a bad idea. I shall suggest it.”
The Christmas hours ticked by with standard events transpiring alongside the unusual. First, church at the Village chapel with the requisite Scripture readings followed by a nativity themed play starring the children of the community and orphanage. The opening of gifts was barely finished before luncheon at one o’clock.
A somber walk to the Pemberley cemetery followed.
The ancient family burial ground was situated to the southeast, beyond the maze and rock pond, in a gated greensward surrounded by trees. The gardeners kept the flowers blooming as long as possible, although there were few to be found in December. Still, the sacred area was immaculate and oddly peaceful, even in the midst of winter’s gloom. Mrs. Bennet broke into loud sobs before they opened the gate, leaning heavily on Lizzy and Jane as they wound past the desultory plots, to where Mr. Bennet was buried. The fresh mound of overturned dirt was lightly dusted with snow, the marble gravestone glaringly recent compared to all the others. Sniffles and coughs were plentiful, a few weeping anew, but none as strident as the widow. Soothing Mrs. Bennet required every ounce of Lizzy’s absorption, and the flood of lamentation Darcy both dreaded and hoped for did not occur at this predictable moment.
Noella’s birthday celebration overshadowed the previous hour of woe. Mr. Bennet’s portrait traveled into the orangery where the party was held, his grandfatherly gaze cherished as an angelic onlooker, before being permanently hung in the portrait hallway with due pomp. The late afternoon passed in outdoor activities. The younger children napped or played together in the playroom under the supervision of their n
annies while the adults walked Pemberley’s gravel pathways zigzagging the manicured gardens and hedged maze. Noella on Cleo led the adolescents on a vigorous ride across the moor, returning to the warmth of the manor well after sunset.
Through it all, Lizzy fulfilled her role as the perfect hostess. Darcy kept one eye upon her, but she never once lost her composure. Finally, as darkness fully enveloped the land, and with stomachs filled to bursting with Mrs. Langton’s fine cuisine, their guests retired to the largest parlor for subdued conversation, music, and games, and he relinquished his vigilant concern.
Of course it was then, to the surprise of all, that Lizzy’s grief would overwhelm her.
“Aunt Elizabeth? Forgive me for forgetting to return this to you as soon as we arrived. It was in with my other hair combs, wrapped safe in your handkerchief. Thank you for lending to me. I was the only girl at the Michaelmas banquet with Michaelmas daisies adorning. It was perfect.” Deborah stammered to a stop, glancing toward her mother in confused concern. “Aunt Lizzy? I am sorry…”
“Lizzy?” Mary leaned forward, touching her immobile sister lightly on the knee. “Deborah was careful with it, I assure you. She meant no disrespect in her delay to return it…”
“No,” Lizzy choked, shaking her head and rapidly blinking her eyes to clear the sting of hot tears. “Deborah, dear, it… it’s fine, truly.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed a dry gulp. All moisture had vacated her mouth and throat, traveling, apparently, to her palms and lachrymal ducts.
Stupefied, the seconds stretching, she stared at the white linen draped over her trembling hands and the item cushioned therein. The four-inch long hairpin was silver, embedded with tarnished spots that were impossible to polish, aiding the appearance of antiquity. The cluster of lavender Michaelmas daisies covering the top were exquisitely detailed, but the color was faded in places with tiny chips in the porcelain petals and one of the yellow garnets set in the center of each flower was newer and scratch-free. It was a lovely hair accessory, obviously well used and finely wrought, although a close inspection by anyone moderately familiar with jewelry would reveal a piece of no great worth.
A Darcy Christmas Page 20
