Darcy and Elizabeth

by Maria Grace

  “Please, Mama.” Jane laid her hand on Elizabeth’s wrist. “How can you imagine she would be so unkind?”

  “You heard what she said as well as me. What else could she possibly mean?”

  Papa caught Elizabeth’s gaze and rolled his eyes. At least he did not believe Mama’s accusations. He slid his chair back. “Only that Mr. Bingley is as many young men, bent on his own pleasure and rather oblivious to the opinions of those with little connection to him at all.”

  “Little connection? You saw how attached he was to our dear Jane. How can you call that little connection?”

  Papa muttered and shook his head.

  “It is well Mama, truly—” Jane’s fingers tightened on Elizabeth’s arm, the only real testament to her distress that she would reveal.

  “No, it is not. It is not well at all. I declare I do not understand how you can say that.” Mama shook her head and shoulders, as if that would repel the very idea. “I simply cannot accept that he was not very attached to our dear Jane. He might not return for the winter as has been said, but I am quite certain the summer will find him returned to us. I will hear no other opinion.” Mama’s snort dared them to disagree.

  “Then I suppose there is little left to discuss.” Papa rose, dipped his head, and left.

  Mama turned to Elizabeth with a look that never boded well.

  Elizabeth dabbed her lips with her napkin and rose. “Pray excuse me.” She hurried away.

  A walk in the garden might be nice. A walk anywhere would be a distinct improvement to another minute in Mama’s company. Jane’s forbearance might be equal to the task, but Elizabeth’s.

  Crisp, clear autumn air greeted her with sharpness in her nose and a chill across the back of her neck. She pulled her spencer a little closer. Papa stood near the bare-limbed wilderness as if contemplating whether or not to partake of its pleasures. She strode to his side and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

  “Shall we walk?” She looked up at him, but he did not look back.

  He grunted and matched her steps.

  The soft moss that covered the path hushed their footfalls to gentle whispers, lost on the breeze that wafted the scents of autumn on its wings.

  Papa’s warmth beside her and the comforting scent of his soap and shaving oil spoke of safety and stability, all the things Mama thought ephemeral. Perhaps Mama was right, but for now, maybe just now, all was well. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “So, Lizzy, your sister is crossed in love. I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions.”

  “I think it is a distinction she would be happy to do without.”

  “Perhaps you are correct, but still I think it should give your mother many hours of comfort and conversation during the coming winter.” He clucked his tongue. “When we are all in want for something to distract us from the cold, she might remind us all of the ruined expectations caused by Mr. Bingley’s infidelity.”

  “I think a game of chess would suit me better.”

  “And I too my dear.” He patted her hand. “When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane.”

  “I do not take your meaning, sir.”

  “Being crossed in love, Lizzy. Let now be your time. There are officers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably.” Papa’s sense of humor was notably peculiar, but this was odd even for him.

  “Thank you, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane's good fortune.”

  “True, but it is a comfort to think that, whatever of that kind may befall you, you have an affectionate mother who will always make the most of it.”

  She chuckled, more because he would expect it than because she felt the mirth of it. Whatever could he mean? She might be mistaken, but no, it sounded very much as though he were, in his own way, encouraging her toward Mr. Wickham.

  He had never before remarked so on a young man, and there had been opportunity. Why would he do so now? Perhaps he was only teasing as he was apt to do, but perhaps not. Could he be as concerned as Mama for their future?

  A chill breeze blew and cooled her flushed cheeks. Perhaps Mama’s nervous flutters were far less silly than she thought. How much danger were she and her sisters in? Were the hedgerows as near as Mama intimated?

  Elizabeth faltered a step and struggled to keep up under the weight that descended upon her shoulders.

  “There, there now, do not take it so hard. I hardly imagine it shall be much of an onus to you.” He held his hand over hers and paused until she found her footing again.

  He was right in that. Continuing to enjoy Mr. Wickham’s company was hardly a burden ... certainly not compared to bearing the responsibility of securing the family’s future. It was not as though he asked her to marry Mr. Darcy.

  December 23, 1811 Meryton

  Monday morning, bright and clear, proved perfect for traveling and welcoming the Gardiners to spend Christmas at Longbourn. The children tumbled out of the Gardiners’ coach into Jane’s waiting arms. Though three hours was not really so very long to be confined to a carriage, their young cousins would be hard pressed to agree and were ready to follow Jane into the garden to spend pent up energy.

  Jane adored the Gardiner children. They brought the first genuine smile to her face since Miss Bingley’s letter had come. One more reason to appreciate the Gardiners’ arrival.

  Mama waited inside the parlor with tea and refreshments on the low table in front of her. Afternoon sun warmed the room invitingly, dust motes playing in the sunshine. In the warmth, the pale, floral-print curtains reminded Elizabeth of the garden in early summer.

  “How lovely all this looks!” Aunt Gardiner placed her large basket on the sofa as she stood just behind. “You are so very good to have this waiting for us.”

  “Aunt Gardiner!” Lydia and Kitty burst in, the door hitting the wall behind, adding another small dark mark to the paint where the door handle struck.

  Aunt Gardiner extended her hands and greeted them with kisses on their cheeks. “How well you both look! See what I have brought you from town!” She opened her basket and handed bundles to them all.

  “Do sit down girls and act like the refined young ladies you are.” Mama gestured them all toward seats around the table, but that did not stop Kitty and Lydia from dancing in the sunbeams.

  “The ribbon I longed for! Oh look Mama!” Lydia draped a length of pink embroidered ribbon across her bodice. “Will it not look well on my sprigged muslin gown?”

  “Indeed it will, child. You are so thoughtful, sister.” Mama unwrapped a bundle of silk flowers. “You chose these to go with my blue gown.”

  “Indeed, I did. I am certain you will find some good use for them.” Aunt Gardiner smiled broadly.

  Kitty bounced on her toes. “Oh, oh, the lace is so beautiful! I cannot wait to put it on my bonnet!”

  “I hope you will be able to do so before we leave. I would very much like to see your work.”

  “Thank you for the music,” Mary’s tone was demure, but her eyes glittered.

  Somehow Aunt Gardiner always chose the most thoughtful gifts. The beaded reticule suited Jane as did the book Elizabeth had once borrowed from the circulating library on her last visit to London.

  “Surely you must be peaked by now. Sit down and refresh yourself.” Mama began serving tea and talking of all the changes in the neighborhood since the Gardiners’ last visit.

  Aunt Gardiner listened politely to Mama’s list of grievances and complaints at how ill-used they had all been. Two of her girls had been on the point of marriage. Yet, still after all that, there was nothing in it.

  Jane blushed and examined her new reticule closely. Elizabeth steeled her spine to keep from squirming in her seat.

  “
I do not blame Jane, for Jane would have got Mr. Bingley, if she could. But, Lizzy! It is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time, had not it been for her own perverseness. He made her an offer in this very room, and she refused him.”

  Aunt Gardiner reached for her hand. “But sister—”

  Mama pulled back. “The consequence of it is that Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I have. Worse yet, Longbourn estate is just as much entailed as ever. The Lucases are very artful people indeed. They are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of them, but so it is.”

  “Mama!” Jane’s eyes pleaded for reprieve.

  “It makes me very nervous and poorly, to be thwarted so in my own family, and to have neighbors who think of themselves before anybody else. However, your coming just at this time is the greatest of comforts. I am very glad to hear what you have to tell us of long sleeves.”

  None of Mama’s news was truly new to Aunt Gardiner, having heard it all in prior correspondence with Elizabeth. Perhaps because of that, or her general level of compassion for her nieces, she was only too pleased to turn the conversation to how long sleeves were being worn in town.

  Half an hour later, Aunt Gardiner begged leave to stretch her legs outside. Elizabeth offered to show her the changes in the garden, and they hurried off together before Mama could protest.

  The evening chill would set in soon. They had perhaps an hour before the cold—and waning light—would drive them in. But for now, they could enjoy the colors of the sunset as they painted the autumn blossoms and the dry leaves and grass that crunched underfoot.

  “It seems likely to have been a desirable match for Jane,” Aunt said. “I am sorry it went off. But these things happen so often! A young man, such as you describe Mr. Bingley, so easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks. When accident separates them, he so easily forgets her. These sorts of inconstancies are very frequent.”

  “An excellent consolation in its way, but it will not do for us. We do not suffer by accident. What think you of it when the interference of friends persuades a young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl with whom he was violently in love only a few days before?” Elizabeth plucked a tall stalk of grass and swished it across her path.

  “But that expression of ‘violently in love’ is as often applied to feelings which arise from an half-hour's acquaintance, as to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love?”

  “I never saw a more promising inclination. He was growing quite inattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time they met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies by not asking them to dance. I spoke to him twice myself without receiving an answer. Could there be finer symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love?”

  “Oh, yes—of exactly that kind of ‘love’ which I suppose him to have felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her, because, with her disposition, she may not get over it immediately. It had better have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughed yourself out of it sooner. Do you think she would be prevailed on to go back to London with us? Change of scene might be of service.” Aunt Gardiner raised a knowing eyebrow. “Perhaps a little relief from home may be as useful as anything.”

  “What an excellent scheme, I think she will be most pleased of it.”

  “And tell me of yourself, now. Are you sure you are unaffected by your brush with marriage?” Aunt Gardiner clasped Elizabeth’s hands.

  “I assure you, Mr. Collins has left me utterly unscathed. I shall not repine his attentions.”

  “I am relieved to hear it, for it seems your mother is intent on making you regret your choices.”

  Elizabeth shrugged “I have grown accustomed to it, I think. And she is not so very intent. She is now recommending that I encourage the attentions of yet another young man.”

  “Indeed, this is news to me. Pray tell me more of him.”

  “He is an officer in the militia and hails from Derbyshire. That alone should ensure your approval of him.”

  “My approval?” Aunt stopped short and stared into Elizabeth’s face. “That you desire it suggests there is some attachment on your part.”

  “I assure you, neither of us is violently in love. He is a pleasant gentleman. You will see for yourself I am sure. Mama has many engagements planned for whilst you are here. I have no doubt there will be opportunity to see you are introduced.”

  “I shall look forward to it.” Aunt’s expression did not quite agree with the sentiment.

  “So shall I. I would value your opinion on the gentleman both my parents seem to approve of.”

  December, 24 1811 Christmas Eve. London

  The morning of Christmas Eve, Darcy sat in his study, sipping his coffee, a plate of still warm toast and jam pushed off to the side of his desk. Although the morning room was probably a mite more comfortable, it was also a reminder that he was alone in the house. Ordinarily, he relished his solitude, but this year was oddly different. There was something accusing in the way the empty chairs stared back at him.

  The neatly ordered shelves and cabinets of the office offered solace and a reminder of his place and purpose in the world. Even without a family of his own, an entire estate depended on him—he had reason and purpose in what he did and that was satisfying—if a little lonely.

  He reached for a small pile of letters atop a stack of papers that required his attention. Bingley’s handwriting all but reached out and waved a friendly ‘hello’. The man had a distinct hand—not at all neat or regular, but much like Bingley himself, friendly and outgoing. The seal was thin and sloppily pressed, breaking off quite easily. Bingley must have been in a hurry sending it. But he usually was in a hurry doing such things.

  Stretched and loopy scrawl reminded Darcy of how much his presence was anticipated at the Bingley Christmas party. How thoughtful, if entirely unsubtle. But Bingley had seen him shun gatherings at the last minute often enough, it was hardly surprising that he exerted himself to avoid that outcome.

  Darcy penned a brief, but positive response. He would indeed attend Bingley’s gathering. Even if only for a short time, he would be there. He sealed the note and set it aside.

  Two other letters of business could wait for a response. Beneath them, the housekeeper had left him several lists to review. The menu for the servants’ Christmas feast? Why did he need to evaluate that? Oh—there would be no meal cooked for Darcy House that day, but it was still fitting that the servants should have something special. But what was appropriate? Were those not matters for the mistress of the house—who did not currently exist.

  Darcy sighed a haggard breath and raked his hair. Was it wrong to hate the way household matters left him feeling incompetent? Best to trust the housekeeper’s judgement on this matter. That is what she was employed for. He set the list aside and picked up another.

  A list of the boxes to be prepared for Boxing Day and their contents—for the servants, the tradesmen and one for the foundling house. There were so many—not that the number was a problem. The Darcys had always been known for their generosity. But so many details to keep in mind. It was as if the housekeeper prepared the boxes not just for their recipients, but their entire families, too.

  He was supposed to approve those as well? His mother would have known exactly what to provide. For that matter, it sounded just like the sort of thing Miss Elizabeth would be involved with at Longbourn. She was so attentive to the needs of those around her. What would she say to such lists? Would she appreciate their efficiency, or would she decry them as cold and hard, preferring spontaneity?

  The brass knocker on the front door rapped, and it squealed open. Who would be calling at this hour?

  Darcy closed his eyes to hear. A high-pitched boyish voice and the scent of evergreens wafted in on the breeze. That was the smell of Christmas at Pemberley.

  They had always cut boughs to decorate the
house on Christmas Eve. A great many of them were required to decorate such a large house. He and Father would take the donkey cart and fill it to overflowing with evergreens. When Mother had her fill of them, they would take the cart to the alms houses of the parish so they too might enjoy the scents and colors of the season. True, it was not strictly a need, but sometimes, Mother said, the heart needed charity as well.

  “Are evergreens wanted here?” a boyish voice asked.

  “Well, now, I do not know,” the housekeeper replied.

  Darcy briskly strode to the front door. “Yes, they are.”

  The housekeeper stepped aside, revealing a young boy, perhaps eight. With ginger hair, freckles, and a dirty face, he might have been a child living on the Pemberley estate.

  “How many will you have, sir?” The boy gestured at a handcart heaped with boughs.

  Darcy selected an armload, enough to adorn the morning room. “I will have these for the house.” He handed them to the housekeeper. “But I will purchase the entire load.”

  “All of them?” The boy’s eyes grew wide.

  “Yes, all, but for that, you must do one additional thing.”

  “What, sir?” He all but bounced with anticipation.

  “I want you to take these to the alms houses of the parish, and give them to the widows and children who live there. Do not fail, though, for I will ask the vicar to check up on your work.”

  “Of course, sir, of course. I will do just as you say!”

  “Then here is an extra penny for your efforts.” Darcy pressed a few coins into the boy’s hand and watched until he disappeared around the corner.

  How long had it been since he sent evergreens to the widows? Far too long. He returned to the study, pulled out a fresh sheet of foolscap, and dipped his pen. There would be some additional instructions for Christmastide at Darcy House.