by Maria Grace
Perhaps she meant it as a joke.
He gulped down another mouthful of the housekeeper’s foul tonic.
At least the costumes had been tolerable, an officer’s coat for him and a wreath of flowers for her. Acceptable enough.
The evening began to unravel after his second cup of punch, happily provided by Letty herself. Had she been trying to relax him, or provoke him? It was difficult to tell, and either would have been in keeping with her character.
She had been pleased enough with her role for the evening. Of course, she would relish the opportunity to disagree with him at every turn. What was more natural than her doing nearly all the talking for them both?
Then she chanced upon the great fun in pointing out every woman in the room, attractive or not and remarking upon her assets and flaws. The punch made him careless. When he flinched upon her mention of fine eyes, she made that the target of her future remarks. Over and over, he was forced to observe fine eyes.
That only served to remind him that the pair of fine eyes he truly desired to see were situated hours away, and unwelcome at such an affair in any event.
As his temper grew worse, Letty delighted in her success. She knew the bard’s work too well and perceived precisely how to draw him in.
At one point, in a futile attempt at distraction, he had politely remarked upon the weather—the weather!—only to receive her response:
“I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you.”
“What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?”
The words slipped out before he could control them, and the game, for Letty was on.
“Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.”
Heat rose along his jaw—or perhaps it was the punch. How dare she insult his deportment! It was not to be borne.
“Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.”
Why had he permitted himself those words? Even playing a role, he disdained to lie. What was Elizabeth driving him to?
Letty, though, took far too much delight in his protest.
The look she had given him as she said, “A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood. I am of your humor for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.”
Her betrothed would be pleased with that public declaration. Perhaps it was made for the benefit of the nearby tell-alls who would repeat the evening’s most flavorful morsels to anyone who heard them. But something in her eyes implied she enjoyed the lines too much for it to be merely an act.
“God keep your ladyship still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.”
“Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were.”
That was uncalled for, even if the bard had written it. Elizabeth would have twisted the line somehow, with something witty and clever, and entirely her own. Even in the moments her wit was most sharp, she did not stoop to vulgar insults and would not even for the sake of the script.
He gulped the remainder of his punch.
In retrospect, perhaps not the wisest choice. That glass burned all the way down, spreading a fiery boldness through his belly.
“Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.”
“A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.” Letty laughed, a shrill, ear-splitting sound on the best of days which had clearly not improved with drink.
“I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i' God's name; I have done.”
Oh, she had not liked that, given the face she made at him. “You always end with a jade's trick: I know you of old.”
Had she but a modicum of restraint, it might have been bearable. She shrieked and carried on as though those words were meant personally, not written for the public’s entertainment. It was easy enough for her to dole out the bard’s words, but to be on the receiving end of them—that was intolerable.
He scrubbed his face with his hands. Great heavens, even the Bennet family had checked themselves better! Was it possible that family demonstrated greater decorum than his own?
That was not possible. What would Lydia Bennet have done with the character of Beatrice? He shuddered.
Heavens! That thought must have been the result of far too much port.
He leaned back in his chair and threw his arm over his eyes. His own behavior left much to be desired. Had he only followed his own advice, Letty’s tantrum might have been avoided. One might easily argue, it had been entirely his fault.
Fitzwilliam would not see it that way, but surely an unpleasant call from Aunt Matlock was in the offing. He could hardly blame her. Mother would not have approved of his behavior. Elizabeth would probably not have been impressed either.
Even with Letty’s outrageous conduct, his plan for the ball had largely been a success, at least until this moment. He had hardly thought about Elizabeth Bennet during the entire evening. Not when the young Miss Blake, wearing the gown that would have better suited Miss Elizabeth, sauntered past. Not when the musicians played the same music he and Elizabeth had danced to at Netherfield. Not when he caught a glimpse of the library on the way to the card room, and the same book Miss Elizabeth read while she stayed at Netherfield captured his gaze. Not when Letty attempted to involve him in conversation with her shallow chatter and gossip that bored him senseless instead of endeavoring to engage him in sensible discourse. None of those moments made him consider Miss Elizabeth at all.
It was only now in the solitude of his study that thoughts of that maddening woman invaded his consciousness, refusing to give way in the face of his stalwart defenses.
Why was it no young lady, regardless of fortune, connections, or beauty, seemed to measure up to the standard set by the impertinent Hertfordshire miss?
There had to be something for this untoward distraction—something other than a stay in Bedlam. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
“What is troubling you, dear?” Mother gathered her skirts and sat beside him on the uppermost step of the grand stair.
Darcy shrugged. “Nothing.”
She leaned her shoulder against his. “Nothing often bothers me as well.”
She had always been so understanding. What would she have said about Elizabeth?
Elizabeth was a woman who had nothing, absolutely nothing to recommend her, but herself. Nothing but her wit, her kindness, her devotion to her family, her reputation in the community, her beauty, her manners ... all those things Mother had considered cardinal virtues.
Was Elizabeth worth the scorn it might cost him?
Aunt Matlock would insist she was not. Likely the rest of the family would agree.
But Mother, she would say she was.
A cool swath of peace settled over his shoulders and wrapped around him, bandaging all the worn and ragged places of his soul.
Of course, of course! It was so clear, so simple.
He would not forget her. Somehow, someday, he would see her again, and when he did, he would make her an offer of marriage. Then all would finally be right with the world.
Epilogue
Jane Austen wrote that on this same day Jane visits Miss Bingley at Grosvenor Street—a visit not well appreciated by the recipient to be sure. Two days later, on January 9, Charlotte married Mr. Collins and Jane Austen picks up the narrative once again.
Do these scenes represent what Austen conceived of for her characters during Christmastide 1811? One will really never know, perhaps they do not, but then again, it is pleasing to think that they might.
Thank you!
Thanks for reading Darcy & Elizabeth: Christmas 1811. I hope you enjoy
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Other books by Maria Grace:
Remember the Past
The Darcy Brothers
Given Good Principles Series:
Darcy’s Decision
The Future Mrs. Darcy
All the Appearance of Goodness
Twelfth Night at Longbourn
Jane Austen’s Dragons Series:
Pemberley: Mr. Darcy’s Dragon
Longbourn: Dragon Entail
The Queen of Rosings Park Series:
Mistaking Her Character
The Trouble to Check Her
A Less Agreeable Man
Sweet Tea Stories:
A Spot of Sweet Tea: Hopes and Beginnings (short story anthology)
A Spot of Sweet Tea: Christmastide Tales (Christmas novella anthology)
Darcy & Elizabeth: Christmas 1811
The Darcy’s First Christmas
From Admiration to Love
Snowbound at Hartfield
Regency Life (Nonfiction) Series:
A Jane Austen Christmas: Regency Christmas Traditions
Courtship and Marriage in Jane Austen’s World
Short Stories:
Four Days in April
Sweet Ginger
Last Dance
Not Romantic
Available in e-book and paperback
Free ebooks
Available at Maria Grace’s website:
RandomBitsofFascination.com
Bits of Bobbin Lace
Half Agony, Half Hope: New Reflections on Persuasion
Four Days in April
Scenes Jane Austen Never Wrote: First Anniversaries
Anniversary February
Jane Bennet in January
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About the Author
Though Maria Grace has been writing fiction since she was ten years old, those early efforts happily reside in a file drawer and are unlikely to see the light of day again, for which many are grateful. After penning five file-drawer novels in high school, she took a break from writing to pursue college and earn her doctorate in Educational Psychology. After 16 years of university teaching, she returned to her first love, fiction writing.
She has one husband and one grandson, two graduate degrees and two black belts, three sons, four undergraduate majors, five nieces, is starting her sixth year blogging on Random Bits of Fascination, has built seven websites, attended eight English country dance balls, sewn nine Regency era costumes, and shared her life with ten cats.
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Acknowledgments
So many people have helped me along the journey taking this from an idea to a reality.
Debbie, Anji, and Julie thank you so much for cold reading and being honest!, Jan your proofreading is worth your weight in gold!
My dear friend Cathy, my biggest cheerleader, you have kept me from chickening out more than once!
And my sweet sister Gerri who believed in even those first attempts that now live in the file drawer!
Thank you!
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