Yuletide

by Joana Starnes

  Yuletide

  A Jane Austen-inspired Collection of Stories

  Elizabeth Adams

  J. Marie Croft

  Amy D’Orazio

  Lona Manning

  Anngela Schroeder

  Joana Starnes

  Caitlin Williams

  Edited by

  Christina Boyd

  Contents

  Praise For The Authors

  1. The Forfeit

  2. And Evermore Be Merry

  3. The Wishing Ball

  4. By A Lady

  5. Homespun For The Holidays

  6. The Season for Friendly Meetings

  7. Mistletoe Mismanagement

  Acknowledgments

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products from the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  YULETIDE: A Jane Austen-inspired Collection of Stories

  Copyright © 2018 by The Quill Ink

  Cover and internal design © 2018 The Quill Ink, L.L.C.

  Thank you for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any format whatsoever.

  Library of Congress Control Number: Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  ISBN: 978-0-9986540-9-6

  Cover design by Christina Boyd

  Cover image by Under the Mistletoe, Making of America, 1873 (public domain)

  Layout by Karen M Cox

  Praise For The Authors

  ELIZABETH ADAMS

  Green Card, “You know the characters are interesting and well-crafted when four hundred pages doesn’t feel like enough.” —Austenesque Reviews

  On Equal Ground, “This book marks her literary signature, she is not afraid to risk controversial stories and executes them beautifully!”—From Pemberley to Milton

  The 26th of November, “I had a smile on my face the whole time I was reading this book. I sighed wistfully after finishing it and went back to my favorite scenes to enjoy it again.” —Of Pens and Pages

  CHRISTINA BOYD

  The Darcy Monologues, “Think of The Darcy Monologues as your JAFF gateway drug. Don’t worry, experts agree: it lowers anxiety, increases imagination, and is very good for health.” —Period Drama Madness

  Dangerous to Know: Jane Austen’s Rakes & Gentlemen Rogues, “Each tells a story that was left out of Austen’s original works. They manage to tell each in such a way it feels authentic to her vision and style.” —Silver Petticoat Review

  Rational Creatures, “…felt like slipping into the missing pages of Austen’s own novels.” —Drunk Austen

  J. MARIE CROFT

  Love at First Slight, “There was not a single thing I did not like about this novel. The author’s sharp wit could rival that of Jane Austen…a pure delight to read.” —Addicted to Austen

  A Little Whimsical in His Civilities, “If there’s an Austen hero that deserves a good chuckle at himself, I can think of none other more deserving than the proud and staid Mr. Darcy. Ms. Croft helps him loosen up his cravat in a manner that is playful, poetic and utterly romantic.” —Just Jane 1813

  AMY D’ORAZIO

  The Best Part of Love, “...reels with intense drama and is so emotionally charged.” —Readers’ Favorite

  A Short Period of Exquisite Felicity, “…a rollercoaster ride of emotions—angst, heartbreak, anger, then awe, shock, and love.” —Of Pens and Pages

  LONA MANNING

  A Contrary Wind: A Variation on Mansfield Park, “Many try to emulate Austen; not all succeed. Here, Manning triumphs.” —Blue Ink Review Starred Review

  A Marriage of Attachment, “…wealth of historical events woven into this finely-tuned story line are seamless and enlightening.” —Carole of Canada, Goodreads

  ANNGELA SCHROEDER

  The Goodness of Men, “Schroeder did an excellent job writing very tender, touching scenes between Elizabeth and Darcy (swoon!), and she added more depth to Darcy’s backstory and the events that shaped him as the master of Pemberley.” —Diary of an Eccentric

  A Lie Universally Hidden, “Ms. Schroeder definitely knows how to pen some romantic and eloquent passages full of ardent yearning and devotion! *sigh*” —Austenesque Reviews

  The Quest for Camelot, “This well researched book draws the reader into a story that immediately grabs the reader's interest so that one can't put it down until the end. And what an ending it is—full of surprises and romance.” —Dr. Marty Turner, Amazon

  JOANA STARNES

  The Falmouth Connection, “Joana Starnes writes with great verve and affection about the familiar characters—and an intriguing cast of unfamiliar ones.” —Jane Austen’s Regency World Magazine

  The Unthinkable Triangle, “…full of feeling…a book full of soul.” —From Pemberley to Milton

  Mr. Bennet’s Dutiful Daughter, “‘She did it again,’ I told myself as I savored the feelings whirling around inside of me.” —Just Jane 1813

  CAITLIN WILLIAMS

  Ardently, “To say I was swept away into the storyline may be an understatement.” —Just Jane 1813

  The Coming of Age of Elizabeth Bennet, “This is a story to be completely and emotionally wrapped up in and consumed with!” —Austenesque Reviews

  The Events at Branxbourne, “The evocative writing is of the highest quality and draws you in incompletely…flat out excellent.” —Debbie B., Goodreads

  For friends of Jane Austen

  The Forfeit

  Caitlin Williams

  To be fond of dancing was a certain step to falling in love. —Jane Austen

  She was almost home. Elizabeth Bennet was nearing the lane that led to Longbourn’s front door and she longed to be warm again. Despite the thick snow that covered the fields surrounding Meryton, she had volunteered to take a note from her mother to Lady Lucas, reasoning that it was a short walk to Lucas Lodge, and the fresh air might restore her spirits.

  Christmas festivities were rapidly overtaking Longbourn. Fires were lit in every room, the smell of baking pies permeated the air, and her small cousins—brought from Town by her uncle and aunt Gardiner a few days previously—were busy making decorations and noisily chasing each other about the house. It was usually her favourite time of year, when everyone was predisposed to laughter, love was limitless, and much joy was to be had from simple pleasures. She was generally a social creature and enjoyed all the parties and dinners along with the opportunities for dancing and music they afforded. This year, however, she was struggling to embrace the yuletide with the same delight.

  Mostly because her elder sister was unhappy. Though she smiled and remained her affectionate, generous self, it was not difficult for Elizabeth to see the hole that had been left in Jane’s heart. Mr. Bingley had gone; Jane was deserted and bereft. Then there was Elizabeth’s dear friend Charlotte Lucas’s engagement to Mr. Collins, which made her both sad and a little angry at the world. Charlotte deserved a better life and a worthier companion than the pompous, ridiculous, obsequious, portly little man she had settled for.

  In this reflective frame of mind, Elizabeth had walked to Lucas Lodge through a calm, picturesque, winter country scene. Yet after she had delivered her note, she had made the mistake of sitting with Charlotte for too long. When she chanced to look out the window, she saw that heavy snow had begun to fall atop the thick blanket which already cove
red the ground. Concerned that the lanes might become unpassable, she had immediately donned her outdoor clothes and hurried home.

  Elizabeth knew every tree and hedgerow and could cut her way through them quickly, but she stopped abruptly just as Longbourn came within easy reach, taken aback by the curious sight of a carriage which had slid into a snowdrift.

  She recognised the livery as Mr. Darcy’s, and her astonishment was altogether complete when she realised Mr. Darcy, in his elegant great coat and tall hat, was pushing the carriage from behind with one of his servants while his driver and groom encouraged the horses from the fore. Their efforts were proving to be in vain; the carriage would not budge an inch.

  She thought to go back and retrace her steps, to walk the long way around till she was at the back of the house where she might go in through the kitchen door. Detestable man that he was, she had no interest in exchanging pleasantries with Mr. Darcy. She deliberated for too long, however, giving Mr. Darcy the opportunity to look up and notice her.

  He started in surprise but recovered quickly, bowed, and tipped his hat. “Miss Bennet.”

  “Mr. Darcy, I confess I never thought to see you in our small part of Hertfordshire again.” Nor had she wanted to. She had said a private good riddance to the man less than a month ago when she had heard of his leaving for London after the Netherfield Ball.

  “I have stopped only briefly on my way North. Mr. Bingley had a matter that needed personal attention at Netherfield. I merely came this way to be of assistance to him, and now I travel on to Matlock.”

  “Ah, but at this present moment, you appear to be travelling nowhere.”

  “A minor accident. We shall be away in a moment. The snow will stop shortly.”

  After a quick glance up at the sky, she gave him a doubtful look. “I should not count on it doing so merely because you have told it to, Mr. Darcy. The weather may prove less pliable than your friends.”

  His brow wrinkled as if he were confused. He stepped forward till he loomed over her, causing Elizabeth to remember what she had noticed the very first time they had met: he was decidedly masculine. None of his features were pretty, everything about him was dark—his hair and eyes were almost black. He was much taller than her, at least a foot, and his chest was broad. His shoulders were straight, his hands large and strong. Mr. Darcy had presence. Even when he was silent or ensconced in a corner, he was impossible to ignore.

  She was conscious of her attraction to him. It rose up to vex her at their every encounter. He looked like the sort of a man she could lose her heart to—might be willing to entrust with her hand, even. It was fortunate she had quickly discovered he found her only tolerable. Otherwise she might have made a complete fool of herself over him and discovered his hateful character all too late. What worse tragedy could befall a girl than to be madly in love with a man before she discovered he was thoroughly detestable?

  “The road North dips into a valley about a mile further up,” she told him. “I should imagine it will be impossible to get through now, though I wish you the best of luck.”

  “I have excellent horses and a skilled driver in whom I have great faith. All will be well. Merry Christmas, Miss Bennet.”

  His “merry Christmas” was so sombre, so incongruous with the sentiment expressed that it made her smile. She wished him the same, offered him a small curtsey, and walked on.

  They had not really exchanged the proper niceties; nobody had asked after anyone’s health. Though perhaps that was a good thing. If she were to enquire after Mr. Bingley, she doubted she would be able to do so with any equanimity.

  She had not gone ten feet, however, before she heard their resumed efforts to rescue the carriage come to naught. There was much heaving and mutterings of oaths, but it seemed firmly stuck.

  Turning around, she raised her voice to be heard above the wind, which was now blowing in all directions, whipping snow up at her face. “Mr. Darcy, these roads and the surrounding terrain are as familiar to me as the lines on the palms of my hands. It would be foolhardy to continue. You will get no further North today and would do better to return to Netherfield.”

  “The house has not been readied,” he shouted back. “I was there only for a few hours to conduct some business. I am certain there is not even a bed made up. I should not like to bother the staff.”

  “Would not a house, even one that is shut up, be better than freezing to death out on the road?”

  Mr. Darcy glanced in the direction of Netherfield before a sudden gust of wind knocked him a step sideways. Elizabeth battled with it too and was fortunate to remain on her feet.

  “You should not be concerned for my welfare, Miss Bennet. I ought to be concerned for yours and see you safely to your door.”

  “I am just a few moments away from safety. I beg you to take my advice and go back to Netherfield.”

  “Do you, Miss Bennet? I thank you for concern.” He smiled, and she could not determine whether it was rendered strange because she had so rarely seen him smile or because he was staring at her so intently.

  “I should worry for anyone who was attempting to travel in such weather. It is fast becoming a blizzard. You ought to make haste, whatever you decide.”

  At last he seemed to take notice of her warnings and glanced at the carriage and then at his men. One of them was not much more than a skinny boy who was shivering and stomping at the ground, clapping his hands together in an effort to keep warm.

  “Unharness the horses, we will ride back to Netherfield and take shelter there,” Mr. Darcy shouted. His groom quickly jumped to do his bidding.

  Elizabeth tried to walk away, reasoning that he was a grown man with two other strapping men, a young lad, and some fine horses to assist him. After a few steps, though, she chastised herself. She ought to be charitable. It was Christmas, after all.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said, hoping he could not tell she spoke through gritted teeth. “You are all wet and cold. At Longbourn you might dry off while your men can have something hot to eat and drink in the kitchen, and the horses might rest in the stables. Netherfield is three miles yonder, which is an easy distance in good weather but a thoroughly unpleasant one in this storm.”

  He shook his head proudly, but another strong gust of wind seemed to sap his resolve. His shoulders sagged. Though he did not deign to offer any thanks, he and his attendants began to follow her.

  Mr. Darcy caught her up after a few moments, and she noticed him regard Longbourn suspiciously as they neared it, as if he were a lamb being led to the slaughter.

  Perhaps her mother terrified him, Elizabeth mused. Having witnessed Mrs. Bennet’s desperation and determination to see her daughters well wed, he might fear being trapped and held to ransom until he agreed to marry one of them. She shuddered. Being wed to Mr. Darcy was not a fate she should wish on any of them, no matter how much she sometimes despaired of Kitty and Lydia.

  “Mr. Bingley could not come himself?” Elizabeth enquired, having to raise her voice to be heard over the wind.

  “Oh, I suppose he might have, but I offered to spare him the trouble, as I would be passing nearby. He has no intention of returning to Netherfield in the near future and wished for me to speak to his steward.”

  “It would be better for the neighbourhood if he were to give it up altogether then, so we might see a new family settled there.”

  “I am glad we agree on this matter, Miss Bennet. Bingley and Netherfield were not a good match.”

  “It is difficult to settle in a new place, no matter how attractive a proposition it presents, if one’s family and friends oppose it.”

  Mr. Darcy stopped and turned to face her. They were now only a few feet away from the house. “He would be foolish to disregard the feelings of those closest to him altogether. That would show a great deal of arrogance. A man must consider the duty he owes to his family before he makes any important decisions. Mr. Bingley took the lease of Netherfield on a whim, which is his way. He would do better to wa
it for an estate he might purchase outright—one that will complement his position in society or even enhance it.”

  Hateful man! Elizabeth fumed. She was quickly regretting her decision to extend a welcome to him. They were talking of Jane; he knew it as well as she did. “Perhaps he had an emotional attachment to the place,” she said crossly, losing her composure. “He might have been exceedingly happy there if others had not made their displeasure so obvious.”

  “Yes, and no doubt he will see some other estate a few months hence that he becomes just as attached to. Netherfield is a good house but has some residual issues and difficulties attached to it.”

  Her temper was flaring, and who knows what she might have said next. Fortunately for her but unluckily for him, he was then hit directly on the nose by a large mound of snow. The attack was followed by some high-pitched giggling and a scurrying of boots in some nearby trees. Mr. Darcy looked both affronted and quite ridiculous as ice dripped from the end of his nose. He brushed it off with as much dignity as he could muster, while Elizabeth tried not to laugh. The snowball had most likely been thrown by her young cousin George, though she wished she had been brave enough to have launched it herself.

  “Come on in now, George,” she called out. “The weather grows worse and it is time for tea.”