Yuletide

by Joana Starnes

  “On the contrary, if the invitation extends to me, I shall be there,” Mr. Darcy replied, before rising from his seat, bowing to the room and leaving them.

  Their visitors remained less than an hour. The days were short, and darkness was falling rapidly. As soon as they had been waved off, Elizabeth found her warmest coat and hat and decided to risk a short stroll in the shrubbery, the paths of which had been partially cleared. It was still freezing, cold enough to rob her of her breath, but she could bear ten minutes without if it meant some fresh air. The layers of snow made everything still and quiet, and so she heard Mr. Darcy’s approach long before she saw him.

  After a remark on the beauty of the scene, with which she concurred, he walked a few feet away as if he were about to go on without her, but then changed his mind, turned, and stopped. “It is no business of mine, but may I take the liberty of cautioning you against Mr. Wickham? I have heard your sisters tease you about him, and he does appear to favour you, but I should not count on his attentions lasting. You are too poor, I am afraid, to be a serious object with him.”

  Her mouth hung open in shock at his bluntness.

  “Money is his motivation in all things, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy continued, moving closer to her. “I hope you will not feel too wounded when he transfers his affections elsewhere.”

  “Mr. Darcy, to have reduced him to his current state is crime enough, must you seek to slander him too? He has not the means at present to think of a future with any lady, but that may not always be the case, and he is not fickle. He is most loyal to the memory of your father, which is why he will not publicly expose you.”

  “His curious way of not exposing me, Miss Bennet, is to relate his story of my supposed misdeeds to everyone he meets.”

  Her temper, which has been in full flow, suddenly had the wind knocked out of its sails. For he was right! Mr. Darcy had made it easier for the residents of Meryton to dislike him by standing about disdainfully at every gathering, but it was Mr. Wickham’s tales that had truly confirmed him as a villain in everyone’s eyes. Wickham had not been discreet, not at all.

  “Who is this girl with the ten thousand pounds?” Mr. Darcy asked.

  “Mary King.”

  “Miss Bennet, I have no doubt you will look exceedingly pretty tomorrow night. You will be as charming and witty as ever. You will dance or sing or play beautifully, yet Mr. Wickham will not single you out. He will not spare a thought for your feelings or feel the slightest guilt when he transfers his attentions from you to Miss King. He is without conscience.”

  “I think you are wrong, Mr. Darcy,” she said but, truthfully, she felt less sure of herself with every passing moment. “Perhaps you try to lessen the effect of your own crimes against him by sabotaging his character.”

  “Shall we have a wager on it?”

  “For money?” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, no. I would not take money from a lady. If I am wrong, I will pay you a forfeit, and if you are wrong, then I will extract a forfeit from you.”

  “Do I get to choose the forfeit?” she asked warily.

  “Why not? Please, go ahead.”

  “Very well. If Mr. Wickham does not single Mary King out tomorrow night, you will write a letter to Mr. Bingley. In it, you will inform him that my sister will be in Town after Christmas, staying with my uncle, and you are certain she would welcome a call from him.”

  Mr. Darcy was smug. “If I am wrong, Miss Bennet, I will go to Town myself for the express purpose of encouraging the call.”

  “And you will withdraw your opposition to my sister? You will not interfere between them at all? It is no use denying it, Mr. Darcy, I know that you have.”

  “I will not deny it, yet I do regret it.”

  Her head snapped up in surprise. “You do?”

  “I have heard your mother previously, Miss Bennet, talking about my friend Bingley as if he were nothing more than a walking, talking pound note. I wrongly assumed your sister regarded him in the same manner.” He sighed and leant on his stick. “I did not imagine his leaving would cause her any great pain. I now see that it has. I will gladly pay my forfeit if I lose, but I will not lose.”

  Elizabeth nodded in satisfaction. “I am certain that I will not either, so it hardly matters but, out of interest, what is to be my forfeit?

  “Oh, I have not decided yet.” He straightened up and began to walk away. “I shall let you know when I do. Enjoy your walk, Miss Bennet,” he called over his shoulder.

  Diverting from the paths, kicking up snow and making her petticoats wet, Elizabeth spent longer outside than she had first intended. She needed time to think through all he had told her—about Wickham, about Bingley—and about that which most perturbed her. Somewhere, during their odd exchange, had he really described her as witty, charming, and pretty?

  It took very little to excite Kitty’s and Lydia’s sensibilities and, as they sat down to breakfast on Christmas Eve, they did so with the prospect of dancing with handsome men in red coats, of escaping Longbourn for a few hours, and of a sleigh ride. It was too much to expect any decorum. They could barely sit still, and their feverish anticipation of it all was only bound to increase as the day went on.

  Elizabeth shuddered to think of how it would be: endless giggling over nothing, shouting and running about, in and out of bedrooms with arms full of skirts, stealing ribbons, gloves and jewellery as they went. For her two younger sisters, the process of getting dressed to attend Colonel Forster’s party was likely to last longer than the party itself. They talked over one another at the table, argued about which of the officers was most handsome, and they mocked Mary when she declared such pleasures puerile and insisted that they would do better to remain at home in order to “strengthen their intellects by reading.”

  Mr. Darcy had taken up a newspaper as soon as he had finished eating, his face hidden for some time. Elizabeth thought—in fact she had prayed—that he had not been paying much attention to Kitty and Lydia’s nonsense, but now he lowered the pages to look in Mary’s direction. “I see you and I share a similar turn of mind, Miss Mary. Perhaps we ought to form an alliance this evening to protect ourselves from the evils of too much merriment. If we must dance, and I fear it will be demanded of us, perhaps we might stand up together and discuss something valuable and sensible while we go through our steps? Will you do me the honour of the first dance?”

  The table fell silent and all eyes turned to Mary, who blushed furiously but nodded her acceptance. She thanked him in a voice so small and high-pitched it was in danger of shattering the water glasses, then excused herself and almost ran from the room.

  All was still for a few moments, though Elizabeth detected a slight shaking in her father’s shoulders as if he were trying to hold in a laugh.

  “So, are you going to dance with all of us, Mr. Darcy?” Lydia asked. “Or stand about stupidly like you did when we first met you?”

  Both Elizabeth and Jane opened their mouths to admonish her, but Mr. Bennet was quicker, and his dressing down was surprisingly efficient and effective—so much so that Lydia spent the rest of the meal with her head cowed over her plate.

  Mr. Darcy seemed thoughtful as he finished the last of his coffee and declined another cup, telling them he intended to walk to the turnpike to assess the state of the roads.

  After he had left the room, Mrs. Bennet whispered furiously at Mr. Bennet, telling him she thought Mr. Darcy might be in love with Mary. In reply, their father rolled his eyes and looked as if he could not decide who was more ridiculous: his wife, or himself for having married her.

  Elizabeth passed Mr. Darcy in the hall just as he was preparing to go out. “I suppose you go to the turnpike to see whether it would be prudent to travel yet. I cannot blame you for wanting to flee.”

  He shook his head. “I require the exercise—and six ladies readying themselves for an evening party! I know enough of such things to realise I would be an annoyance and in everyone’s way if I were to remain.”<
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  “’Tis true. It takes a great deal of preparation and fuss for some of us Bennets to make ourselves tolerable enough to appear in company.”

  He put a hand to his chest and bowed. “A hit, madam. Well deserved.”

  “I am a little unfair.” She smiled, and he looked at her for a long moment with an odd expression in his eyes that she could not quite fathom. “My apologies, Mr. Darcy.

  “No, do not apologise. You must allow me to make some reparation for that ill-judged, hasty remark, else I fear I may never be allowed to forget it. Let me say that in your case, Miss Bennet, no preparations are necessary.” He reddened, started to say something more but then seemed to change his mind. “Your smiles give you an unfair advantage in our wager. If I did not know Wickham so well, I might be more worried about losing.”

  She coloured herself, recognising his awkwardness. He was not used to giving compliments; they did not come lightly or easily to him as they did other gentlemen. It took a moment for her to recover. “You are not backing out of our agreement are you, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Not at all, madam.” He stuck out his hand. “We did not shake on it before. Let us do so now.”

  She put her hand into his without thinking. Neither wore gloves; his were still hanging out of his coat pocket. The contact was not fleeting, and he clasped her fingers for longer than was polite or necessary. The feelings his touch generated did not shock her. Of course, she should feel hot and overcome! Something oddly familiar, yet thoroughly exciting, coursed through her veins, but then, he was a handsome man; the sensations were natural. Strangely, she was both relieved and disappointed when he let go, bowed his head, and walked quickly to the door.

  Once he had gone, she ran up the stairs to immediately choose a gown, then ran down again with it in her arms to see about getting it pressed. She bothered the busy upstairs maid to discuss how they might later style her hair and went to ask Jane if she might borrow a particular pair of earrings. Then she called for a bath. It was only when she was sunk deep into the iron tub that she realised she had spent the last two hours in much the same fashion as Lydia and Kitty, minus, thankfully, some very silly giggling.

  It was dark when the sleigh arrived to collect them. Mr. Darcy went out first, a lantern in his hand, to inspect it closely. He frowned a great deal but at last declared it safe and, when it had been loaded with hot bricks from the fire and many rugs, they were all allowed to climb into it. He did not appear to trust the driver, however, and made the man move over on the front bench.

  Taking up the ribbons himself, he gave them an elegant flick, clicked his tongue, and the horses moved forwards. They all gave a gasp of delight as they were driven out of the park and into the surrounding lanes towards Meryton.

  Elizabeth turned her face up towards the sky. The moon was bright and the stars shone down upon them, guiding their way. She listened to the scraping noise made by the sleigh’s runners as they moved over the ice and knew she would always remember this journey, even when she was grey and old. Perfect wintry night skies and that particular sound would forever remind her of this moment.

  Sadly, the beauty of it all was soon eclipsed by Lydia’s whining.

  “We are going very slowly, Mr. Darcy. All the officers will be already engaged for the first dance by the time we arrive.”

  “Shush, Lydia,” Mrs Bennet said. “I am sure he is being careful for Mary’s sake. I am certain he would not want any harm to come to her.”

  Colonel Forster’s party could not be described as a ball as such, but everybody had arrived inclined to dance. The Bennets burst upon the scene just as the musicians were about to begin. They all went in hurriedly, to be greeted by their friends and neighbours, who exclaimed with pleasure as if they had not seen them for months rather than mere days.

  The efforts they had expended in simply getting there made everyone determined to enjoy themselves. The room was not big and they were rather tightly packed into it, but it was prettily decorated with bunches of holly and garlands made from ferns and berries.

  Mr. Wickham, upon seeing Elizabeth, immediately came forward and asked her for the first dance. She readily acquiesced and, when they took their place in the set, she could not help but look down the rows of couples for Mr. Darcy, who was stood opposite Mary. Their eyes met, and she gave him a smile she hoped was as smug as the one he had worn the day before. He only nodded at her in return.

  Her triumph, however, was short-lived. They had not been dancing more than five minutes before Wickham asked her to point out Mary King to him. He laughed when she did and pretended no interest, but neither did he seem to care for anything else Elizabeth had to say. His eyes frequently wandered in Miss King’s direction.

  “What do you think, Mr. Wickham? Is she ‘a nasty freckled thing’ as Lydia has described her?”

  “Your sister is too harsh whereas I, as a gentleman, am not. I am certain the young lady has many attractive qualities.”

  “Oh, yes,” Elizabeth replied. “Ten thousand of them.” She tried to smile as if it were a joke, but she was disappointed in him and her tone was harsher than she intended.

  He was taken aback but only laughed before returning to his usual ways with her. They flirted and joked, yet Elizabeth did not do so with any honesty. Instead, it became a courtly game, one that must be played out until they reached the end of their half hour together. Elizabeth was relieved when he did not linger with her at the end of the dance.

  Wickham joined the throng of officers who were vying to stand up with Mary King. As charming and as handsome as he was, Elizabeth strongly suspected he would prove victorious. As she stood by her mother, she saw him work his way stealthily to the lady’s side, then hold out his hand. He made his request with a wolfish smile and was readily accepted.

  Mr. Darcy, likewise, had a new partner and was leading Jane across the room to dance. After this, he asked Kitty, and then Lydia. Elizabeth was dancing herself and most likely annoying her partner by almost never looking his way. Yet how could she when the horrifying spectacle of Lydia and Mr. Darcy dancing was so near? So mismatched were they, such opposites in every respect, that they were uncomfortable to watch. Even so, she could not stop staring at them.

  Upon re-joining her friends, Elizabeth took a deep breath and straightened the sash on her dress. He would come now, she thought, if he was really to dance with them all. It was surely her turn to be asked and Mr. Darcy did take a step her way but, before he was even halfway across the room, a Lucas son, home from Cambridge for Christmas, tapped her on the shoulder and requested the honour. She could hardly refuse and let herself be led away, only to look over her shoulder and see Mr. Darcy approach Charlotte.

  Would he never sit down? Could he not stand on the side and look them all over critically as he was once wont to do? Why did she feel so aggrieved, so full of rage? Was this jealousy she felt? How silly to be envious of Charlotte, who had already made her somewhat dubious choice of mate! Yet the set ought to have been hers—it was her turn to dance with Mr. Darcy.

  How many dances were left? Not many, she feared. They had taken supper already, and this gathering could not last much longer. The guests would have to consider travelling home in the inclement weather. Some of the older ladies would take an early leave, and their sons, daughters, and husbands would go with them.

  Added to the problem of the snow, some of the officers were growing rowdy. Colonel Forster had recently ordered one of his men—who had looked quite green in the face—to bed. If they continued to drink, they would soon become unfit for the company of ladies; all those with reputations to consider would withdraw and leave the men to their own kind of revelry.

  Elizabeth’s despair grew greater when Mr. Darcy decided upon Mary King for his next partner. Her mother, standing next to her, was equally disappointed. “Oh, he has only danced with our Mary once, and now he chooses Miss King. I begin to doubt his admiration.”

  “I begin to doubt everything, even myself,” Elizabeth rep
lied, before being approached by a stout, young officer. She gave her hand to him with a sigh.

  As she had predicted, for some of gathered families, the end of the next set was the end of the night. The Lucases departed, along with a few others, giving their “merry Christmases” and wishes for a safe journey home.

  The officers were keen to keep the dancing alive, however. One of them climbed upon the shoulders of another and was given a great cheer when he hung a small sprig of mistletoe from a beam.

  Elizabeth knew what was to follow. This was the country, not a formal gathering in Town. There would be a reel or a jig, something fast, and at the end of it, as the couples took their final steps down the line, the lady would bestow a kiss on the cheek of her partner. A harmless Christmas ritual in Meryton, probably not the thing at Matlock or Pemberley. Yet when Mr. Darcy came near, she could not breathe for wondering what he would say or do.

  All he did, however, was to tug at his cuffs and stare at the scene before him. Partners were being selected—more carefully than ever before, as gentlemen sought out their favourites.

  “You may want to look away, Mr. Darcy. I have no doubt you will heartily disapprove of what is to follow.”

  “I suppose the entertainment being what it is, you will win our wager. Your faithful Mr. Wickham will no doubt be along in a moment to ask you to dance.”

  The moment he had finished speaking, Mr. Wickham did step in their direction. Elizabeth’s heart stopped briefly. Then he smiled tightly, almost apologetically at her, before approaching Mary King with sickeningly false humility and a pretence of shyness.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Darcy. You win,” she said, leaving him to go over to a chair in the corner. She sank into it with an air of defeat.

  “I have won nothing.”

  She looked up to see he had followed her. He glanced around the room before crouching down beside her chair. “You are much better rid of him. I pity the poor lady he does marry. His tale—of the living he was supposed to have? What he always neglects to omit is that, after my father died, he declared he never wanted to take orders. Instead, he asked for financial recompense. I gave him a large sum of money, which he has now most likely squandered.”