Elizabeth! His heart raced, and he felt his breathing increase. She is here? Elizabeth is here? Is fate toying with me? He was about to interrupt when—
“Mr. Wickham… But, Mr. Wickham assured me through his manners and countenance that he was of the utmost character, and another gentleman, whom I shall not name, is not. I worry that I believed him solely due to my own vanity.”
Richard, who was seated facing Miss Elizabeth and her sister Jane Bennet, saw him in the doorway and, at once, stayed him with a glance.
“I have only known Mr.—pardon me—the man to be unfeeling and arrogant. I am attempting to reconsider my dealings with him and am confused at best. But, as my dear Jane has said before, maybe we misjudged him.”
“There must be no blame, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, raising a brow in Darcy’s direction. “George Wickham has used people ill his whole life. You are not the first kind-hearted woman who has been deceived by his charms.”
He heard her gasp. “You have known his name all along?”
Richard nodded. “The story you related sounded too familiar. We, my cousin and I have dealt with Wickham’s proclivities for many years. We have settled his affairs and…things which are not for the sensibilities of ladies… I am only grateful he did not take advantage of more than your trust.”
Her head shook and the curls at the back of her neck bounced against her porcelain skin. Darcy cursed himself for letting her be so ill-informed, unprotected.
I should never have encouraged Bingley to leave Hertfordshire. Had we stayed, I would have declared myself, and shielded her from Wickham... Yes, I would have! Hang my family’s expectations! I will be with the woman I love!
Richard’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he was about to interrupt when the question caught him. “And what of this man, the heir to the estate where Wickham grew up? Are your feelings toward him altered in the slightest?”
“I cannot say,” he heard her say.
Bingley let out an almost audible gasp as he finally realized with whom Richard was conversing. Darcy indicated to remain silent but believed he would have to restrain the man when his angel began to speak.
“Lizzy, I am no better than you. You must not be too hard on yourself. It is not I whom Mr. D–whom the gentleman insulted at the Meryton assembly. Your pride was injured.”
“He insulted you, Miss Elizabeth? In a public assembly?” Richard stifled a snort. “The devil he did! And what did he say?”
The room was silent as Darcy stepped forward. “I misspoke.”
Jane and Elizabeth both stood and whipped around to face him. “I misspoke,” he repeated softly, “and can only pray the lady find it in her heart to forgive my falsehood.”
She is mute, and Miss Bennet is terrified, fool!
“It is obvious that I now have other wrongs to atone for, ladies, and both Bingley and I beg your forgiveness.”
Elizabeth colored when her eyes met his; Jane Bennet blanched upon seeing Bingley.
“Oh, Darce. You are in a fine fettle, are you not? Now, come and let us unravel this tangled ball of yarn you have created. Sit there, beside Miss Elizabeth. And you, Bingley, there, by Miss Bennet.”
Awkward bowing, curtsies, and even more uncomfortable greetings supervened before everyone took their seats.
“Miss Bennet, what a happy surprise this is. I trust your family is well and preparing for the holidays?” Bingley asked, a cautious crack in his voice.
“Yes, th-thank you, sir,” Jane said, keeping her gaze lowered.
Richard laughed again before continuing on his cause. “Now, Miss Elizabeth. You appear to be a woman who is not afraid to voice her thoughts, no matter what they may be. I believe now is an opportunity for you to ask my cousin himself.”
Darcy cringed at the gasp which came from Elizabeth’s lips, while Richard chuckled. “Oh, I was remiss to mention that fact. At any rate, I am certain my cousin Fitzwilliam would be delighted to answer for any sins you believe he may have committed or other accusations laid before him. After all, we do not want a man’s reputation maligned in a ballroom or even in a library, for that matter, do we, Miss Elizabeth? We are aware of the great disservice such occurrences would have for an honorable man.”
“Yes,” he heard her say softly.
He held his breath as her eyes cautiously rose to meet his.
Elizabeth Bennet had only once before felt so mistaken. She had the same strange sensation of when she was a girl of eight and how she was still learning a valuable lesson from that day. She had accused a servant of taking her beloved copy of Spencer’s “The Faerie Queene.” The book had been in the sitting room the day before when the new maid came in to clean, but later it was gone.
Elizabeth worked the fabric of her skirt between her fingers, the shame of both events coloring her features. Her papa had asked the girl, she had denied any knowledge of the book, and he had terminated her without a thought. Young Lizzy was all righteous indignation until she had discovered the book had slipped between the slats of her bed.
She had run down the stairs to her father’s study and begged him to hire the girl back, but he refused. “What kind of master would I be, Lizzy, if I changed my mind so quickly?” he had asked. “No, I will have Mrs. Hill send her to your uncle Phillips. Your aunt needs a new parlor maid, and this girl will do.”
As she began to walk from the room, he had called to her with words she thought she had taken to heart. “My Lizzy,” he had said. “Let this be a lesson to you. You must never judge the character of others without first looking at your own faults. You often fall asleep reading, and this is not the first time a book has slipped through your bed slats. Someday, it could be much worse…”
And now, here I am, thirteen years later, and still judging too quickly.
She took a deep breath before she began. “You must forgive me. As has happened in the past, I have a tendency to speak too openly when a perceived injustice has been committed. My apologies to all whom I have offended.”
“There has been no offense–”
“But, you, Colonel,” she said turning quickly, “you have played a mean trick, keeping us at a disadvantage.”
The colonel pressed his hand to his heart and grinned. “Do forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. You must see I had no choice. If I had told you of my connection to Darcy, you would have discounted my testimony, believing it to be only out of loyalty to my cousin, so I could not. That alone kept me silent while I attempted to guide you to your own conclusions.”
Elizabeth heard the words of the colonel but could not fully attend them. How could she when he was there?
He, whom she was immediately drawn to at the Meryton assembly but who had deemed her only tolerable. He, whom she could not rid from her thoughts, even when she attempted to mask her feelings of attraction with the hatred Mr. Wickham subscribed to. He, whose conversations she debated and challenged so she could remain in control of her faculties as his equal and not dissolve into a simpering, silly miss as other women had.
She felt his eyes on her like fingers on her skin, causing a flush of heat to climb her throat. “If what you say is true, Colonel, then I owe my deepest apologies to”—she looked up and met his gaze—“to you, Mr. Darcy.”
Their eyes held until, flustered, she looked away. In an instant, he stood and extended his hand. She instinctively reached for it.
“It is I who must apologize to you. You have been nothing but who you are—an honest and loyal friend, seeking out the good in those who deserve it. Had my pride not limited my willingness to expose him for what he truly was, you, an intelligent woman, would not have been deceived.”
He cleared his throat. “Richard, would you do me the honor of introducing me to your acquaintance?” he asked, never taking his eyes from her.
A smirk spread across the colonel’s lips. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, may I present my cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire.”
She nodded her head.
�
�It is a pleasure to meet you, madam.”
“And you as well, sir.”
He bowed and kissed her gloved hand. “Might I request the next dance, as well as the supper set?”
She furrowed her brow. “Two dances? Mr. Darcy, whatever will people say?” Shocked to see a tug at the corner of his lips and a deep dimple in his left cheek, Lizzy’s composure faltered.
“I believe, madam,” he said, his deep, rich baritone enveloping her, “that this is the season for friendly meetings. I find that nothing would give me more pleasure than standing up with the handsomest woman of my acquaintance.” He slowly rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “If you will accept?”
The room was silent, save his breathing and the crackle of the fire behind him. Her eyes sparkled as an unexpected new sensation raced through her.
She bit her lip and glanced up at him through thick lashes. “Well, as you say, sir. It is Christmas.”
* * *
ANNGELA SCHROEDER has a degree in English with a concentration in British literature and a master’s in education. She has taught high school for twenty years and could imagine no job as fulfilling (other than maybe being Oprah). She loves to travel, bake, and watch college football with her husband of eighteen years and three rambunctious sons. Her weaknesses are yellow cake with chocolate frosting, her father's Arabic food (namely grape leaves and falafel), and frozen Girl Scout Thin Mints. She lives in California where she dreams of Disney adventures and trips across the pond. Follow her on Twitter: @schros2000, Instagram: Anngela Schroeder-Author, and Facebook.
Mistletoe Mismanagement
Elizabeth Adams
A scheme of which every part promises delight, can never be successful; and general disappointment is only warded off by the defense of some little peculiar vexation. —Jane Austen
Must you hang that?”
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder and smiled at her husband of nearly a month. “It’s tradition!” She carefully arranged holly in the kissing bough, then reached for a sprig of mistletoe. “I would have thought you would appreciate the opportunity to steal a kiss in the drawing room.”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her close to him, pressing his nose into her neck. “I enjoy stealing kisses in every room, but I would appreciate not having an audience.” He planted a kiss on her neck and pinched her side in the spot he knew she was most ticklish.
She squealed and leapt away. “Mr. Darcy!”
He easily pulled her back to him and leaned close to her ear. “I should not like other gentlemen trying to steal a kiss from my wife, either.”
She flushed. “I shouldn’t like that either. Would you feel more at ease if I were to promise not to stand under the bough unless you are with me?”
“I would. And be careful when you are walking with Fitzwilliam. He is likely to lead you directly to it.”
Elizabeth laughed. “He would not! He thinks of me as another sister.”
Darcy raised a brow and looked at her silently for a moment. “As you say, dearest.”
Elizabeth stood in the entryway of Pemberley prepared to greet Darcy’s family. They had been introduced when they were betrothed; his aunt and uncle, Lord and Lady Aldrington, had kindly hosted a dinner for them in London. However, Elizabeth suspected it was more for the sake of appearances and maintaining the connection to their nephew and niece than for true support of her or their marriage. She decided that it did not matter why they were being kind to her so long as they were kind. And slight though it may be, they were supporting her husband in their own way.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had supported their marriage in truth. He had spoken well of Elizabeth to his parents and brothers, and he had already placed a bet in the books at White’s guessing at the date of their first child’s birth. Elizabeth blushed to the roots of her hair when she heard how early the most popular bets were. Nevertheless, he had been their staunchest ally and she was nothing but appreciative. Her dear husband had given up much to wed her—she realized that now—and she would do everything in her power to safeguard his family relationships.
She knew he was not sorry to lose his aunt, Lady Catherine de Burgh, though Elizabeth felt the weight of the break and hoped to eventually heal the breach in the family. But she understood it was a matter of pride for Fitzwilliam, the best sort of pride, to not admit his aunt to their homes until she apologized to his wife and reined in her behavior. Elizabeth would not push him, but she felt the pressure of this visit all the more because of it.
Darcy and Miss Darcy—or Georgiana, as Elizabeth had recently begun calling her—had traditionally spent the festive season with his mother’s family. Their father had only had one sibling—a sister who married a man with a large estate in Cornwall. She had seldom visited Pemberley after her marriage, and she had died more than ten years before. Darcy and Georgiana were not close with their cousins, more due to distance than inclination; in contrast, the Fitzwilliam family lived in Staffordshire only fifty miles away.
The last several years had been spent at their uncle’s estate. This year, his aunt had suggested they come to Pemberley now that it had a mistress.
Elizabeth saw the suggestion for what it was: an opportunity to test her mettle. She refused to be intimidated and went about preparing for the holiday and their visit as she would have regardless of their guests. Rooms were appointed and aired out, gifts were purchased and wrapped, meals were chosen, and gowns were retrimmed. The baskets were ordered for Boxing Day, and everything was prepared.
She ordered greenery to be collected and set about making garlands for the house. Elizabeth then asked Mrs. Reynolds which housemaids and footmen had the most artistic ability, followed by an afternoon showing those chosen how she wished the garlands strung together and hung. Mrs. Reynolds found a few crates of decorations in the attics, and Elizabeth and Georgiana spent several afternoons happily gilding the house with ribbons and baubles. When they finished their decorating, they practiced carols in the music room—Georgiana on the pianoforte and Elizabeth singing, much to the appreciation of Mr. Darcy.
Now Elizabeth had done all she could to prepare, and the family had been seen arriving at the gate. Darcy helped her with her cloak, and she stepped out on his arm to greet the approaching carriage.
She would not be intimidated. She would not. Everything was in place and she was fully prepared for any eventuality. Her courage would rise—it always did.
Shortly after his family arrived, Darcy hurried everyone into the house and out of the cold. Colonel Fitzwilliam wasted no time kissing Elizabeth on her rosy cheek, then winking at her husband when he caught his eye. Darcy looked heavenward and led his aunt to the stairs.
“Your rooms are prepared, and tea will be ready in the blue drawing room in an hour’s time,” Elizabeth said to the weary travelers.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Lord Adlington. “We shall see you in an hour.” He led his lady up the stairs when it looked as if she might say something contradictory.
His eldest son and daughter-in-law, Lord and Lady Lisle, followed behind, looking cold and tired and, in the lady’s case, more than a little cross. Elizabeth hoped a rest would set her to rights.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stayed behind a moment talking to Georgiana. “Am I in my usual room, Elizabeth?”
Darcy bristled at hearing his wife’s name on his cousin’s silver tongue.
“Actually, no. Fitzwilliam thought you would be more comfortable in the guest wing.”
The colonel raised his brows and looked at his cousin. Darcy stared steadfastly over Fitzwilliam’s shoulder.
“Martin will show you the way.” She gestured to a footman waiting near the stairs.
“I hope you haven’t put me too close to Lisle,” he groused. “He snores something awful and you know he walks about in his sleep. I’m liable to wake up with him standing above me or worse!”
“Do stop moaning, Fitz,” Darcy said impatiently. “Come, I will take you up myself.” He
dismissed the footman and pulled his cousin toward the stairs, leaving his wife and sister trying to hide their smiles.
“What was that all about, Fitz?” asked the colonel when they reached the top of the stairs.
“You know very well, and don’t call me Fitz, Fitz!”
“You started it,” grumbled the colonel. “Now tell me, Darcy”—he emphasized his cousin’s name—“why you unceremoniously dragged me away from your lovely wife and sister.”
“I did not unceremoniously drag you. As per usual, you have a gift for hyperbole. And you know very well why you were removed from the ladies. You flirt too much for your own good, Fitzwilliam, and one day, you’ll flirt with the wrong lady and that will be the end of it for you.” Darcy opened the door to his cousin’s room and preceded him inside.
The colonel shut the door behind them and rounded on Darcy. “Are you suggesting that I have done so today? Or that I was flirting with my cousin’s wife? Or my own ward?” asked the colonel, a horrified expression on his face when he mentioned Georgiana.
“No, of course you were not flirting with Georgie, you never do.” The colonel relaxed slightly. “But you were flirting with Mrs. Darcy.”
Fitzwilliam straightened again. “I was not. I have a very friendly relationship with Elizabeth, as a friend and as a cousin.”
“Even when you speak of her you sound as if you are flirting!”
The colonel spluttered. “How is that even possible!”
“Believe me, if it were possible to flirt with a woman who is not present, you would be the man to achieve it.”
The colonel shook his head. “I do not know how Elizabeth puts up with your addlepated head. I’m surprised she hasn’t thrown a book at you yet.”
“That’s another thing. You should not call her Elizabeth.”
“She asked me to!”
“She what?” cried Darcy.
Yuletide Page 17
