The Darcys' First Christmas

by Maria Grace

  She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the back of her hand to her lips.

  “It would be very disappointing if the hostess could not dance at her own ball. Now I am married, I will dance with none but you. I should like to inform Mrs. Reynolds we are going to cancel the event. If you agree, of course.”

  “You are correct. It would be good of you to inform her. Notice should be sent out immediately.” She sucked in several deep breaths.

  He brushed stray hairs from her forehead. “I know this is not what you would have preferred, though I think it for the best. I shall inform her now.”

  It was disappointing to be sure, but what choice did they have? At least she seemed resigned to it and did not resent his interference. That was something.

  Perhaps now, Aunt’s meddling would cease and peace might return to Pemberley.

  ∞∞∞

  Elizabeth listened for the door to close. She peeked through half closed eyes.

  He was gone.

  She curled into a tight ball despite the searing pain in her ankle. How could she have done such a thing? To have to be rescued by a passing band of carolers! Even if they were tenants of the estate, it was little better than the plot of some ridiculous gothic novel.

  The valiant heroine flees from the evil castle, only to become horribly injured in her flight. Not to fear, the valiant hero is come to her rescue and put everything to right once again.

  Carolers were not valiant heroes, just good Samaritans of the Christmastide season. Nothing was made right by her return to Pemberley.

  Perhaps it was for the best they canceled the ball.

  Certainly that would satisfy Aunt Matlock’s concerns. It sounded like it would be a relief to Darcy as well.

  But the humiliation of recanting invitations after they had been sent! No doubt word of her foolish accident would be circulating the estate now. All would know it was her fault their season’s merriment was lost.

  What an auspicious beginning. One that would be talked about for years to come.

  Aunt Matlock would never let her forget. And Lady Catherine! Elizabeth shuddered. The next time she was at Rosings, the topic would be rehashed until she fled screaming from the room.

  If she could manage to walk again.

  She eased her leg out from under the covers and examined her ankle.

  Swollen and multicolored, quite a sight to behold. She ran her fingers along the swelling.

  Heavens above that hurt!

  She wiggled her toes.

  No, no! That was no better. Pressing her foot lightly to the mattress was definitely much worse.

  The surgeon was right. She could not walk on it, not for some time.

  Botheration!

  Now denied her one escape, she was trapped with the Matlocks, and with Darcy.

  What was she to do with him? How could she possibly share his room? Bad enough merely knowing how disappointed he was, but to face him so closely?

  There must be some way to return to the mistress’s chamber.

  ∞∞∞

  Fitzwilliam strode into the study without knocking. “I saw the surgeon take leave.”

  “He pronounced her ankle sprained, but sound.” Darcy rose from behind his desk.

  “That is a great relief. Too many surgeons are too handy with their bone saws. I have no wish to see—or hear—such ever again.” Fitzwilliam dropped into the chair nearest the fire, color drained from his face.

  Darcy poured him a half glass of brandy.

  Fitzwilliam drank it in a single gulp. He covered his eyes with his hand.

  “Are you well?”

  His voice dropped very low. “Some things pull me back to France, whether I wish to go or not.”

  Darcy pulled a chair a little closer and sat beside him. “Forgive me for bringing the reminder.”

  “It is hardly your fault. I can think of few places less like France than Pemberley. Surgeons though, I dread them like the very devil himself.” He kneaded his left shoulder.

  Darcy’s brows rose high. “I had no idea you were wounded. Why did you never tell me?”

  “Not the kind of thing to share, especially when my mother might discover it. Fought the damn surgeon for days to keep my arm. I think of it enough on my own. I need not have her constant reminders plaguing me.”

  Darcy refilled Fitzwilliam’s glass and poured a second for himself.

  “Are you fully recovered?”

  “As much as I will ever be. Just do not ask me to go hunting with you anymore.” Fitzwilliam hunched over his lap and rolled the glass back and forth between his palms.

  “The shoulder?”

  “And the gunfire. Cannot abide it.” He shuddered. “What of Elizabeth?”

  “The surgeon declared she should not be taxed during her recovery. She is to stay off her feet entirely for a week at least.”

  “How convenient for her to avoid my parents. I shall recommend it to other relatives when visits are arranged.” He cocked his head, his crooked grin returned.

  Maddening, but a distinct improvement,

  “You do not think Cousin Anne would happily throw herself down to the stairs to avoid seeing my mother?”

  “She is already an invalid and needs no additional excuse.” Darcy sipped his drink.

  It was very early for brandy.

  “I suggested to Elizabeth we cancel the ball.”

  “Call off the ball? Surely not.”

  “I can hardly see another way. If she is not to be burdened and must keep to bed, how might she possibly be able to manage it—”

  “Without giving it over to my mother’s control.”

  “My thoughts precisely.”

  “If Mother took the reins, Elizabeth would forever be fighting for her rights as Mistress of Pemberley. Of course, you are right. Dare I ask what she said?”

  “She agreed with me.”

  Fitzwilliam cocked his head and stared at him with a wrinkled half frown. “She simply agreed with you? No discussion? That hardly sounds like the woman who confronted my mother yesterday.”

  “She seemed unhappy about it, but she did not argue.”

  “And you asked her, not told her?”

  “I did listen to you yesterday. Yes, I asked.”

  Fitzwilliam sipped his brandy. “I am astonished you would be so easily swayed to change. Good on you.”

  “I like to think I am not entirely unredeemable.”

  “I as well. I have given up hope for my parents and my brother the Viscount.”

  “You are ever so much the font of cheer and sunshine.”

  “Pleased to render whatever service I am able.” Fitzwilliam lifted his glass. “Would you like assistance in breaking the news to my mother?”

  “That is a very good idea. Shall we?”

  Fitzwilliam downed the last of his drink and led the way to the morning room.

  Aunt Matlock sat near the window, reading the society pages. She peered over the paper at them.

  “I heard of all the foolishness last night. It is a very great wonder Mrs. Darcy did not kill herself with her impetuous actions.”

  “Thank you for your concern, it is good of you to ask after her welfare.” Fitzwilliam sat opposite her, settling in, hands clasped, as though preparing for the opening act at the theater.

  “I do not appreciate your sarcasm, son.”

  Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes.

  “I hope you have had a stern talk with your wife, Darcy. She must be kept in check. I cannot imagine where she acquired her manners from, but it is simply not to be borne. She may be Mrs. Darcy, but that does not excuse the rudeness … the impertinence she exhibited yesterday. One might even surmise the accident that befell her is Providence’s little reminder she should better understand who her betters are and be more cautious in her treatment of them.”

  Darcy clenched his fists until his hands ached. “I will not discuss this and would thank you to keep such opinions to yourself.”

  “Your mot
her would be ashamed of you Darcy and your father, too. I cannot understand what has become of you. It must be the low influence of your new connections. I insist—”

  “You are in no place to insist upon anything. I require that you stop at once. I should remind you, you are a guest in my home and that deserves your respect.”

  Aunt Matlock sputtered and flapped like a wet hen. All she needed was a feathered turban to complete the impression.

  “I came only to apprise you of the change in our plans as per the surgeon’s orders. My wife will be abed at least a week and will be unable to manage the plans for the ball.”

  “So you wish me to take over? High time you recognized the need for a more experienced hand—”

  “Nothing of the sort. We are calling off the ball altogether.”

  Aunt Matlock rose to her full, though rather inconsiderable, height. Was she trying to be intimidating?

  “That is without a doubt the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. There is no need to cancel. What will the county, nay the ton think? You will be the laughing stock—”

  “You are not going to carry off the ball in her stead.”

  “Of course I am. Georgiana is not up to the task. I have barely had sight of the girl since we have been here. Send Mrs. Reynolds to me—”

  “There will be no ball this year and that is the final word on the matter.” Darcy turned his back and marched out.

  She followed him from morning room to parlor, and from parlor to study, arguing for her way. Up the stairs, to the gallery, through the music room and the library, she insisted the ball was a privilege, no, her very right to arrange. It would be the height of cruelty to take it from her. She invoked the names of his parents, and even tried to insist that the Almighty himself required Darcy to yield.

  He would not be moved.

  Neither, though, would she.

  They faced each other, at an impasse, in front of Uncle Matlock’s chamber.

  Darcy pounded the door with his fist. “Your presence is required immediately, sir.”

  Grumbling and shuffling echoed from within and the door flew open.

  “What the devil do you want, Darcy? No need to bellow at a man in his own room.” Uncle Matlock tied the belt of his banyan firmly around his waist. He leaned against the doorframe, lifting his gouty foot slightly.

  “Your wife, sir.” Darcy gestured with both hands toward Aunt Matlock.

  “I am well aware of who she is.”

  “I require you to manage her.”

  Aunt Matlock moved to wedge herself between them, but Darcy shouldered her aside.

  “Managed? I, Managed? How dare you suggest—”

  Uncle Matlock’s head lolled to the side and his lips wrinkled into a crooked line. “I have been attempting that unsuccessfully for years. How exactly do you propose I succeed at it now?”

  “Frankly I do not care—”

  She pressed between them. “I am standing right here, I will not have you speak of me as though I were not.”

  “That, sir is your trouble and not mine. Inform her to accept the fact there will be no Pemberley ball this year.”

  “Tell your foolish nephew what a ridiculous notion that is.”

  “It is his house to do with as he wishes.” Uncle Matlock clutched his forehead and shook his head. “Cease and desist, madam, and leave the poor man to his own.” He turned and shuffled back into the darkened room.

  “How can you say such nonsense?” Aunt followed him inside.

  Darcy shut the door on them both. The heavy oak did little to dampen her strident voice on the other side.

  How long had they lived like dog and cat? His shoulders twitched. Pray, however did Uncle tolerate the discord?

  He did not.

  Uncle Matlock spent as much time out of her company as he could. Just as many men of his station did. Most of the men of his acquaintance did the same

  Pray, let he and Elizabeth never get to that same place.

  He hurried down the long corridor to the family wing. With any luck, she would not be sleeping. Even if she was, he would sit with her. Just her presence would soothe the rawness left in his aunt’s wake.

  Several maids fussed in the dressing room, moving in and out from the mistress’s chambers.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “The mistress requested her room be freshened for her.”

  Her room?

  He dodged the busy staff and ducked into his chambers. Elizabeth sat propped on pillows, a book in her lap. Her eyes, though, were fixed on something beyond the window.

  She did not turn toward him.

  “Elizabeth? What are the maids doing?” He sat beside her and took her hand in his.

  Her hands were so very cold. She tried to slip them away, but he held her firmly.

  She opened her mouth as though to speak, but closed it again and shrugged.

  “Are you uncomfortable here? I thought you found this chamber more appealing. But if you desire, we may move to the other.”

  She looked over his shoulder into the dressing room.

  “You do not wish to be with me?” The words tore from him like flesh rending from his chest.

  She sniffled and shook her head. What did she mean?

  “It is not fair for your sleep to be disturbed. The laudanum leaves me restive and fitful during the night.”

  “Is that not something best left for me to decide? It is my sleep after all.”

  “I hate the thought of being a … a burden to you.”

  He leaned closer into her face, but she refused to meet his gaze. “I hate the thought of being apart.”

  “But does it not make more sense? You will worry every time you roll over that you are hurting me. How can you possibly rest that way?”

  Dash it all, why would she not look at him?

  He rose and closed the door to the dressing room. Back against the door, he crossed his arms and studied her.

  She huddled deep into the pillows, arms drawn tight to her chest.

  “I have not had a decent night’s sleep since you moved to the mistress’ chambers.”

  “You have not?” She peered at him, eyes wide.

  He strode toward her. “No. I quite dislike it.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Now you know. Do you still wish to remove to the mistress’ chambers?” He leaned on the bed, close to her face, voice very soft. “I shall not stop you if you truly wish it. But I demand you look at me, directly in the eye. Tell me that is what you truly desire”

  Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she met his gaze, as shyly as if she had never looked into his eyes before.

  “I … that is to say … I would prefer …” She licked her lips. “No, that is not what I most desire.”

  He released the aching breath trapped in his chest. “Then it is settled. I shall inform the maid the room is not immediately needed. Is there something from there which may be brought here for your comfort?”

  “Pray do not trouble yourself.”

  “Perhaps the fainting couch? It will fit along the window. It might help you to sit there and you could look out upon the grounds. You would have light enough to read and sew whilst you keep off your feet.”

  “That would be far too much trouble and would require too much disarray of your rooms. I know how much you dislike—”

  “Pray, let me do this for you. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be able to increase your comfort. I know how much you dislike confinement. Do not deny me this.” He clasped her hands and brought them close to his heart.

  “I would appreciate it very much.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “I shall make arrangements immediately. Thank you.”

  Aunt Matlock kept to her chambers for the next several few days.

  Was it wrong that these were by far the most pleasant evenings Darcy had spent since the Matlocks arrived? Enjoying port, cigars, and talk of race horses and sport over dinner without fear of o
ffending the ladies held particular appeal. Especially after all the stilted conversation Aunt Matlock had presided over.

  If only Elizabeth were able to join them, or even Georgiana, but one was unable and the other unwilling. Perhaps if Aunt Matlock continued to stay away, he could persuade Georgiana to come join them.

  ∞∞∞

  Three days later, Mrs. Reynolds and a maid carrying a supper tray came to their bedchamber. Mrs. Reynolds pulled a table near the fainting couch and directed the girl to place the tray and leave.

  “I was skeptical about fitting another piece of furniture into this room, but it seems to have worked out in the end. The Master has a way about him, figuring out such things. Perhaps, even after you have recovered, you may decide to keep things this way. It does add a nice feminine touch to this room. Are you comfortable, Madam?”

  Poor woman, she must be quite concerned. She rarely said so much in a single breath.

  “Yes, it is very comfortable. I had not realized how much it would help to be near the window.” Elizabeth pushed herself up a little straighter.

  The view from the windows was much more appealing than staring at the paneled walls of the Master’s chambers.

  “The Master is thoughtful, is he not? And such a gracious host now the men have been dining together these last few nights.”

  “Lady Matlock is still not among them?”

  “No, she has kept to her rooms recently. As I understand, she suffers with a headache this evening. It is entirely possible that her headache could last a week complete. They have been known to in the past.”

  “How interesting. Are you aware, perhaps, of what brings on these headaches?”

  Even Mama would have been impressed at the sweetness of her tone.

  “They are often preceded by failure to find satisfaction in a turn of events.”

  Perhaps this was the model for Georgiana’s behavior.

  “She and Mr. Darcy still do not see eye to eye regarding the ball?”

  “Not as I am given to understand. It is true, there will be some general disappointment all around, but none will hold it against you. We have received a number of notes already inquiring after your health. Ever so many have worried about you once news of your accident circulated.”