A merry darcy christmas, p.1
A Merry Darcy Christmas, page 1
A Merry Darcy Christmas
A Pride & Prejudice Variation
Emma Dow
Contents
1. Chapter 1, Mr. Collins’ Visit
2. Chapter 2, Stir-Up Day
3. Chapter 3, Darcy House, London
4. Chapter 4, Mr. Bingley
5. Chapter 5, Rosings Park
6. Chapter 6, An Accusation
7. Chapter 7, Lord Northover and Mr. Pettigrew
8. Chapter 8, Mr. Darcy
9. Chapter 9, “All Astonishment”
10. Chapter 10, The Shooting Party
11. Chapter 11, Christmas Eve
12. Chapter 12, A Strange Gift Indeed!
13. Chapter 13, Christmas Day
14. Chapter 14, Boxing Day
15. Chapter 15, Cards on the Table
16. Chapter 16, Georgiana’s Birthday
17. Chapter 17, The Red Drawing Room
18. Chapter 18, Strange Bedfellows
19. Chapter 19, Twelfth Night Ball
20. Chapter 20, A Merry Bonfire
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Emma Dow
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“Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.”
William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
Chapter 1, Mr. Collins’ Visit
Longbourn, November 21, 1812
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh has confided in me—and I do not think I am betraying her trust by telling you this, as I do so only in praise of her grandeur—that she is having the cupola at Rosings gilded for Christmas, at a cost of 4,000 pounds!”
Mr. Collins’ broad face glowed, and Elizabeth thought he could not possibly appear happier had his soul been transported by joy; a contingent which, she had to allow, might, in fact, be the case.
“What could better mark our Savior’s birth,” Elizabeth replied, “than such singular ostentation?” She was convinced that her cousin, should he ever turn his mind to God, must imagine Him in His counting house, counting up His money. “Her Ladyship’s extravagance is fully equal to her resources.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Collins, pleased she’d taken his point. “Her condescension to me is all the more miraculous when seen in that light.”
“Do not sell yourself short, sir,” Elizabeth said, the solemnity of her tone achieved at no little exertion. “For do you not also serve one whose wealth beggars that august lady’s?”
Mr. Collins’ countenance froze. Elizabeth was able to resist the urge to smile only by the firm application of her teeth to her tongue. The clergyman, for his part, looked as though he was wrestling with some weighty matter of faith.
“Ah, ‘tis true,” Mr. Collins said finally with relief. “And her Ladyship is the nearest among us to Him, for she has by far the greatest portion of earthly wealth.”
“You must point that out to her Ladyship,” said Elizabeth. She permitted herself to smile.
The worthy clergyman nodded with vigor, clasping together his plump hands.
They were in the drawing room at Longbourn. Mr. Collins had arrived unexpectedly; no letter had preceded his visit.
He had insisted upon meeting with Elizabeth alone, and his eagerness was such that there could be no thought of refusing him.
Elizabeth wondered what could be the occasion for his visit. At first, she had been alarmed that something might be amiss with Charlotte, but as Mr. Collins seemed to fluctuate between excitement and contemplation without ever passing through concern, his visit could not have been occasioned by misfortune, and she was unable even to guess at its purpose. She decided to try prodding him.
“Charlotte, is she well?”
Mr. Collins started, and looked up at her with a quizzical expression, as though searching for the name. “Oh, yes!” he said at last. “Marriage agrees with us. I can assure you, dear cousin, that we find it a beneficial condition indeed. And Lady Catherine is most pleased with Mrs. Collins— ‘You have chosen well, Mr. Collins,’ she has told me on more than one occasion. I could not be happier with my choice of a wife.”
He paused and looked at Elizabeth deliberately, letting the message sink in: though she had spurned him, he had nevertheless found an entirely suitable wife.
Elizabeth could not help recalling another proposal she had rejected from an even more disagreeable suitor. The waning winter light—for it was already late-November—cast long shadows in the drawing room, making it feel cold and forlorn. It mirrored the feeling in her own heart, as though something necessary for life itself was wanting, something which she would not find in the short, bleak days of winter.
“I’m so pleased,” said Elizabeth when she had collected herself. “You are fortunate indeed, cousin.” She meant the latter sincerely.
Mr. Collins closed his eyes and smiled, nodding his head towards her in the manner in which one might accept an apology. Elizabeth felt a stab of pity for Charlotte.
Then Mr. Collins straightened, blinking his eyes as though he had just awakened. He stared at her for a moment before standing so abruptly that his teacup rattled in its saucer. He paced towards the fire, which was blazing with a fresh log, and then turned toward her, his face working as if trying to form a pleasing expression, which, if that had been his intention, to Elizabeth’s eye rather missed the mark.
“I will keep you in suspense no longer,” he said at last, with a slight bow. “For I know you must be wondering about the nature of my visit, which must surely have been a great surprise to you given that I am a stranger to impulse.” He raised his free hand before she could protest, doubtless thinking that she meant to convey some pleasantry along the lines of how the clergyman was always welcome at the Bennet home. This was, of course, untrue—they could hardly be cheered by a visit from the very person to whom Longbourn was entailed, and to whom it would pass in its entirety on the death of Mr. Bennet—and Elizabeth was glad to have been spared the difficulty of composing a suitable rejoinder.
“I am here, my dear cousin, to extend to you an invitation which is not only a great honor but one that could be to your very great advantage.”
Elizabeth waited, observing that Mr. Collins seemed to be enjoying the suspense he was creating. And, if pressed, she would’ve had to confess that she was intrigued.
“Lady Catherine has sent me here with the express instruction of inviting you, dearest Elizabeth, to attend Christmas at Rosings Park.” Mr. Collins said this with an air of triumph and then stood stiffly, his expression expectant and smug, as though he might receive something in the nature of a kiss.
Of course. What other invitation—and what other agency? —could oblige Mr. Collins to travel on what had to be short notice to Longbourn?
But why would Lady Catherine wish to have Elizabeth spend Christmas at Rosings? It was true that Lady Catherine had urged her to prolong her visit to Hunsford when she had visited Charlotte in the spring, but on that occasion, Lady Catherine had been lacking company and sought Elizabeth’s presence for that reason alone. Surely, she would have an abundance of visitors at Christmas time.
Mr. Collins soon satisfied her on that point, for he went on to say, “It is, of course, a great honor to be invited on such an occasion—for there will be many distinguished persons present to attend at Christmas time. And Lady Catherine is holding a Twelfth Night ball, which will be the highlight of the season! The opportunity presented in broadening your social circle to include the finest members, and most eligible, of society, cannot escape you.”
But Elizabeth’s first thought was not of the social opportunity afforded by the unexpected invitation, but rather that a person whom she had no desire to ever see again would certainly be at Rosings: Fitzwilliam Darcy. For Mr. Darcy would surely be required to visit his aunt at Christmas.
Her mind raced with thoughts of Mr. Darcy. Though the master of a grand estate, and having ten thousand pounds a year, Elizabeth knew he was also arrogant, proud, and, in a word, insufferable.
Mr. Darcy had insulted her with a marriage proposal that made the one she had received from Mr. Collins seem charming and genteel. And Mr. Darcy had slandered—after having robbed him of the living to which he had been entitled—Mr. Wickham, Mr. Wickham who was now her brother-in-law.
But worst of all—and truly she could say this was the worst thing—Mr. Darcy had deprived her sister Jane of her chance at happiness with the man she loved.
For, by now, it was apparent to all that Jane had been, and was still in love with Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy had driven a wedge between them, had poisoned Mr. Bingley’s mind, such that the two—although destined to be together by Heaven itself—were now to be forever apart. Eager suitors, drawn as always to Jane’s beauty, found her distant and aloof, and they could not know—although the more perceptive among them very likely guessed—that her heart belonged to another, another whom she could never hope to possess.
Elizabeth’s mind flashed back once again to Mr. Darcy, to when he had cornered her on one of Rosings pretty paths where he knew she liked to walk, and attempted to press upon her a letter which he begged her to read, saying that it would
explain all.
Such impertinence. Intolerable man!
Propriety would not permit him—he a single man, and she an unmarried woman—to mail her such a missive, or even to recruit a conspirator to hand-deliver it, so he, in his arrogance and pride, attempted to deliver it himself and make her complicit in his scheme.
She had refused to take the letter, of course, as she had refused his proposal of marriage. He was not so high, nor she so low, as to require her to be at the mercy of his whim. She was a gentleman’s daughter, and in every way his equal.
It is true that she had thought, in the months that had passed since their meeting in the park, about the letter and what it might have contained. It could be nothing that would exonerate him, of this she was sure, but she was nevertheless curious as to its contents. Had she to do it over, she might . . .
No.
She had been right to refuse the letter, as she had been right to refuse his hand. To be mistress of Pemberley might indeed be a fine thing. She often recalled her visit there with her aunt and uncle, the previous summer when its master had been away on business (for she would not have gone otherwise). The grounds were delightful, and she had never seen a house so fortunately situated. Derbyshire was beautiful, and Pemberley was its jewel. But Elizabeth did not envy the woman who would become its mistress.
She did not wish to tell Mr. Collins of her dislike of Mr. Darcy. That she should hold a poor opinion of the nephew of his benefactress would no doubt astonish him. Indeed, it might be entirely beyond his capacity to imagine. How could Elizabeth be contemptuous of so eligible a gentleman, when she had neither dowry nor inheritance of any consequence, and even Longbourn entailed away? She decided to take a more circumspect tack.
“It is impossible that I should attend for Christmas at Rosings Park,” she said, trying her best to ensure her voice conveyed regret. “For we always have Christmas here at Longbourn. The Gardiners are coming, and friends will visit too. And Christmas dinner for our tenant farmers, and gift boxes for the poor—I could not leave my family at Christmas time.”
To her surprise, Mr. Collins looked as though he had anticipated her objection. Instead of being dismayed, he smiled broadly and bobbed his head. “Your family is invited too. Lady Catherine is most desirous of meeting your mother, and sisters. She wished the invitation personally addressed to you, in the form of my private communication, as it is you she knows already, and of whom she is so fond.”
Elizabeth could not recall sensing any fondness in Lady Catherine towards herself, or indeed any particular favor. In fact, it seemed to her that, if anything, she rubbed the great lady the wrong way and that any desire she had for Elizabeth’s company was born out of boredom, and perhaps a desire to correct her.
But to invite her whole family! Surely, if Mr. Darcy had found them so contemptible as to be an embarrassment to him, and an impediment to Elizabeth’s suitability as a marriage partner, Lady Catherine must hold a similarly severe view. What could possess her to wish to have them in attendance at Christmas time?
Mr. Collins seemed to apprehend her bewilderment. “You are doubtless surprised by her condescension towards not only you but your family. That Lady Catherine should deign to have you all as her guests is an act of solicitude which beggars belief.
“But rest assured that your good fortune is real. Lady Catherine is, I assure you, most sincere in desiring your entire family, and yourself, to stay with her for the Christmas season. She has impressed upon me that I am not to come back with anything other than your acceptance of her singular beneficence.”
Elizabeth could not believe her ears, but Mr. Collin’s expression was one of absolute sincerity. In his eyes she saw—for in them was an admixture of determination and pleading—that he would be unable to return to his home at Hunsford were he to fail in his task.
Still, it was impossible. She could not stand the thought of seeing Mr. Darcy. Having Mr. Collins move in with them at Longbourn if he could not return to Hunsford and face the wrath of Lady Catherine was preferable to that.
“Lady Catherine’s kindness is without equal,” Elizabeth said. A log exploded in the fire, causing Mr. Collins to jump, but he turned immediately back to face her, nodding his agreement. “And I am truly honored, as indeed will be my family once they learn of the invitation. But we have an obligation, to our friends and relations, and more particularly to our tenants, to hold Christmas here at Longbourn. We could not fail in this, no matter how much we would rather favor her Ladyship.”
For some reason, Mr. Collins was still smiling. Elizabeth felt her blood chill.
“I have already had the briefest tête-à-tête with Mrs. Bennet, and she instantly saw the advantage which would accrue to you and your sisters by attending at Rosings where so many very eligible young gentlemen will be present.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. The prospect of throwing her daughters into the path of rich men would delight her mother.
Mr. Collins prattled on about how Mr. Bennet could host the usual Christmas festivities for their tenant farmers, while Elizabeth and her mother and sisters could attend Rosings at the start of the Christmas season. The young ladies could thus make the most of the enhanced social opportunities presented—opportunities which would otherwise never come their way, and which they could not hope to attain again.
Elizabeth understood why her mother had acquiesced to the plan so eagerly. Mrs. Bennet had four daughters left to marry off—her youngest daughter Lydia’s marriage to Mr. Wickham had been a welcome if unexpected event—and suitable local suitors were few. There would be no gainsaying her. Elizabeth and her sisters would be spending Christmas at Rosings Park, although the reason for Lady Catherine’s invitation was still opaque to Elizabeth.
This meant that she would very soon be seeing, to her dismay, Mr. Darcy and that she would have to endure his contumely once more. That this should occur at Christmas was more galling still, for Christmas was the time for peace, and joy, and meant to be punctuated by merriment, not sullied by hauteur, or muted by high-handed pride.
But if she had to go, then go she would, and she would hold her head high and not be apologetic or subservient to the great man. It was he who ought to be apologetic—no, apologies were not enough. Contrition—remorse—was what required. Mr. Darcy would have to abase himself before he could presume to be on even footing with her. He was the one at fault. She had done nothing of which she should be ashamed, and had only acted appropriately and with the sense of propriety demanded of a lady. That he was no gentleman was apparent, but this was his disgrace, not hers.
Mr. Collins coughed, breaking Elizabeth’s reverie, and she looked at him, realizing only then that he had been silent for some time.
“Well?” she asked when he seemed disinclined to speak.
“Concerning Mr. Darcy . . .” Mr. Collins pursed his lips, placing his forefinger upon them as though struggling to compose his thoughts. “I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news.”
Chapter 2, Stir-Up Day
Sunday, November 22, 1812
“A Twelfth Night Ball!” Kitty exclaimed with joy. “Lydia will die of jealousy. I must write to her at once!”
The house was filled with the smell of Christmas puddings, which their housekeeper Mrs. Hill was preparing, for it was Stir-Up day, the last Sunday before Advent, and the last day to make plum pudding to have it age sufficiently before Christmas. Each member of the family would take a turn at stirring the pudding for luck.
Elizabeth breathed in the aromas of cinnamon, mace, and nutmeg, realizing as she did that these puddings were not for her, but that she would have to content herself with the puddings at Rosings Park, which would also have raisins, spices, candied fruit peel, and brandy, and yet would not be as good as Mrs. Hill’s.
It seemed that she alone in her family had any misgivings about having Christmas at Rosings Park. Even Mr. Bennet—who disliked society and preferred his library above any other place—was in good spirits.
Elizabeth was not as reluctant to go as formerly, given the nature of the “unfortunate news” Mr. Collins had related concerning Mr. Darcy. It seemed that Mr. Darcy would be unable to attend Rosings at Christmas due to pressing business matters in London. That this news, far from being unfortunate, was a great relief to Elizabeth, Mr. Collins, of course, could not know. She would’ve done everything in her power to remain at Longbourn had the visit to Rosings Park included meeting up with Mr. Darcy.
