by Olivia Kane
Perhaps we only needed the common ground of a shared activity to assuage our differences? Elizabeth wondered.
Presently, Bingley gravitated toward Jane, engaging her in a private conversation, spurring Colonel Fitzwilliam to approach Elizabeth.
“Netherfield is so finely situated and the proportion of its rooms impressive. Bingley is lucky to have let it,” Fitzwilliam said.
“We are lucky to have him in our society, for he is all modesty and easiness of temper,” Elizabeth said, smiling warmly.
“Yes, he has much to recommend him,” Fitzwilliam answered, looking over to where Bingley and Jane sat in conversation.
“Pardon me for asking, but how are you acquainted with Bingley?” Elizabeth inquired.
“We have only just met in the past year but I know him as a great friend of Darcy’s. Bingley insisted that the Darcys be present for his first Christmas at Netherfield, and when he heard that I had plans to be with them, extended the invitation to me as well, which I was encouraged to accept.”
“He is all generosity. But your cousin has left you here unattended? Don’t you mind?”
“No, as I only just arrived late last night and he will be back for Christmas, or before, with Miss Darcy. I do not expect you to know this, but I am co-guardian with him of his sister, per his late father’s wishes,” he explained.
“I have never had the pleasure of meeting Miss Darcy. Are the two very much alike?”
“They are alike in terms of possessing kind and generous natures but she is shyer and has yet to grow into herself socially.”
“Then she is very much like Mr. Darcy, who appears to be in great discomfort amongst everyone not in his intimate acquaintance. Socially, I mean,” Elizabeth teased.
“True, he is always more relaxed at Pemberley,” Fitzwilliam agreed. “But at the holidays he is not at his best, and I do what I can to support him at this time.”
Elizabeth furrowed her brow as she struggled to understand Col. Fitzwilliam’s meaning. Surely, the gaiety of Christmastide could be a cause of disconsolation for the ill or impoverished but not for a man of wealth such as Mr. Darcy. And if he did display a tendency to sulk, then simply being reminded of his unique blessings should be tonic enough, she believed. Darcy’s dour attitude was the antithesis of the light of the Nativity, and she could not restrain her repugnance.
“I suppose it must be a great trial indeed for a naturally gloomy man to be forced to endure extended periods of gaiety and bonhomie among people less fortunate than himself,” Elizabeth declared with barely disguised sarcasm. “And for the effort required to be not just the work of an occasional evening, but to be spread out over the course of a month must be truly excruciating for him. Poor thing.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled thinly but did not laugh with her. Elizabeth sensed a disconnection in their rapport that she immediately sought to repair.
“You must be aware that your cousin is prone to displaying spells of haughtiness. We have all witnessed them, not just from Advent on, but before that as well,” she prodded him.
“Does he? Did he? I am sorry that he gives that impression; it is not his true nature that I am aware of. I only know that this time of year tests him and that he tries his best to keep his spirits up and not put a damper on those he is around. Miss Darcy struggles as well,” he said with a seriousness that utterly bewildered Elizabeth.
“Struggles with Christmastide? My, who knew that the possession of a great fortune, good health, and a high standing in society would spawn such feelings of want and ill-will at this happy time?” she said with derision.
“But then you must not know,” Col. Fitzwilliam said softly, and he looked at Elizabeth with a woeful expression.
The somberness of his tone gave Elizabeth pause and she began to perceive the idea that she and Colonel Fitzwilliam were talking at cross-purposes.
“No . . . I . . . do not,” Elizabeth stammered. “Know what? Is there something to know?”
Col. Fitzwilliam lowered his voice until it was just above a whisper. “Mr. Darcy is a private man. I trust you will not report what I am about to say to anyone else. I only reveal his personal history in the hopes that my friend be understood.”
Now intrigued, Elizabeth said humbly, “I am worthy of your trust. Please, proceed.”
“Very well. It was in mid-December five years ago that Mr. Darcy’s father took ill. The condition was settled in his lungs. Initially, there was no indication that there should be cause for concern and it was expected the elder Darcy would recover. But as sometimes happens, despite the care of a trusted physician, he took a turn for the worst and quickly succumbed. For Mr. Darcy, December is a month filled with painful memories. It is no small thing to bury your father on a wet winter’s day and to know that you and your much younger sister are orphaned. He was thrust into the role of master of Pemberley and guardian of his sister so unexpectedly. The strain of that time contrasted against the gaiety of the season made a permanent mark on the young Darcy. The experience is forever linked in his mind to this time of year,” Fitzwilliam said.
“I see,” Elizabeth said blankly, time grinding to a stop as she processed the news. She tried to picture enduring a similar scene in her own life and shuddered at the thought. Her father’s death was a fearsome subject as she loved her father dearly and the entailment of Longbourn left them all gravely exposed. Darcy’s loss touched her heart.
“Oh, what a sad tale, I did not know,” she said, shaking her head in sympathy.
Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “I have made a habit of spending Christmas with my cousin these past few years. The presence of family lifts his spirits. I wish I could have been here earlier this month but business concerns delayed me. Still, anticipating his struggles, I wrote to him, encouraging him to mix with his neighbors; I challenged him to ask the finest lady of his acquaintance to dance, even if only one dance, in the hopes that he might benefit from such distractions.”
Elizabeth stared off into the room and thought of Darcy singling her out for a solitary dance at the assembly hall.
“Oh,” she said softly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam tilted his head. “Yes?”
She closed her eyes momentarily and made a slight shake of her head.
“He did dance with only me at the last assembly, and I did not know what to make of his asking,” she said. Meeting Col. Fitzwilliam’s gaze, she said, “You are a good friend to him.”
“I try to be,” he said warmly. Feeling heavy of heart, Elizabeth shifted her gaze out into the center of the room. Seeing Elizabeth turn toward him, Bingley said briskly, “What are you two talking about over there?”
Jane’s eyes twinkled at her sister. “We’ve been trying to get your attention, Lizzie. It’s time to go; Mr. Bingley’s going to call the carriage for us.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled and stood up. “I was just relating a few stories from my childhood and Darcy’s.”
Bingley laughed. “Aha, someday I want to hear more stories of when the famous Darcy pride first began to assert itself.”
Elizabeth made a show of laughing along with Bingley, but the conversation had sobered her.
She turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Thank you for your company today.”
He made a short bow and replied, “It was my pleasure. I hope to see you again while I am in town.”
“Yes, that will be nice,” she said. Turning to Jane, she said, “Shall we go?”
In the carriage on the way home, Jane wanted to know more specifics of Elizabeth’s conversation with the colonel. As much as she desired sharing Mr. Darcy’s past, Elizabeth held back, instead resorting to a half-truth.
“Only Mr. Darcy’s bad moods,” Elizabeth said, laughing at Mr. Darcy as Jane would expect.
“I am sure you had much to contribute to that conversation,” she teased.
“Yes,” Elizabeth smiled. “And what did you and Bingley speak of? Did he say whether he bought his sisters any of the gifts we recommen
ded?”
And so they filled the ride home to Longbourn with talk of capes and combs, Elizabeth pushing out of her mind the haunting vision of a broken boy, wet with rain, saying a final goodbye to his father, the weight of the world suddenly cast down on his shaken shoulders. The urge to protect that little boy rose up within her.
If I could be half the friend to Darcy that Colonel Fitzwilliam is perhaps I might ease a portion of his pain. For it is not only the poor that suffer at this time of year but the broken-hearted as well. I must take the report of Col. Fitzwilliam and do good with it. I must show charity to this man whose sorrow I mistook for ill-temper. That will be a noble mission in this season of good cheer.
The knowledge that Darcy had, or would soon have, an understanding with Miss Warwick eased any awkwardness Elizabeth might have felt about displaying a sudden change of heart toward him.
After one dance half the village already thinks I have set my cap for him so I will let them have their fun, she thought. I alone will know the true nature of his heart.
Poor Mr. Darcy.
Poor Miss Darcy.
May they find some joy this Christmas in Hertfordshire, and may I do what little I can to lead them to it.
Chapter Seven
“Lizzie, what is that pretty little something you are sewing over there?” Mrs. Bennet asked, squinting across the table with curiosity.
“It is only a small cap that I am working for Mrs. Johnson’s baby as a way to be charitable this Christmas,” Elizabeth replied simply.
“How interesting,” Mrs. Bennet said, pausing for a brief moment to consider the concept. “Where did you get the thread? I do not remember seeing anything so fine before in your basket?”
“It is fine, isn’t it? I spent all my pocket money on it at the milliner. But I didn’t mind; I have never looked forward to sitting down to a project so. Nor has my needle ever complied so willingly with what my will wished it to do,” she said.
“If there is any of that thread or muslin left over you might make a cap for Jane with it. Then she would have something new to wear to impress Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“No, Mamma. I am sorry. There will be none leftover for Jane. I only had money for what I needed,” Elizabeth said, noting a quick flash of disappointment on her mother’s face.
“That is unfortunate,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “I suppose I should also sew or knit some small item for the poor, although it would have been nicer, Lizzie, if you had given me some advance notice of the idea as it is too late for me to make anything now. I will just have to wait until next Christmas. I am sure Mrs. Johnson will be just as destitute next year as she is today,” she decided.
“The poor will always be with us, won’t they Mamma?” Mary obliged to say.
Mrs. Bennet failed to respond to Mary’s Biblical reminder. She was lost in thought, her index finger to her lips, staring out the window.
Elizabeth stole a glance at her mother. Such a prolonged silence was usually an indication that deep thinking was taking place. Elizabeth waited with some expectancy to hear what was the cause, as her mother was not one to think thoughts that she did not immediately express.
“Lizzie! You have caused me to contemplate the idea of true charity and how I should do more. I do believe that at this time of year we are obliged to open our home to those who are less fortunate. And I was thinking, to whom can I be of help? I have already given away a perfectly edible fruitcake to Bingley; I shouldn’t fail to give myself credit for that. But as a Christian woman, I am obliged to stretch myself, so I ask who is far from home this winter, without family or friends, in need of a warm meal, a pint of ale, and maybe a card game or two?”
Kitty drew a blank at the question but Lydia’s eyes lit up and she squealed, “The officers?”
“Yes, Lydia! My, what a sharp girl you are to guess so quickly! You think just like your mother,” Mrs. Bennet praised her.
Kitty shrieked with excitement. “Yes. The poor, poor officers. Why didn’t we think of their needs sooner?”
“So what do you say, girls, about hosting a small dinner party for these poor men in need who must long for the diversion of the company of pretty girls? Wouldn’t that be the height of charity?” Mrs. Bennet suggested.
Lydia and Kitty jumped up from their seats in excitement but Elizabeth rolled her eyes and stole a quick glance across the table at Jane, who was staring at her mother with a look of bewilderment.
“But Mamma, I don’t think that serving whiskey and playing loo is quite the definition of charity as the preacher instructs,” Jane started, but Mrs. Bennet was possessed by the spirit of the moment and Kitty and Lydia were making far too much noise for Jane’s gentle critique to be heard.
“When will we have the dinner, Mamma? Can it be soon?” Lydia begged.
“Yes, of course, it must be soon. Tomorrow night, I am thinking, before Sir William Lucas has his party. After all, why should Lady Lucas be known as the best hostess in town when I have a houseful of pretty girls ready to entertain the officers? I dare say the officers will prefer to come to Longbourn over Lucas Lodge anyway, as Charlotte and Maria are very dull girls whose company one tires of quickly. Lydia, grab me the paper and pen. I will invite them right now for tomorrow night.”
Lydia hastened to the pen and paper and ink and Mrs. Bennet wrote out her invitations quickly, settling on inviting six officers.
“At first I thought only three officers, like the three Magi. But I do have five daughters, and I aim to be generous with my hospitality, so I doubled it to six, which will be perfect,” she said explaining her calculations. “And Col. Foster’s wife,” she added with a sigh. “I must invite her too.”
Kitty and Lydia were dispatched to walk into Meryton to hunt down the officers, who readily agreed to attend and the impromptu party became a reality.
A whirl of planning quickly consumed the Bennet family. Hill was required to go out and buy a large beef roast and all daily chores were put off in favor of the polishing of the silver and the ironing of the table linens and the hauling out of the punch bowl.
Even Mr. Bennet was persuaded to view the party as charity, despite his doubts. However, he could not be cajoled into allowing mistletoe to be hung from the rafters.
“No kissing of any officers is allowed in Longbourn,” he declared firmly. “But I will supervise a contest of snapdragon among the officers, and we will make a crown and declare the winner our king for the evening,” he offered instead.
That was an idea readily accepted by his daughters, as the game of snatching raisins from a pool of flaming brandy and swallowing them was a spectacle worth watching, even though the girls were too scared to risk getting burned themselves.
With so much to do, the two days flew by. Soon the appointed time arrived and the officers were at the door. The beef was moist and plentiful and the dinner one of Hill’s best. Much merriment ensued at the dinner table among the officers when the snapdragon contest was announced, and the officers threw in coins to make a small pot for the winner. Mary had crafted a very fetching crown cut out of gold and silver paper and stiffened with a backing of starched muslin.
Of all the officers, Wickham and Col. Foster proved most adept at the flaming challenge and entered into a final contest to determine the winner where Wickham prevailed. Great fun was had in his sitting down on a chair dubbed the throne and being awarded Mary’s homemade crown.
“As king for the night, we your subjects must obey your commands,” Mr. Bennet chuckled, making a small bow. The ladies followed with curtsies.
Wickham’s eyes crinkled in merriment, and he raised his glass to the party from his makeshift throne.
“Loyal subjects, I have but one desire. And that is that the lovely Miss Elizabeth Bennet be required to take the seat next to me at the cards table, where we will engage in a very competitive match of loo.”
His simple request was met by shouts of huzzah from the officers. As it was his nature to make fun everywhere he
went, Wickham made a great show of crooking his arm and escorting Elizabeth into the drawing room.
Elizabeth didn’t mind his notice. Her vanity, she must confess, was flattered, and together they led a very animated game of loo. Elizabeth even managed to win the majority of the modest pot. Kitty and Lydia, meanwhile, claimed the lion’s share of the remaining officers’ attention. Mrs. Bennet observed Mr. Denny and Lydia whispering with each other several times throughout the course of the evening, a pairing she highly approved of, particularly since Lady Lucas spoke often of Denny as a match for her Charlotte.
Mary debuted shaky renditions of both The First Noel and God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman on the pianoforte. Col. Foster accompanied her, and his surprisingly mature vocals drowned out the majority of Mary’s wrong notes.
When the night was over, all declared it a great success.
“What a party! I’m sure it will be discussed with great enthusiasm tomorrow throughout the regiment. And we all have our Mary to thank for it,” Mrs. Bennet said as they snuffed out the candles and made their weary way up to bed in the early morning hours.
“How so, Mamma?” Mary asked.
“You inspired me with your very wise application of the Bible verse. By saying the poor would always be with us, I realized that the regiment might not be. It was right to focus on them while they are here and attend to the poor some other time. Oh, my head hurts from too much mulled wine and pudding. Make no noise in this house before noon tomorrow as I will need my sleep,” she ordered.
Chapter Eight
Sir William Lucas loved Christmas. He threw himself into the season with abandon, opening up Lucas Lodge to his neighbors, draping evergreen boughs liberally and installing an immense fir wreath braided with strings of nuts and almonds and glossy red apples on his front door. His table he filled with the delicacies of the season, boar’s head and roast goose, mincemeat pies, flounder and oysters, chestnuts and the Christmas puddings that had steeped for a month by then.