by Olivia Kane
Each Christmas Eve he shared his home with friends and neighbors and his guest list was inclusive. Even if recently introduced, he would freely forward an invite as if acquainted since the cradle, as he did to the whole party at Netherfield.
Lady Lucas was pleased to get word that Darcy might miss the party. Seeing his grim face at the assemblies and noting his general lack of good humor, she very rightly feared that he would steal their Christmas spirit with his attendance. And considering the expense the party incurred to their household budget, she deeply desired nothing but frivolity and flirting to justify the expenditure. Sir William may have forgotten what it was like to have to economize, but she did not have such an easy time of it.
Nevertheless, with Charlotte still unmarried, Lady Lucas considered the money spent on the party a wise investment, especially with the regiment in town. She had her eye on Mr. Denny as a match for Charlotte. Every year she prayed that Charlotte would be approached by a suitor, and every year no suitor arrived. In Denny’s letter accepting her invitation, she discerned an intelligence and ease of expression that sought her to imagine him for Charlotte. She hoped the largesse that the family showed at their holiday party might inspire one or two officers to take a second look at Charlotte.
However, Lady Lucas’s holiday matchmaking hopes were somewhat deflated when she heard from Charlotte, who heard the news from Elizabeth, that Mrs. Bennet had hosted a private party for the officers, Mr. Denny included. Not only had Mrs. Bennet left out Charlotte and Maria but the party was kept a secret. Lady Lucas despised secret, private get-togethers as word always got out and feelings were always hurt.
“Why should I have to hear of such an event through sources other than Mrs. Bennet herself when I have constantly kept her updated on the guest list for my party?” she grumbled to Charlotte.
“Perhaps it was last minute?” Charlotte reasoned.
“But why not invite you and Maria? I thought we were good friends,” Lady Lucas complained.
“Maybe they preferred a more intimate party so as not to steal from the general excitement of our invitation?” Charlotte guessed.
“It was only officers invited; no one else. Mrs. Bennet is pushing her daughters forward at the expense of all the other young ladies of Meryton.”
“Do you really think she intentionally omitted us?” Charlotte persisted.
“Yes. But I suspect that, despite her purposeful hospitality, Mrs. Bennet has some disappointment heading her way where Wickham is concerned,” she laughed.
“What do you mean?”
“Because news of Miss Mary King’s inheritance must have certainly reached Wickham by tonight. Mark my word, he will do an about-face from Miss Lizzie Bennet to Miss King, and there will be nothing Mrs. Bennet can do to prevent it,” Lady Lucas said with a mischievous smile.
Charlotte shook her head, but her opinion of Wickham was already low. “While I do not want Lizzie to be hurt, I suspect you may be right, Mamma.”
“Mr. Denny and Colonel Fitzwilliam will be here tonight. Both are fine, unattached young men. Do try to put yourself forward a little, my dear,” Lady Lucas urged.
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “I will try,” she said half-heartedly and walked away to distance herself from her mother’s expectations.
Truth be told, Lady Lucas considered Denny only the second best of the eligible suitors. She still harbored hope that Mr. Bingley would tire of Jane Bennet’s placid personality and court Charlotte instead. How she would love to see Charlotte installed in Netherfield Park, so close to home! Charlotte’s efficient housekeeping and knowledge of cooking would be an asset to such a property and give her an advantage over the Bennet girls, who were not trained to manage anything beyond their curls and complexions.
It was not too late; Lady Lucas had not forgotten the fact that Bingley had asked Charlotte to dance before he asked Jane at his first assembly in Meryton.
There must have been something pleasing in her countenance that drew him toward Charlotte, she thought. But unlike those Bennet girls, her Charlotte would rather die than flirt and so the ladies of Longbourn prevailed.
Nevertheless, she had told the party at Netherfield to be at Lucas Lodge a half an hour before the rest of the guests. As the hostess, she reserved the right to stage the arrivals. She chuckled at the thought of her Charlotte getting a chance to talk with Bingley without Miss Jane Bennet standing there batting her eyes at him, ruining everything.
A clatter of loud and alarming sounds roused Lady Lucas from her sitting room and drew her into the entryway where two footmen and Sir William Lucas were in the process of setting up the ladder and hanging the mistletoe.
“Such fabulous mischief this simple bough causes,” Sir William exclaimed. “No, no, a little lower. Low enough so that it catches the eye but not so low that some of our taller gentlemen are brushing it with their heads when they stand beneath it,” he ordered. One footman held the ladder firmly while the other raised the bough to the wood beam of the door.
“Hold it there, hold it for a minute,” Sir William ordered, running to the doorway to get a perspective on the mistletoe’s position.
“I think you’ve got it!”
The footman stepped down from the ladder and traced his steps back to where Sir William stood. “What say ye, man? Do you agree?”
The footman, who enjoyed his employment with Sir William Lucas and wished to move up in the household, echoed his employer's excitement.
“A finer mistletoe bough I have yet to see,” the footman declared.
“Let’s hope our daughter finds herself situated conveniently under it tonight,” Lady Lucas teased her husband. “Last year she did not put herself forward to be kissed and hence no wedding ensued. I had a firm talking with her about the benefits of positioning herself underneath it for good luck.”
“Lady Lucas, that is a superstition! Did not my brother’s daughter marry last summer and I distinctly remember her being too ill last Christmas to leave the house. Yet she managed to procure a spouse within the year without the benefit of a mistletoe kiss,” he argued jovially.
“Sir William Lucas,” Lady Lucas continued, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Charlotte is now seven and twenty and she needs all the help she can get. As the host of the party, I will expect you to encourage dancing amongst our young folk. See to it that Mr. Bingley dances with our Charlotte. Many an unexpected dalliance has been formed by the impromptu peck under the mistletoe.”
Sir William, in a good humor, promised his wife and then for good measure, drew her close and kissed her under the mistletoe. He left her laughing there as he scurried off to his next task in high spirits. Sir William often thought that the anticipation of the party was almost a richer experience than the party itself, for the many pleasant anticipatory thoughts that filled his head in the days before had a sweetness all their own and, in substance, felt very different than the moments encountered on the night itself.
For the residents of Meryton, however, the Christmas Eve party lived up to expectations, for Sir William Lucas always managed to surprise, either in the depth of the assembled guests, in the value of the trinkets baked into his plum pudding or in the raucous nature of the party games he planned.
Surely all the unmarried young women of Meryton and their mothers felt that romance was in the air as their coaches unloaded them at the front door of Lucas Lodge that Christmas Eve night. A swirl of winter velvets and pearl chokers adorned the female partygoers and the men, at least those not already perfectly outfitted for the season in their regimental reds, broke out their finest coats and silkiest cravats and polished their boots to a shine that rivaled the star of Bethlehem.
Yet the party from Netherfield was not among them. Lady Lucas paced in front of the entry hall as more and more carriages arrived and still no Bingley. Jane and Mrs. Bennet could not help craning their necks toward the door repeatedly and a general sense that the party would not be in full swing until Bingley arrived was felt by
both families.
“Perhaps Miss Bingley is a slow dresser?” Elizabeth wondered.
“It is not like him to be late,” Jane worried. “He has caught Miss Warwick’s sore throat. I know it.”
With the majority of the guests assembled, Sir William made a great show of starting off the festivities by lighting the Yule log, ceremoniously dragged in and deposited in the hearth by the hearty footmen and a few other masculine hands recruited from his household staff. The log was lit to the sound of much applause, and it flickered with holiday glory and sparked dangerously.
The dancing began; however, on this night the officers and ladies were unevenly matched and more than once Elizabeth finished a dance only to wait through another before a new partner emerged. It did not escape her notice that Miss Mary King danced nonstop or that Wickham issued only a perfunctory greeting to Elizabeth in order to linger in Miss King’s company the entirety of the evening.
Charlotte saw Elizabeth’s puzzled expression as Wickham whisked by her more than once with no acknowledgment, and she drew her friend close.
“Ten. Thousand. Pounds,” Charlotte whispered to Elizabeth as they huddled together. “That is the amount of her inheritance, did you hear? It was all anyone could talk about.”
Elizabeth sighed in defeat and said, “I did not hear, but Wickham surely did as he flirted outrageously with me the other night but tonight is pretending I am part of the wallpaper. Oh, Charlotte, I cannot begrudge him the need to have something to live on, I only wonder at his lack of embarrassment. And Miss King! Surely she sees through his sudden attachment to her?”
“If I had ten thousand pounds I would use it to snare the most handsome suitor of my acquaintance,” Charlotte said. “It is likely Miss King feels the same.”
“And where is Bingley? Did they send word? Why is he not here?” Elizabeth whispered anxiously.
Charlotte could not relieve Elizabeth’s distress. “We still expect them . . .”
“Oh, no. I do not believe it,” Elizabeth gasped suddenly and she clutched Charlotte’s arm.
“What?”
Elizabeth made a quick nod of her head toward the doorway where the crowd was parting for Wickham, who led Miss King by the arm and stopped just under the mistletoe bough. Hoots and cheers of encouragement egged Wickham on and the lowly Miss King gloried in her sudden rise in desirability.
Elizabeth and Charlotte watched in astonishment as Wickham gently put his hand under Miss King’s chin and kissed her. A roar went up into the rafters.
Elizabeth turned away in disgust. “I cannot look any more, Charlotte. I know I shouldn’t care but his transparency is so obvious. I imagined that there was more to him than that.”
Charlotte took a quick look across the room at her mother, who was watching Wickham’s performance with a high degree of merriment. As her gaze traveled back, Charlotte exclaimed, “Ah, the party from Netherfield is here!” then immediately covered her mouth with her hand and turned to Elizabeth. “Oh, Lizzie. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Elizabeth furrowed her brow with confusion and turned toward the doorway where the tall dark form of Mr. Darcy was moving slowly into the crowd. Now it was Charlotte’s turn to clasp her friend’s arm.
“Mr. Darcy made it back from London after all,” Charlotte whispered.
“Yes, he did,” Elizabeth repeated distractedly, momentarily stunned to see him. A flurry of emotions flooded her. Her first impulse was to see a man intent on intimidating a room and holding all comers at arm’s length. But that reaction was tempered by the vision of the young boy of Col. Fitzwilliam’s sad tale and, once again, an impulse toward charity stirred within her.
She felt that of all the people gathered there, she understood him the best. To the world, he showed a noble mein, impervious to pain, but she knew the cracks set just below the surface and was moved to act. With no guarantee that her overtures would be welcome, she lifted her chin and summoned her courage.
“Excuse me, Charlotte,” Elizabeth murmured. “But I must go greet them.”
Charlotte stared in wonder as her friend turned and politely but determinedly made her way thru the throng as if mesmerized.
Elizabeth’s heart pounded as she pushed her way toward the center of the room, where Darcy stood with the Bingleys, Miss Warwick, and Col. Fitzwilliam. Accompanying them was a graceful-looking young woman with an unassuming air that Elizabeth assumed to be Miss Darcy, newly arrived from London for the holiday and, hopefully, the announcement of her brother’s engagement.
Elizabeth counted on the engagement taking place so that her overtures of friendship not be misconstrued as romantic interest. By the smug look on Miss Warwick’s face, she assumed that an understanding was secured. Encouraged, she continued forward, feeling strongly that to be engaged in warm conversation immediately upon entering a crowded room could set the tone for the entire night. She very much wanted Mr. Darcy and his sister to feel at home in Meryton society for the remainder of their stay.
Upon reaching their circle, Elizabeth boldly put herself forward, greeting Mr. Darcy with her liveliest smile and extending the same spirited salutation to all the ladies, even Miss Warwick.
If Mr. Darcy was surprised by her enthusiasm, he did not show it. He managed to mask his true emotions behind a polite veneer. His greeting to her was civil but not markedly friendly. Miss Darcy’s manners were everything Elizabeth would expect given her shy demeanor. Col. Fitzwilliam seemed immensely pleased to see Elizabeth, but the Bingley sisters and Miss Warwick were lukewarm in their reception and made no effort to contribute to the conversation.
Valiantly, Elizabeth inquired after their journey, the timing of their arrival at Netherfield, and her pleasure at Miss Darcy being able to join them. The room was loud and no polite inquiries could be made without the raising of one’s voice. It seemed that only Colonel Fitzwilliam was able to match Elizabeth in terms of putting out an effort to be sociable. Darcy remained as guarded as ever, contributing nothing. As an extended silence fell over the conversation and the ladies of Netherfield began to whisper among themselves, Elizabeth’s courage faltered. Feeling embarrassed and unwanted, she excused herself and retreated back to the safety of familiar friends.
Her cheeks burned as she stepped rapidly into the next crowded room and made her way as far from Darcy as the layout of Lucas Lodge allowed. Befriending Mr. Darcy, no matter how bereaved his inner life, was a daunting task—not the work of a moment, she concluded.
She sat down on an open seat next to two of her favorite elderly neighbor women and found solace in their familiarity and good humor. Soon her mood improved and her efforts with Darcy were somewhat forgotten in favor of dissecting the behavior of Wickham and Miss King, now the talk of the evening. Red-faced and rumpled, they hung on each other without any attempt at discretion and the rumor that they were to be engaged soon spread like hay on fire.
Presently, Mr. Darcy appeared in the doorway unaccompanied. His gaze landed on Elizabeth where she sat in the corner laughing wholeheartedly with her elderly friends. He was transfixed as he observed her unaffected manner, and he could not help but wish he possessed her same easy way with people.
The generosity of spirit she exhibited by greeting him so unexpectedly that evening had driven him to distraction in the time since. Leaving Georgiana sitting safely with the Bingley sisters and Miss Warwick, he sought Miss Bennet out.
But when he found her, enveloped by friends, he hesitated, restraining his impulse to return her friendship. She was still a mystery to him, and he did not know what to say to her. He did not possess the easy manners of Bingley, who could speak naturally to those he did not know well. As much as he desired her company, Darcy refused to fool himself into thinking he could easily start up a satisfying conversation with Miss Bennet on the spot. So without Elizabeth even noticing his presence, he stepped away from the doorway and withdrew to his familiar circle of friends. Reaching them, he breathed a small sigh of relief and was happy for the d
istraction of his cousin Fitzwilliam’s friendly amiable chatter. Then it dawned on him.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s smiles were meant for his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and not for him.
The two were recently introduced when he was away in London, so Fitzwilliam told him. A sledding party, if he recalled correctly. The realization deflated Darcy. While gaiety and song swirled around him, he sunk into disconsolation.
For a few moments in time, the thought of Elizabeth Bennet’s favor had lifted him from his sad memories and for a fleeting second, he felt a spark of joy light within him. But reason soon prevailed, as it always did with him. He endured the rest of the evening and found no contentment until he was safely loaded into his carriage and the horses pulled away from Lucas Lodge, rolled past the snow-tipped evergreens and turned onto the main road toward Netherfield.
Chapter Nine
It wasn’t until the next morning, as she sat in the Meryton chapel for the Christmas Day service, did Elizabeth realize that no announcement of Mr. Darcy’s engagement was made at the Lucas’s party.
Mr. Darcy and Miss Warwick hardly seemed at the point of engagement at all, she thought to herself, as they displayed no warm smiles, did not dance with each other or meet under the mistletoe and, in truth, appeared to be two of the most miserable people in the whole house.
In fact, the entire evening was tamer than expected as the antics of Wickham and Miss King took center stage. Elizabeth recalled how Mrs. Bennet spent the entire ride home fixated on Wickham’s appalling public pursuit of Miss King, claiming that Lady Lucas laughed at his behavior entirely too loudly.
Mr. Denny hadn’t kissed any of the Bennet girls, but he had not kissed Charlotte, either, Mrs. Bennet noticed. Bingley was fair and danced with every lady at least once but he had not kissed Jane under the mistletoe either and the evening ended with dashed hopes, her mother had complained.