A Very Meryton Christmas

by Olivia Kane

  Elizabeth’s mind wandered as she listened to the readings, her hands sunk deep into the warm new muff that her parents had gifted each daughter with that morning. She stared at the back of Mr. Darcy’s tall dark head, impossible to miss, seated in the front pew with his sister and the rest of the party from Netherfield.

  She had seen him enter the church that morning, watching him from her pew as he walked somberly down the main aisle, acknowledging no one as he advanced.

  And when she saw him after the service, standing soberly to the side in the churchyard, she again felt an impulse toward charity swell up inside her. Surely, hadn’t she just heard the reverend speak of the humble babe of Bethlehem, born to spread light throughout the dark world?

  Again, Elizabeth felt called to act. She had delivered the little embroidered cap to Mrs. Johnson’s babe the afternoon before, and she could still feel the warm glow that flowed from that single act of generosity. It was the kind of true joy that no social invitation could rival.

  I should try again with Mr. Darcy, she thought to herself. One five-minute conversation is not a true attempt at genuine friendship. Acts of charity may sometimes require venturing into territory that is uncomfortable.

  Summoning her courage, she wandered away from where she stood with her sisters and Charlotte and strode purposely through the gathered churchgoers toward him. His gaze met hers as she approached and in his dark eyes she saw a kindness and warmth that she did not anticipate, and her heart was filled with compassion for him.

  “Happy Christmas, Mr. Darcy,” she said with true sincerity and a small nod of her head.

  “Happy Christmas to you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he returned with a quick lift of his hat. The corners of his lips turned up in a smile but only momentarily. As if remembering his status and hers simultaneously, he retreated back into the familiar formality that masked any vulnerability on his end. “May I wish you and your parents good tidings for the season,” he said.

  “Thank you. And the same to your family,” she returned, then she stopped, slightly stricken as she remembered how little family he had left, and how that loss cast a shadow over his Christmas. “I mean, to Miss Darcy and you. Good tidings to Miss Darcy,” she stammered. “And to Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she added. “Good tidings to him too, when you see him …”

  A flicker of pain flashed across his eyes and she cringed knowing she had clumsily reminded him of all he had lost. She looked away but all she saw were a sea of curious eyes focused on her, the only resident of Meryton willing to engage the aloof newcomer without seeking his permission first.

  In particular, the steely gaze of Miss Warwick was unmistakably directed her way. She stood with the Bingleys, a tall, fine figure, dressed to impress on the streets of Mayfair. She stuck out amongst the simple country folk as she watched Darcy relentlessly from across the churchyard. It amused Elizabeth to note his obvious distance from her.

  Elizabeth turned back toward Mr. Darcy, feeling her courage slip away. How happy she was then, to see that Miss Darcy had suddenly appeared at his side.

  “Happy Christmas, Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Darcy exclaimed, her eyes shining brightly and her golden hair glistening under a green velvet bonnet. Immediately, Elizabeth sensed a change in Darcy with Georgiana at his side. He looked from Georgiana to Elizabeth as if he were pleased with the company that surrounded him.

  Elizabeth returned Georgiana’s greeting. Georgiana was complimentary of the service, the company of last night’s party and of the color of the late morning sky. Even Mr. Darcy could not help but have his spirits lifted by the amiable, light-hearted nature of her chatter, and he even put himself forward once or twice to inquire as to how Elizabeth planned to enjoy the rest of her Christmas Day.

  By the time Elizabeth made her excuses to join her family on the path back home, she was satisfied that she had successfully overcome the rocky beginning of her conversation with Darcy, confident that she had completed what she had set out to do—make him feel as if he had at least one friend in Meryton who wished him well on Christmas Day.

  “Whatever were you saying to Mr. Darcy to make him look at you like that?” Lydia inquired as soon as they were safely on the path home to Longbourn.

  “I only inquired of his Christmas plans,” Elizabeth explained. “As no one else in Meryton will put themselves out to speak with him, I have resolved that I will not be intimidated by his taciturn ways. After all, the meaning of Christmas requires me to express goodwill to all in our care, rich and poor, amiable and dour alike.”

  “I approve of your resolution,” Mrs. Bennet announced. “Very clever,” she laughed. “Particularly as an engagement with Miss Warwick seems highly doubtful after all. They did not speak to each other at all last night, even once. Everyone noticed.”

  “But Mamma, I do not mean it to be clever. I meant it to be kind,” Elizabeth protested. “I do not wish to gain personally from these small acts of kindness, although I acknowledge others might view my actions that way.”

  “It is courageous of our Lizzie to subject herself to suspicion when her true aim is to bring Christmas cheer to a very gloomy fellow,” Mr. Bennet said. “I dare say, even someone as rich as Mr. Darcy might be in need of a friendly smile. Maybe even more so, as his great wealth tends to automatically create a barrier between himself and those below him. Well done, Lizzie,”

  “Thank you, Father,” Elizabeth said.

  “Miss Warwick will not take your attempts at charity lightly, I dare say,” Mrs. Bennet warned.

  “Surely she cannot be threatened by me,” Elizabeth laughed. “I am too poor and too unattractive, per Mr. Darcy’s own words.”

  “She is not in Hertfordshire for her health, let me assure you,” Mr. Bennet laughed.

  Elizabeth scowled.

  There is more to Mr. Darcy than any of you know, she thought, feeling protective of him. But she kept quiet, as she knew she must.

  “We are barely halfway home and I can smell our luncheon from here,” Lydia exclaimed.

  The tempting aroma beckoned and the entire family seemed to quicken their pace in response. Elizabeth looked forward to a joy-filled afternoon, and as she took her place at the table that evening for their Christmas dinner, she gave thanks for all her many blessings. She imagined Mr. Darcy sitting down to a similar feast at the Netherfield table, buoyed in spirit, feeling he had not only the faithful company of those surrounding him but her friendship as well.

  Chapter Ten

  The day after Christmas, Elizabeth left the house for a bracing afternoon walk. The cool air and the quiet of the countryside provided a satisfying contrast to the social excess of the season. She was grateful that the next few days were to be quiet ones as New Year’s Eve and Twelfth Night still lie ahead; both celebrations rich in tradition in Meryton.

  As she returned to Longbourn’s front door, a man on horseback came galloping down the drive. Startled, she stood and waited for him to come to a halt. He slowed and addressed her.

  “Are you Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth replied, her curiosity rising. “I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “Delivery for you from Netherfield Park,” he announced and held out a rectangular package, wrapped in silver paper and tied with gold string.

  Elizabeth took the pretty package in her gloved hand and the man lifted his cap to her and then turned and galloped away. She stood there for a moment watching him and then walked inside.

  The vestibule was quiet. Elizabeth peeked into the drawing room but it was empty, neatly put back together after the rush of yesterday’s celebration. Her sisters were either out or napping, she suspected. The door to her father’s library was shut securely, a sure sign that he was home and did not want to be disturbed.

  Hill could be heard in the kitchen, chatting away with the young maids, several shut doors away. Mr. Bennet was always generous with his servants on Boxing Day and insisted their workload be light and that the kitchen be a resting
place until dinner was required. Elizabeth held the silver package to her chest and skipped quickly up the staircase to the privacy of her bedroom and shut the door behind her.

  She placed the mysterious package on her bed, slipped off her gloves and unbuttoned her cloak. Sitting down at the edge of her bed, she quickly unwrapped the silver paper.

  Within the box was a sheaf of beautiful writing paper, its edges tipped in gold and tied with golden string. Elizabeth gasped as she recognized the paper she admired in the mercantile the day Bingley was there with them shopping for his sisters. Never had she thought she would have such a luxury for herself.

  Immediately, she wondered at Bingley’s generosity in buying it for her. And had he given similar gifts to her sisters? She rose to go downstairs to see if there were other gifts sitting about in the drawing or dining room, but just as she stood up she noticed a note, folded in half and slipped behind the string. She pulled it out and read its few brief lines, her face burning as its words seared into her.

  To Miss Elizabeth Bennet,

  With fond holiday greetings,

  Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Mr. Darcy!

  Mr. Darcy?

  She couldn’t restrain the smile that spread across her face or the skip of her heart at the thought of this strong, proud man sending her such a beautiful gift.

  But then a pang of guilt stabbed her.

  “I did not attempt to befriend Darcy in order to profit from him,” she whispered out loud.

  But oh, what a lovely gift!

  Lost in thought, she failed to hear the bustle of four skirts and four sets of feet as her sisters came pounding up the stairs.

  Jane burst into the room.

  “Oh! I didn’t know you were here!” Jane exclaimed. “I thought you were out walking.”

  “No, I’m here,” Elizabeth murmured, flustered at the intrusion.

  “What’s that?” Jane asked, tilting her head. She picked up the note and after scanning the few short lines cried out, “Mr. Darcy?”

  Lydia and Kitty and Mary were at their door in a moment, tripping over each other to hear the news.

  “What about Mr. Darcy? What?” Kitty demanded.

  “Is he engaged?” Mary asked in a rare display of curiosity.

  Lydia pushed her way past her sisters into the room. “I knew it. Miss Warwick wouldn’t stand for him flirting with you!”

  Elizabeth sat on the bed with the gift box in her lap.

  “No, it is not that. Mr. Darcy sent me a gift,” Elizabeth said numbly.

  Lydia and Kitty and Mary rushed to examine the gift.

  “Isn’t that the paper you saw at the mercantile?” Kitty asked. “Yes, it is. I know it.”

  “However did he know you admired it?” Lydia asked.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know. Unless Bingley suggested it?”

  “How romantic a gesture!” Mary said.

  “Elizabeth! You have drawn his favor!” Jane said with exuberance.

  “It was not my intention,” Elizabeth said slowly. “I only wished to make his holidays a little merrier, considering how sad he is.”

  “Sad?” Lydia questioned. “Mr. Darcy isn’t sad! He is just sour, as always.”

  “Why should Mr. Darcy be sad?” Kitty demanded.

  “I only mean that he is still a stranger to us all here in Meryton and so perhaps he is sad not to be at home at Pemberley this holiday.”

  Jane grabbed Elizabeth’s hand. “Come downstairs and show Mamma and Pappa! How surprised they will be!”

  Reluctantly, Elizabeth agreed. There was no keeping the gift from Darcy a secret, but a tiny voice inside of her wished she could wonder over its meaning in private. Now news of the gift would be spread all over Meryton by her mother and Darcy’s intentions debated and discussed. Amongst the gossip, Elizabeth’s true motive would be lost and she would appear to have been the cunning one to set her cap for Darcy with not-so-innocent smiles and friendliness.

  For a brief instant, she considered returning the gift.

  She didn’t need a gift from Mr. Darcy; she didn’t need the gossip or the insinuation that she was vying for his interest. However, returning the gift might hurt his feelings in a way she could not bear to do.

  I must allow him to thank me for my small gesture of friendliness. If it pleases him to send me a lovely gift then I must be gracious and accept it and let the gossip be what it may be.

  Thus she settled the issue quietly within herself. She would publicly say she was extremely surprised and grateful for his generosity, and she would request that no one read anything else into his action.

  Nevertheless, the remainder of the evening was spent discussing the wonder of Mr. Darcy’s generosity. The box was placed carefully in the center of the card table in the Bennet’s drawing room and caressed and admired and its cost estimated. Elizabeth was required to describe the arrival of the messenger and her opening of the package over and over.

  “If only I had thought to be friendlier to Mr. Darcy,” Lydia whined. “But now it is too late, as he will see through my attempt at friendship. But I would have liked an expensive pendant or anything else fine that pleased Mr. Darcy to send me.”

  “When will we see him next? I must say hello myself,” Kitty schemed.

  “New Year’s Eve? Twelfth Night certainly, if he is still in town,” Mrs. Bennet guessed.

  “Please, let us not appear to be so impressed with his gift as if we have never had anything fine before. Let us act as if we do not even notice; I am sure that is his intent,” Elizabeth pleaded.

  “Lizzie is correct,” Mary admonished the room. “While it is a cause for great excitement to see one of our own favored by the richest man of our acquaintance, let us not focus on material goods but on our Lord, from whom our blessings come. Let our focus be on the example Lizzie set for us all.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes and walked over to the paper, clasping her hands as she bent over it and admired it.

  “When are you going to use it, Lizzie?”

  “I think the first use should be in a thank you letter to Mr. Darcy himself,” Elizabeth suggested. She yawned and stood up. “I will write to him tomorrow morning, as I am too tired and too chilled for proper letter writing.” Feeling exhausted by the day, she started for the stairs. “Good night, everyone.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jane furrowed her brow and raised her finger to her lips as she sat in the drawing room the next morning with her sisters.

  “Shush, girls, quiet. It sounds like a carriage,” she whispered. Everyone sat still and listened. They were bundled up in shawls and blankets as the temperature had dropped overnight and the morning chill was taking its time dissipating. Elizabeth was mentally writing out the thank you note to Mr. Darcy that must be sent that day.

  With all chatter ceased, the rattle of a carriage could definitely be heard coming down the drive. Lydia jumped to the window to peer out.

  “Who is it, Lydia? Can you tell?” Elizabeth asked.

  “It’s Bingley’s carriage,” Lydia said, running back to her chair.

  “Jane! Maybe it is your turn for a gift,” Kitty grinned.

  Jane lifted her head at the news, but there was hardly time for her to pinch some color into her cheeks before the door to the drawing room opened and Hill announced their callers.

  “Miss Caroline Bingley, Miss Agnes Warwick.”

  Surprised, the girls stood to receive their guests, who wore the cold of winter on their clothes and in their expressions. Kitty and Mary scurried to pull two more chairs closer to the range of the fire.

  “Hill, can we light a few more candles? It’s so overcast,” Jane said in a cheerful tone that did not give away her disappointment that Bingley’s carriage did not include the man himself.

  Hill obliged and the room, trimmed in holiday greenery, soon glowed under the added light. However, the humble comfort of the Longbourn drawing room was merely a backdrop for Caroline Bingley’s performance
that day. Immediately upon sitting down, she began a lengthy and tedious recitation of the glories of a Netherfield Christmas. The luxuries of their table—the new china and sterling, the pristine linen tablecloths and napkins and the polished to perfection candelabras were described in fluid detail. Thoughtful little gifts from her brother and sister that Miss Bingley was sure she did not deserve but was nevertheless happy to accept surprised her throughout the day. One gift was a particular favorite—a silky velvet shawl from Mr. Bingley—found in the Meryton mercantile, of all places!

  Caroline looked directly at Jane when she spoke as if to taunt her with a glimpse of her future holidays, if only she would be lucky enough to win Bingley. Jane took it all in with equanimity, but Kitty’s expression grew downcast to hear that Caroline now possessed the shawl she wanted for herself. Elizabeth watched their guests with suspicion; Miss Bingley, it appeared, had driven over early on that frigid morning merely to boast.

  It’s as if the riches of her life are incomplete without the envy of her neighbors, Elizabeth thought.

  “To have a generous brother is the height of blessings,” Caroline droned on, oblivious to the Bennet family’s lack of male heir and the precarious position that put the girls in.

  “To be sure,” Elizabeth agreed in studied politeness, wishing this harbinger of holiday envy would leave but fearing she had inflicted damage enough on her impressionable sisters.

  According to Caroline, the jocularity at Netherfield ran so high that by the end of the evening even Mr. Darcy was carried away by the spirit of it all, allowing himself to be blindfolded and tapped repeatedly with a rolled up newspaper in a lively game of Blind Man’s Bluff.

  “It was quite a joyous time. Of course, new beginnings are often that way. We found the weather in Hertfordshire much preferable to the cold and damp of our home up north,” Caroline prattled on.