A Very Meryton Christmas

by Olivia Kane

  “Yes,” Jane agreed. Through it all, Miss Warwick sat silent.

  “And then there is Miss Darcy! What a delight she is! And I hear we have you, Miss Elizabeth, to thank for the sudden uptick in Mr. Darcy’s mood?” Caroline raised her eyebrow and smirked.

  Elizabeth stared blankly back so as not to show any provocation. “I can hardly take credit. I only made some brief comments to Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy outside the churchyard, if that is what you are referring to?”

  Miss Bingley smiled. “Yes, of course, that is what I mean. Your friendliness made a great impression on him. Miss Darcy attributes his improved mood to your overtures. Goodness knows it has been a gruesome December with him mulling about sulking. We had to write to Col. Fitzwilliam to rescue us; but who knew that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was the tonic he needed all along?”

  “Oh no, I hardly think that I …” Elizabeth protested, coloring slightly when Miss Warwick interrupted.

  “You seem to lay claim to Mr. Darcy with a peculiar type of familiarity. Excuse my bluntness, but pray tell me the true nature of your relationship with him?” she demanded coldly.

  All eyes turned to Elizabeth at the terseness of Miss Warwick’s statements. Startled, Elizabeth was not as quick with her response as she would have liked.

  “Do not blush, Miss Elizabeth. You should be proud of your success. It is not every day that Mr. Darcy goes out of his way to buy and send gifts to young ladies. A rare thing, indeed.” Caroline smirked.

  Elizabeth looked from Miss Warwick to Miss Bingley and understood that this inquiry was the true motive for their visit. She was not intimidated by Miss Warwick’s brusque manner. She set her gaze upon Miss Warwick and with a pert smile stated simply, “Miss Warwick, I have no relationship with Mr. Darcy, nor do I plan to have one in the future. I was as surprised as anyone to receive his gift; it was certainly most unexpected.” Elizabeth unconsciously glanced over to the card table where the papers sat. “I do not require gifts in exchange for what I only hoped to be a gesture of warm welcome to a newcomer in my hometown at Christmas.”

  Miss Bingley, who never skipped a beat, followed the direction of Elizabeth’s gaze.

  “Ah! Is that the gift you do not require, sitting so prominently displayed on your little card table?” Miss Bingley asked, standing up and walking over to the paper, fingering it with her gloved hand.

  “Look, Miss Warwick, come and see the vaunted gift up close. Mr. Darcy found it unnecessary to gift anything to the ladies of Netherfield—not even a small token, for Christmas. You have no idea how lucky you are, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Miss Warwick rose slowly and lumbered over to the table, where she peered down at the papers but refused to touch them. She then returned to her seat, her lips pursed and said in a clipped tone, “Forgive me my bluntness, but I must speak plainly. I am not here in Hertfordshire for the liveliness of its company. I am here to secure Mr. Darcy as my husband. He and I were acquainted in London and I only traveled to Netherfield because I had reason to believe a furthering of our friendship was welcome by him.”

  “Indeed,” Elizabeth replied, unimpressed with the condescension in Miss Warwick’s address.

  “Since my arrival, I have not made the progress I expected. Indeed, I sensed his attention was elsewhere. After careful observation, it was clear that his focus was on you. Now I am to understand that his attention is unwelcome? That the dances, the smiles, the gifts given to no other young lady but you over the past month of December were bestowed on one who rejects them? Do you reject Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley or do you have hopes for him?”

  Elizabeth struggled to restrain herself from laughing outright. “I am sorry to hear that your efforts have gone unrewarded. He is a proud man, perhaps deepening your friendship will require more of an investment?”

  “I am not a fool. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, do you have designs on Mr. Darcy?” Miss Warwick demanded a second time.

  “No. I am truly sorry that I, who have no hopes for Darcy, have been the lone recipient of his dances and smiles and gifts. They were not requested, they are not necessary,” Elizabeth said. “My motive was only to be charitable.”

  Miss Warwick stared blankly back. “I have your word that you have no designs on him?”

  “My word? Certainly, you have my word. I am sure that I will not think of Mr. Darcy again once he quits this place.”

  “Nor will he think of you, let me assure you,” Caroline Bingley said, snootily inserting herself in the discussion.

  Irked, Elizabeth snapped, “But I will put in a good word to Mr. Darcy the next time I see him, on your behalf. I do wish you well, Miss Warwick,” Elizabeth said. She stood up, signaling that the social call was over. “I shall have Hill get your things.” She called for Hill who soon returned with the cloaks and scarves of their guests.

  Miss Bingley stood and dressed quickly.

  “Thank you. I have stayed much longer than I desired as Miss Darcy is waiting for us back at Netherfield. The cook has made Miss Darcy’s favorite holiday luncheon from our Christmas Day leftovers—a beef pastry pie—and she could hardly wait for us to all sit down together and lunch. I dare say, next time we shall try to walk here from Netherfield, as you girls like to do, for the sake of our figures amidst all this rich Christmas dining.”

  Miss Bingley made a great fuss of saying goodbye to Jane and wishing that they would see her soon at Netherfield but issuing no specific invitation. Miss Warwick, however, sat still, as if deeply grieved by Elizabeth’s nonchalance. After a moment, she rose, put on her winter cloak, nodded her head and said, “Goodbye.”

  Instead of turning to the door, however, she walked quietly to the card table to take another look at Mr. Darcy’s gift. She bent over the box, rubbing her gloved hand on the smooth surface, envy pouring out of her.

  She said in a terse voice, “Miss Elizabeth. This is such a lovely gift; it grieves me that Mr. Darcy’s gestures are wasted on someone as unappreciative as you. In fact, if I know Darcy, he would much rather not have given the gift than for it to have been received so ungratefully.”

  “I am not ungrateful,” Elizabeth began, but Miss Warwick spoke over her.

  “In fact, I am sure he regrets his attentions to you immensely when he hears how little regard you have for him. I am sure you would actually prefer no reminders of his affection, which is so distasteful to you.” With that, she picked up the box and held it in her hands, hesitating.

  “What are you doing?” Kitty demanded. “Put that down.”

  “Wait, stop,” Lydia echoed, stepping up to Miss Warwick. Elizabeth stood speechless, frozen in place, watching.

  “Oh, how silly of me,” Miss Warwick said. “You are right. I don’t want these papers—I have much nicer stationery at home from Italy.” She looked straight at Elizabeth and a slow smile spread across her face. Then taking a quick step toward the hearth, she tossed it all into the crackling fire, where the box and its contents quickly curled up and turned black.

  The sisters let out a collective gasp, all except Elizabeth, who watched in silent astonishment. Miss Warwick maintained a smug, satisfied expression as she lifted her chin and said, “As you insist that gifts are not necessary, I am sure I have done you a favor,” and walked out of the room. Miss Bingley, for once at a loss for words, could only call out to Miss Warwick to hold the carriage. Seconds later, they were gone.

  “Oh, Elizabeth!” Jane gasped. Lydia and Kitty ran to the window, enraged.

  “How could she?” Lydia wailed as Kitty balled her fists in rage.

  Mary and Jane gaped at Elizabeth who stood stunned in the center of the room. Seeing her sisters’ astonished faces, she laughed to put them at ease.

  “Poor Mr. Darcy. Now I will look very ungrateful writing him a thank you note on plain paper and not on one of the beautiful sheets he sent,” she lamented.

  “You must tell him what happened and how evil she is,” Lydia exclaimed. “I will tell him if you don’t.”

  El
izabeth sat down and her sisters followed her lead.

  “No,” she said, sighing briefly. “No. I answered truthfully today. I have no designs on Mr. Darcy. I truly only wished to be kind to him. But I recognize a desperation in Miss Warwick that is not uncommon in some ladies when the possibility of a wealthy match is at stake.”

  “But oh, Elizabeth! It was such a lovely, thoughtful gift and now it’s destroyed,” Mary said, clearly distraught.

  “Surely she is worse than even Mr. Darcy deserves,” Kitty exclaimed.

  “What shall we do? Surely we cannot meet Miss Warwick in public again with no adverse feeling toward her?” Jane asked.

  “We must not let Miss Warwick’s behavior affect us. Besides, I am sure she knows she has lost Darcy and she is a rich woman with many resources. I doubt she will remain at Netherfield now,” Elizabeth said.

  The girls grew quiet and stared at the fire, where the last curls of the papers sent wisps of smoke curling upward. Mr. Darcy’s Christmas gift was reduced to a pile of ash.

  “There! It is all gone. But it is still my duty to extend my gratitude to Mr. Darcy, who went to some expense to please me. For whatever reason,” Elizabeth said.

  She went to the drawer and pulled out a thin, ordinary sheet of writing paper and dipped her pen in the ink. Despite the shock of Miss Warwick’s actions, Elizabeth was able to think clearly and achieve the exact carefree tone she desired her letter to possess. She promptly sent it off with the footman to be delivered to Netherfield.

  But later, as the day wore on, Elizabeth grew anxious to make some sense of the morning’s events. It seemed quite obvious to her that Darcy was not a man with whom one could engage with innocently, no matter how well-intentioned she was. He was too rich and she was too insignificant. There were too many people in his world that were eager to put her in her place.

  Lesson learned, she thought to herself. I will reserve my charity for the poor and destitute in worldly goods only. Mr. Darcy’s grieving heart must find its own source of solace.

  Chapter Twelve

  Immediately upon their return from Longbourn, Miss Warwick exited the carriage and stomped to her room. She slammed the door behind her, but not before summoning her maid and ordering her to pack everything she owned and anything she did not own that happened to be in the way.

  In an hour, Miss Warwick was loaded into the carriage and on her way to the refuge of her father’s London home. She issued nothing more than a throwaway goodbye to Miss Bingley, who watched in astonishment from the doorway of the drawing room as Miss Warwick’s trunks were hurriedly hauled downstairs and strapped into place. A Netherfield footman who was unfortunate enough to be walking by at the time was drafted into the role of Miss Warwick’s chaperone with the promise of an ample payout once they reached London but without the benefit of his midday meal.

  Through all the excitement, Caroline Bingley remained a silent observer. She went to the window and watched from behind a fern until the getaway carriage reached the top of the drive, turned, and disappeared from sight. She could hardly recall the blur of events of that morning, so rapidly had everything unfolded. But as she sat down and collected her thoughts, she could only conclude that Miss Warwick was the rare woman who was quick to cut her romantic losses and that her temper was greater than she ever let on.

  “How lucky I was not to have angered her, for who knew what she was capable of?” Caroline murmured self-protectively.

  “Ahh, I can smell the beef pie,” Miss Darcy exclaimed as she descended the stairs, her soft hand sliding along the polished walnut banister. Looking forward to a warm lunch on a cold day, she announced, “Bingley and Fitzwilliam went fox hunting, unexpectedly. I believe they are feeling cooped up. And with the Hursts at the shops, it will be only the three of us instead of the usual seven, but that is fine by me as there will be no need to ration the pie.”

  “Sadly, it is only the two of us. Miss Warwick has left for London quite unexpectedly,” Caroline said matter-of-factly, purposely hiding the great excitement she felt at her departure.

  “London?” Miss Darcy repeated. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, very wrong,” Miss Bingley snickered. “Sit down and I will tell you all about it.”

  Although Elizabeth deigned to keep Miss Warwick’s evil deed to herself, Caroline Bingley exhibited no such scruples. She knew full well that Miss Darcy would repeat the entire tale to Darcy and so as they sat and dined, she narrated the events of the morning in rapturous detail, from the number of extra candles that Hill lit to the color of the petticoat peeking out from Lydia’s gown.

  Georgiana listened carefully, saying little, and she drew no enjoyment from the climax of the tale. Miss Warwick’s actions were sure to wound Fitzwilliam, who had come to life that Christmas in a manner that had heartened Georgiana and given her hope. Hope that the gloom that hung over their Decembers had this year been temporarily pierced by the lilting smile of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  Georgiana recalled the determination on her brother’s face as he enlisted her help in wrapping Elizabeth’s gift. It was not her brother’s way to impulsively buy gifts for young ladies he was not related to, but she had encouraged him when they were in the mercantile and he spotted the beautiful paper and thought that Miss Elizabeth might like it.

  Georgiana ate thoughtfully as Caroline chattered on. She was glad Miss Warwick was gone.

  “I never liked her,” Georgiana said aloud, shocking Miss Bingley.

  “You did not?” Miss Bingley had never heard Georgiana express a strong opinion.

  "No,” Georgiana stated firmly. “But I do like Miss Elizabeth Bennet, very much.”

  There is something missing in this pie, Georgiana thought, suddenly tiring of Caroline Bingley’s company and wistfully wishing she was at home at Pemberley. Their cook knew exactly how she liked her beef pie. Thoughts of Pemberley and Miss Bennet combined and she startled herself with a new idea.

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet shall marry my brother! This time next year, we will all be sitting around the table at Pemberley eating beef pie together.

  Once the happy scene was envisioned, Georgiana couldn’t keep from smiling.

  “What are you thinking of?” Miss Bingley inquired. “Tell me what is making you smile so,” she insisted.

  “I am only thinking of Pemberley,” Miss Darcy replied.

  Later that afternoon, Georgiana gingerly knocked on the library door, where her brother sat most late afternoons. She delivered the news of Miss Warwick’s loathsome behavior and subsequent exit as calmly as she was able. Nevertheless, Mr. Darcy’s fury at Miss Warwick boiled steadily for an hour or so afterward.

  “It cannot be so, Georgiana! I have a letter here from Miss Elizabeth Bennet thanking me, delivered at noon today, in which she makes no mention of the destruction of my gift,” he argued, drawing the letter from his breast pocket.

  “But notice how the note is not written on the gift paper itself? Surely, wouldn’t a thank you note to the giver be the perfect excuse to put it to use?” Georgiana pointed out

  Darcy took a quick glance at the note from Miss Elizabeth. He had, in truth, ripped open the letter from her with eagerness to hear how she would communicate her gratitude. Would there be any encouragement between the lines? Would she see it as the act of courtship he had intended it to be?

  He could hear the charm in her voice as he read the brief lines of thanks but there was no segue into playful banter. Absorbed by his emotions, he had failed to note the plain nature of the stationery.

  “You are right. Of course she would not send a thank you on such plain paper when there was something finer at her disposal,” he frowned.

  “She is too kind to burden you with the truth,” Georgiana said. She gave her brother a quick embrace and made her excuses. It was better to leave him alone to let his temper moderate. He was so reasonable in his every manner yet righteous in anger when necessary.

  Darcy sat still, Elizabeth’s letter in his hand, t
rying to understand how anyone could compose a reply so gracious knowing that her gift was destroyed by a woman whom he had invited into their circle.

  He blamed himself.

  Darcy had tolerated Miss Warwick’s presence that autumn and her inclusion at Netherfield at Christmas; he even humored her at times. There was no disguise in her motive. He knew that she was there for him and wished to be considered as his future partner. He believed that Miss Warwick was exactly the type of woman his position in life required, sensible and intelligent, able to command a staff and possessing her own wealth. The mistress of Pemberley was a job and he was determined to be reasonable in his choice.

  Thus it was his rational side that disposed him toward considering making Miss Warwick an offer. He would not have allowed her to circulate among his intimates otherwise. But upon entering the drawing room that cold winter morning and seeing the saucy Miss Bennet roll her eyes at his refusal to eat the Bennet fruitcake, he felt the first tendril of good humor poke its way through the blackness of his hurt.

  He didn’t mean to insult Miss Bennet by refusing her fruitcake; he was only just back on his feet after a brief illness and his stomach not up to rich food but her happy presence began a transformation in him.

  When his cousin, Col. Fitzwilliam, wrote to him, encouraging him not to brood but to mix with the local company and even to dance, there was only one woman he considered asking. But his solitary dance with Miss Elizabeth was a dismal failure. He was at his social worst in unfamiliar settings and his weakness on display to everyone in Meryton but most importantly, to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  After that embarrassing evening, he retreated and began to consider the wisdom of finalizing an arrangement with Warwick, if for no other reason than to move on with the business of his life. He was getting older; he had little hope that his unease in social situations would make finding the right partner an easy proposition. He knew Miss Warwick's father as a fellow man of property and his daughter was the right sort, or so everyone told him.

  On the other hand, he was right to restrain himself where Miss Elizabeth Bennet was concerned as she was clearly not the right sort, her family was provincial and her mother he could not tolerate.