Darcy's Winter Ball

by A J Woods

  He was beginning to realize that he would do anything for his Elizabeth.

  “Why, dear brother, you look exceedingly tired this morning,” Georgiana noted, as Darcy entered the morning room.

  His sister smiled brightly at him from the sideboard, where she had just picked up a plate. She wore a new gown in a deep green shade that he had given her for Christmas, and he was pleased to see that it complimented her coloring quite well. The seamstress at Georgiana’s favorite shop had been most helpful in the choice, and Darcy made a mental note to stop in soon to express his gratitude.

  “I am sure you are not wrong,” he said, grinning. “I had some trouble sleeping last night.”

  “I am very sorry to hear that,” she answered, placing a few sausages alongside her eggs. “I did not sleep very well, myself,” Georgiana continued, scrunching up her nose in the endearing way she had since she was in the nursery. “I believe I was too excited after the festivities.”

  Though they were siblings, Darcy’s young sister was in many ways more like a daughter to him, due to the number of years separating the two. He had put much of his heart into caring for her since the death of their beloved parents, and, while he knew he could never replace them, and he had certainly made mistakes, he hoped he had at least shown Georgiana how much she was loved.

  He studied her now—her golden hair and fair skin flaunting the glow of youth even after a late party, whereas he probably looked about as appealing as something a cat might drag in from the stables.

  “You might be fatigued, sister, but it does not show,” he said, filling his own plate as she finished with hers and headed to the table. He followed shortly after and took a seat, motioning to the footman for tea.

  “That is good to hear,” she said, after taking a sip of her own. “I am to visit Sarah this morning, and I wish to look well.” Color gathered at the peaks of her cheekbones.

  Darcy’s next breath stuttered slightly at the mention of Georgiana’s oldest friend. Her oldest friend who had a brother two years her senior…a young man for whom Darcy was beginning to believe Georgiana carried a special fondness. He had seen his sister dance with Henry the night before, and she sat next to him at dinner.

  Had Darcy’s own mind not been quite so thoroughly occupied with a pair of fine eyes, he might have paid closer attention and made an effort to speak with the lad to make him feel especially welcome in their home. If Georgiana did indeed have affection for her friend’s brother, Darcy would encourage the match; he longed to see her happy and Henry was a kind, smart fellow from a good and warm family.

  “Ah, I see,” Darcy said, fidgeting with his napkin.

  At times like these, the lack of feminine influence in their home was acutely apparent. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a partner by his side as he navigated raising a young woman.

  “Well, give them my best.”

  Georgiana’s fork paused midair and her mouth formed a wide grin, which he returned. “I will do that, Fitzwilliam, thank you,” she said, the dimples in her cheeks giving away her obvious pleased that her choice met with his approval.

  Her near-elopement with Wickham was in the past, and Darcy sensed that his sister was eager to move along with life and put that dreadful incident behind her.

  After they had shared breakfast and more lighthearted chatter about who had danced with whom at the ball, Darcy reached into his coat and pulled out the pages that Elizabeth had left in his library the night before.

  Georgiana’s brow furrowed as she swallowed a bite of egg and glanced over. “What is that?” she asked, with only slight interest.

  Darcy could not hide his excitement. “I would like for you to read these pages and tell me what you think.”

  “Alright,” she answered, drawing out the word with surprise. “Aren’t you going to tell me what they are first?”

  “Just read,” he insisted. “Then we will discuss the contents.”

  He motioned for another cup of tea and sipped in silence, hardly able to endure his impatience while his sister’s eyes scanned the pretty penmanship. When Georgiana briefly looked up after what felt like hours, he forced his features into a normal expression so as not to influence her opinion.

  “What do you think?” he asked, sounding too eager even to his own ears.

  His sister’s eyes were wide and her smile broadened as she folded the papers she had already read. When he reached for the rest, he thought she might clobber him.

  “Not so fast,” she warned, bending closer over the foolscap, ready to return to the story once he ceased pestering her. “Whatever this is, it’s…it’s wonderful. Who wrote this?” She waved a hand over the unfinished story.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he answered, feeling very proud to know the bearer of that name.

  Georgiana’s face lit with recognition. “The lovely lady to whom you introduced me last night, who then sat between us at dinner?”

  “The very same,” Darcy said, hiding an overzealous grin behind his teacup. He did not want to alarm the poor girl. “That is not the whole of the book, I imagine, but you can see as well as I that she is a very talented authoress.”

  “Talent does not begin to cover it,” his sister muttered as she flipped through the remaining pages. “It is positively riveting. I dread coming to the end of what you have here because I fear the story will not yet be resolved, and I cannot wait to get hold of the rest. Do you have more?”

  Darcy shook his head. “I do not. Not yet. But I plan to change that very soon.”

  “How?” Georgiana asked, leaning toward him. “Does Miss Elizabeth plan to publish this story?”

  Darcy hoped his face did not flush. “I do not know,” he said truthfully, “but I plan to help her if she does.”

  His sister’s bemused expression prompted him to explain further.

  “I am taking this to Father’s old friend, Mr. Billings, this very day. He is a publisher of some renown, and the only person I trust to offer fair compensation for what I am certain will become a bestselling novel, if Miss Elizabeth agrees.”

  “And what if she will not?” Georgiana asked, worry lacing her tone. “Or what if Mr. Billings will publish, but only if Miss Elizabeth makes changes.”

  She put a hand to her forehead. “Oh, I do hope he will leave it as is. I have fallen quite in love with Thomas and Meera, and I want to see them wed as adamantly as their parents are against it. I cannot rest until I find out if they will escape their families in India and catch the ship to America. The story is perfect as is, and I will not hear a harsh word against it!”

  Darcy chuckled at his sister’s vigorous defense of a book he loved just as much.

  “I would accept nothing less,” he assured her. “Though when Billings reads this, I am sure he will react in much the same way that we did.” His tone turned serious. “I do hope Miss Elizabeth will not object. I would very much love to surprise her with an offer of publication and see her hard work rewarded. Her novel deserves to be read by others, and will delight even the most discerning readers, I am sure.”

  Georgiana studied her brother. “Are you certain this is the best path—surprising her with the news, I mean?”

  Her eyes softened. “I can see that you are enamored of Miss Elizabeth, brother. I would be a fool not to have noticed the extent of your enjoyment in her company at dinner last night, or the way you could not take your eyes off hers while dancing.”

  “It is that obvious, is it not?” he asked rhetorically, no longer caring if anyone saw how glad the woman made him. He had waited long enough to find someone with whom to spend the rest of his life, and once the decision had been made, he had no desire to hide his feelings.

  He prayed this plan would earn her favor.

  “I have thought much on this, and—yes—I believe it is the best way. When I encountered Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth at Hatchards, the elder could not say enough about how much this book meant to her, and I know now, having read it myself, that
her enjoyment of it was not influenced by their sisterly bond. It is genuinely excellent, and I am sure no one has ever given Miss Elizabeth such a gift. A contract, and the career that I firmly believe would follow, would mean security and independence for her, and the freedom to choose the sort of life she wishes, regardless of whether she marries or not.”

  That last bit stung a little, but Darcy meant every word. He would do this for her even if she did not choose him after all.

  He had caused Miss Elizabeth and her sister pain, and then he had seen the error of his way and fallen quite in love with her. Now he would prove that love, even if it was not returned.

  “You do wish to see her married, though, do you not?” Georgiana asked, her voice full of fondness for her only sibling. “Indeed, I believe you have someone in mind.”

  “I never could hide my true feelings from you,” he said. “You have always seen right through me.”

  “You never hesitate to return the favor,” she replied. “You even intuited enough to save me from Wickham.”

  Her eyes clouded briefly—not, Darcy thought, with regret, but rather with relief that she had narrowly avoided sailing headlong into a storm she would not have survived.

  “Would you be pleased?” he asked. “To have such a sister-in-law?”

  Georgiana stood from the table and came up behind his chair, encircling her arms around his shoulders. “I would love nothing more,” she answered, “than to see you happy. And that I should gain such a lovely sister at the same time, is only an added blessing.”

  Chapter 9

  Two days later, Jane and Elizabeth were playing with their young cousins when a footman entered the nursery, carrying the morning post atop a silver tray.

  The sisters glanced at each other with shared joy. Elizabeth hoped to hear from her friend, Charlotte, and Jane was expecting a letter from Longbourn with all the familial news of home.

  Neither was prepared for what actually arrived.

  Elizabeth put down the doll she’d been helping the little girls to dress for a make-believe tea party, as the footman neared to deliver a folded sheet of paper sealed in wax. Jane glanced up from where she had been exerting great effort to keep the boys from fighting over a rowdy, probably ill-advised, indoor game of jeu de volant.

  When Elizabeth’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, Jane grabbed the rackets from both boys and bid them quiet down immediately; they did so, shocked that their usually very docile cousin was capable of speaking so firmly.

  Jane waved over the footman. “Please summon the governess back from her break with my apologies,” she whispered, though Elizabeth still heard. “My sister and I must quit the nursery.”

  As soon as Sarah arrived to resume her duty of minding the children, Jane took Elizabeth by the arm and led her to their guest bedroom.

  By the time they arrived, and her sister helped settle her onto a sofa, Elizabeth was feeling even more confused than when she’d just finished reading the letter. She was glad her aunt and uncle were out shopping that afternoon, as she did not wish for an audience apart from Jane.

  “Lizzy, please tell me right away what is wrong,” Jane insisted, her voice shaking with worry. “You are dreadfully pale.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, but still she could not seem to focus. She sat silent for a long moment as Jane continued to fret. “I am not sure I can explain it to you, sister, when I cannot quite understand it myself.”

  Jane’s brow furrowed and Elizabeth wondered if it wasn’t she who should be comforting Jane, and not the other way round.

  “Do try,” Jane pressed.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath to steady herself. “Alright. I shall do my best.”

  Jane nodded and Elizabeth felt her sister’s fingers wrap around her own.

  “It is a letter from a London publisher,” she began, then paused. She had hoped one day she might say the words she was about to utter, but certainly not under such circumstances. “He wants to publish my book.”

  At this news, Jane’s eyes widened and her mouth spread open with cheer. Elizabeth felt her hand being squeezed within an inch of its life.

  “Oh, Lizzy, this is wonderful news,” Jane said. “The most wonderful news, indeed.” She stopped speaking for a moment, presumably as she allowed it all to settle in her mind. “This is what you have wanted for so long. It is like a dream come true!”

  Elizabeth tried very hard not to shake her sister. “Yes, it is what I’ve wanted,” she nearly shouted, grimacing when she saw the effect her raised voice had on her sweet sibling. “But do you not see, Jane?” She held out the letter and shook it instead. “I did not even send my book to anyone. It is not yet even finished.”

  Jane frowned, a rare sight. “I do not understand,” she said. “I assumed you may have done so in secret a few days hence, but if you did not send it in, then who?”

  “I cannot be certain yet, though I have an idea,” Elizabeth muttered through clenched teeth.

  Jane’s nodded rapidly with insistence that her sister continue.

  “Do you recall two nights ago at the ball, when I ventured into Mr. Darcy’s library for some time?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes, of course. You indicated that all went according to plan.”

  “Well, I believe I left part of my manuscript in the book I used there for research.” Elizabeth sighed and put her head in her hands. “I have not missed it since, as I was too distracted with what happened between…between Mr. Darcy and I…and I have not written anything these last two days.”

  “Yes, alright,” Jane said. “You were taken by surprise when Mr. Darcy showed such kindness; it is not difficult to understand that, in your state, you quite forgot your reason for being there in the first place and left your things behind. But how, then, did they end up in the hands of a publisher?”

  Elizabeth bit her lip as she locked eyes with her sister. “I believe Mr. Darcy may have found my pages, and, well…brought them to this”—she held out the offending letter—“publisher.”

  Realization flooded Jane’s countenance. “Oh,” she said. “Now I understand.”

  “Then, surely, you understand as well why I am so distraught,” Elizabeth said, peering over the letter once more to be sure that it was real.

  “Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said, clicking her tongue. “Can you not overlook the way this came about, in favor of seeing the benefit?” She squeezed her sister’s hand again. “Your book—your wonderful, wonderful book—will be published! All of England will read it and fall in love with your writing as I have, and I have no doubt the publisher will offer you a nice sum to proceed forward, once you accept a meeting with him.”

  Jane gently pried away the letter and read it herself, which did not take long. As Elizabeth knew from reading it again just a moment before, it was very brief, indicating only that Mr. Billings had received the pages and enjoyed them so much that he immediately wished to see more, requesting that Elizabeth visit his office in town as soon as possible.

  It did not say from whom the publisher had obtained the portion of her manuscript, but there was only one explanation for that.

  “No,” Elizabeth answered. “I cannot overlook such a transgression, not after all Mr. Darcy has already done to harm you, and offend me.”

  Jane’s eyes beseeched her. “But I thought you said that he had apologized for what he’d done and even planned to speak with Mr. Bingley about his affection for me. Indeed, when we spoke at the ball, Charles promised to send word to Father of his intentions, in lieu of going to Longbourn himself in such disagreeable weather. I expect to hear from him any day, as soon as Father responds.”

  “Oh, Jane, he did apologize.” Elizabeth spoke in a rush. “That is precisely why this letter is so vexing. Do you still not comprehend my way of thinking? He has betrayed my trust by taking this letter to a publisher without asking my permission—when it is not even finished, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Perhaps that only means Mr. Bi
llings perceives how truly marvelous the book is, and he wants to be the first to offer publication before any others catch wind of it,” Jane suggested in a soothing tone.

  In the back of her mind, a tiny voice whispered that her sister might be correct, but Elizabeth was so angry at Mr. Darcy for taking such action without consulting her, that she could not at present see past the dark fog of her fury.

  Pushing her shoulders back and standing so quickly from the chair that it wobbled a little, Elizabeth braced herself. “Mr. Darcy has a great deal of explaining to do,” she said, as she walked to the door, leaving behind a bewildered Jane. “That is, before I refuse ever to speak to him again.”

  After receiving the letter and talking with Jane, Elizabeth had attempted a walk out of doors to sort through the thoughts chasing each other across her mind, only to return after less than half an hour. The cold, like her heart, was simply too bitter to tolerate, and she had thus retreated to her room with a request not to be disturbed for the remainder of the day.

  She knew her reclusive behavior was rude, especially as she and Jane would be leaving as soon as the weather cleared enough for them to return to Longbourn. Spending time with her aunt, uncle, and cousins was the proper thing to do—not begging off sick to sulk in her room.

  Jane was a dear not to verbalize that very thought; no one would have blamed her for admonishing Elizabeth to come downstairs and socialize, but she did not wish to be talked out of her bad mood.

  Mr. Darcy was wrong to share her book without asking first! She was sure of it.

  For the most part.

  At least when she was not reading and re-reading the publisher’s letter over and over, still quite in doubt of its veracity. She had scanned the few sentences so many times that she’d memorized them, a fact she would admit to no one, not ever. She had resolved herself to remain angry with Darcy because of what he had done this time, and it would not do if Jane discovered her secret: that a part of her was excited beyond words that a publisher—a real, live, London publisher—had requested to see the whole of her novel, with design to turning it into a book that would be displayed on store shelves for purchase by living, breathing readers.