As if feeling her eyes upon him, Mr Darcy looked up, and his expression told Elizabeth that he found her lovely. He could not take his eyes away from her as she descended the last few stairs. When she stood next to him, he stood looking down at her as if he wanted to sweep her up into his arms. There was such a smouldering intensity in his eyes that her heart skipped a beat and she swallowed. Then Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke and the mood was broken – fortunately so, for the way Mr Darcy was looking at her had made her think he might defy convention and sweep her into his arms anyway! But the recollection of his guests forced him to smile instead and offer her his arms.
‘Will you greet my guests with me, Elizabeth?’ he asked.
She felt a surge of pleasure. Already he was treating her as the mistress of the house and her heart swelled with pride.
‘I would like that very much,’ she said.
Beside them, Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam were in conversation.
‘We will wait in the ballroom and make the guests feel comfortable there, once you have greeted them,’ said Anne.
Mr Darcy thanked them and Elizabeth was left alone with Mr Darcy and Georgiana in the hall.
They did not have long to wait before the first guest arrived. George Wickham was announced as the clock struck the hour and Elizabeth guessed he had come early on purpose to speak to Georgiana before the rest of the guests arrived.
She saw Mr Darcy glance protectively at Georgiana, but Elizabeth pulled him gently to one side.
‘She might need my help,’ said Mr Darcy.
‘Georgiana is growing up before our eyes,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I believe she can manage this alone. We are here for her if she needs us but let her resolve this in her own way.’
Mr Darcy took her hand and pulled it through his arm, so that it rested lovingly there. He still watched his sister, but he did so unobtrusively. Elizabeth, too, watched from under her lashes, ready to assist Georgiana if necessary. But from Georgiana’s dignified poise and Mr Wickham’s respectful attitude it was obvious that these two people, who had known each other since childhood, almost eloped and then become estranged – these two people who had been through a variety of experiences and were now ready to make their peace, the one by apologising and the other by accepting the apology – were embracing the spirit of Christmas. They were healing old wounds; salving old hurts; and paving a way forward into a better future.
Georgiana held out her hand and Mr Wickham bowed over it, then he moved away with gratitude etched into every line of his posture.
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy moved back to the foot of the staircase and stood by Georgiana’s side.
‘I am so happy things are finally right between us,’ said Georgiana. ‘A few weeks ago I thought this would be a sorrowful Christmas, but it is turning into the best Christmas I can remember.’
The door opened again and the butler announced, ‘Mr and Mrs Bingley.’
Elizabeth welcomed her sister with pleasure. Jane was looking breathtakingly lovely in a gown of peach satin with a gauze overskirt and matching evening gloves. Her blonde hair was arranged in an elegant bun and decorated with a pale peach ribbon. Mr Bingley was wearing a blue coat and cream breeches. As the sisters greeted each other affectionately, Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley greeted each other with genuine friendship, their former easy relationship now fully restored. Georgiana added her welcome and told them they would find Miss de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam in the ballroom.
The visitors now arrived quickly, an assortment of high and low. The carpenters, stonemasons and other craftsmen who had given their time and skill to help with the repairs, expecting nothing in return, were welcomed just as warmly as those neighbours who had not cut Mr Darcy when news of his difficulties became the subject of local gossip.
A buzz of conversation started to fill the rooms of Pemberley and the sound of the fiddlers – local musicians, instead of the usual grand London string quartets – added to the festive feel. The strains of familiar and much loved carols reminded them all of the spirit of Christmas. The festive sound combined with the scent of pine from the fir boughs arranged around the banisters. The sight of holly and mistletoe tucked behind mirrors and paintings added to the festive feel. The taste of mince pies carried round on silver salvers by the footmen and the feel of champagne bubbles popping on the tongue completed the feast for the senses, and altogether there was an atmosphere of celebration.
As Mr Darcy looked round the room he thought how far his life had come since his first meeting with Elizabeth at the Meryton assembly. On that memorable evening he had been disdainful of the assorted company, preferring to mix with his own party and ignoring everyone else. But now he was glad to have people from every walk of life at his ball.
Over by the window were the foresters who had cut down the trees and over by the door were the carpenters who had shaped the trees into new window frames. Dancing in an ungainly but enthusiastic fashion was the stonemason who had repaired the corbels, partnered by his wife. There were others, too. All the craftsmen and tradesmen who had helped to repair the east wing had been invited and he was glad to see them, as he was glad to see his friends. Mr and Mrs Bingley were dancing together, so obviously in love that he could not believe he had ever tried to part them. Next to them were Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose love was newly acknowledged and shining brightly from their eyes.
George Wickham was dancing with the village seamstress, instead of the most beautiful heiress in the room, and he was partnering her as if she had been a princess. Georgiana was dancing with one of the few neighbours who had not faded away when Mr Darcy’s problems had become known. Perhaps, in time, the two of them would make a match. But Georgiana was still very young and she had plenty of time to fall in love.
And there, at the centre of it all, was Elizabeth, radiating warmth and happiness. She had been at the centre of the Meryton assembly, challenging him with her intelligence and her good humour and her strength of character, as well as teasing him with her fine eyes. And she was now at the centre of the Pemberley Christmas ball, just as she was at the centre of his heart, his mind and his life. He could not imagine living without her, and by some miracle he did not have to. He had found her again and he had won her hand, as well as her heart.
He walked over to her and bowed in front of her.
‘Miss Bennet,’ he said, with a smile lifting the corner of his mouth and making its way into his velvety brown eyes. ‘Will you grant me the honour of this dance?’
Her answering bright smile lit up her face.
‘I will,’ she said.
They joined hands and walked into the middle of the ballroom. The other guests melted away and they danced together in a haze of happiness. The sorrow of the previous year was forgotten. They lived in the moment, breathing in every precious second of the magical evening.
And when at last it was over, and the guests had all gone home, they stood by the window in the drawing-room and looked out over the frost-rimed grounds of Pemberley, which looked like a fairyland in the moonlight. Mr Darcy stood behind Elizabeth and his arms were wrapped around her. Her head was leaning back against his chest.
‘When would you like to hold the wedding?’ he asked.
‘The sooner the better,’ she said, as she nestled into his embrace.
He kissed her top of her head.
‘I agree. We will be married just as soon as everything can be arranged. And then we will live here at Pemberley, and raise our children here, and celebrate Christmas here. And we will remember this year, and the events that brought us together, and the magic of this moment, and give thanks for it.’
Elizabeth nodded.
‘Yes. We will. For this has been the best Christmas I have ever known.’
‘It has,’ acknowledged Mr Darcy. ‘But for you and I, Elizabeth, the adventure is just beginning.’
Then he turned her around in the circle of his arms and kissed her, and his kiss was a promise of all the wonderful Christmases to
come.
A Christmas To Remember
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? #12
JENNIFER LANG
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Prologue
Pemberley, December
December was turning into a cold, bleak month. Not even the thought of the forthcoming house party could lift Mr Darcy’s spirits. He reined in his horse as he looked down on his ancestral home, his cloak blowing in the wind. He had once hoped the house would hold a wife and children, but there was only one woman he wanted to marry, and she had been so disgusted by him that she had rejected his proposal at Rosings. It was hardly surprising. He had made a mess of it, insulting her as he proposed. He had then made things worse by explaining himself in a proud and haughty letter. She had not replied and, soon afterwards, he had left the neighbourhood and he had never seen her again. He had travelled extensively in the hopes of forgetting her, most recently to his relatives in Scotland, but it had not worked. He had not been able to forget Elizabeth and he had finally come home to Pemberley. And so here he was, returning from a cold and lonely ride on a cold and lonely day, all hope gone.
He pressed with his knees and turned his horse’s head, riding down the bare hill to the stable yard. He dismounted and one of the grooms came forward but he waved the boy away.
‘I will see to him myself.’
‘Very good, Sir,’ said the lad.
It was well known that Mr Darcy liked to care for his own horses when time and duties permitted. He led his horse into the stable and tended to him thoroughly, then went back into the house. It was immaculate. Everything was clean and bright, a tribute to Mrs Reynolds and her staff. The marble columns in the hall were shining in the candlelight, as were the gilded mirrors and the gold frames of the portraits hanging on the wall. But the beautiful house could not lift his spirits, and he groaned as he saw his stately butler, Melgrave, coming towards him. There was always something for the master of Pemberley to do, even when he wished to be alone.
‘Her ladyship begs me to tell you that she has retired, Sir.’
‘Thank you, Melgrave.’
Lady Sarah, his great-aunt, had agreed to be his hostess for the small house party he would shortly be holding. She was an elderly spinster and she had always spent Christmas at Pemberley when his parents were alive, taking on the duties of hostess after his mother died. But she was now elderly and she often retired early.
‘Mrs Reynolds was asking if the guest list has been finalised, Sir.’
‘No, not yet. I am waiting for a reply from Colonel Fitzwilliam. He does not yet know if his duties will allow him to attend, but I expect to hear from him tomorrow. You may tell Mrs Reynolds I will give her the final list tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Very good, Sir.’
Mr Darcy made good his escape then went into the drawing-room and threw himself into a chair in front of the fire. He must shake himself out of his low mood, for his sister was due to arrive in a few days’ time and he did not want her to see him in a despondent state. His friend, Mr Bingley, would also be attending and he hoped his cousin would join them. It was to be a small party as his sister was not yet out, and he was not in a mood for a loud and noisy affair. It would be just a few close friends and relatives to celebrate the festive season.
He rang for tea and drank it in solitary splendour as the light faded outside and the snow began to fall. Once he had finished his tea, he went into his study. It was a small, masculine room at the side of the house. A leather sofa was set opposite the fire and two leather chairs were turned towards the flames. There was a desk pushed back against one wall and a small bookcase next to it. On top of the desk was a letter from his Aunt Catherine, which had arrived that morning. She had declined his invitation to the house party, saying that his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh, had a bad cough, and could not make the journey from Kent. She did, however, tell him that she expected him to play host to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who would be passing through Derbyshire at the end of the week. The Archbishop was a distant relative of Mr Darcy on his mother’s side and also a relation of Lady Catherine’s. He was presently visiting the Archbishop of York in the north of England and he would pass through Derbyshire on his way back to Canterbury.
He will not be able to stay for the house party, of course, but he will spend the night at Pemberley on his journey south, the letter said.
Not, I would be obliged if you would invite him to stay. Instead, simply a command that Mr Darcy must do it, and the information that Lady Catherine had already arranged it.
Mr Darcy threw the letter aside in disgust. He did not mind the Archbishop staying, of course, but he wished his aunt would not interfere in his affairs. However, he knew she would never change and it was useless to hope for it.
He turned his attention to the guest list, which was also on the desk. He added the Archbishop’s name to it, with a note that he would not be staying for the party but he and his entourage would need a room for an overnight stay.
Then, his duties attended to, he picked up a book and tried to read. Alas, the book could not hold his attention. The snow continued to fall and he got up, intending to draw the curtains, but the sight of the stables through the window made him change his mind. He knew he would not be able to concentrate so he decided to look in on all his horses before night fell.
He left the curtains, so that the light from the window would help to guide his steps across the stable yard. Going into the small boot room next to his study, he put on the old coat and boots that were kept there. Next to his study and the boot room was a side door, so that he could come and go to the stables without all the ceremony accorded to him when he entered and left by the front door. Here he could slip in and out as he pleased, without being presented with the mail, or being visible to visitors, or being called upon to arrange anything, and that was just what he needed.
He opened the side door and stepped into the twilight, which was illuminated by lanterns hanging from the stables’ eaves. White flakes of snow were drifting lazily out of the sky and the ground was becoming icy. He strode to the nearest stable to make sure his favourite horse was properly settled for the night and then examined his other animals, one by one.
The cold air, the exercise and the concentration occasioned by this simple task went some way towards relieving his gloom. Once he had seen that everything was as it should be, he turned his footsteps once again towards the house. But then he halted, listening intently, for he was sure he had heard something. There it was again! A faint cry. It sounded like an infant. But that was impossible. It was a kitten, perhaps, who had become locked in the stable at the far end. That stable was empty at the moment, as he had just sold one of his hunters and had not yet bought a replacement.
He went across to it and fumbled with the latch. He had forgotten his gloves and his hands were cold, so he blew on them to warm them and then he lifted the latch and went inside. The glow from the lanterns illuminated the interior and he went forward, listening intently. The cry came again, and it was coming from the manger. He turned his footsteps in that direction and moved forward carefully, so as not to scare the kitten – for surely it must be a kitten. But to his astonishment he saw that it was an infant, wrapped in a blanket.
He could scarcely believe his eyes. The baby looked very tiny and he wondered if one of the village girls had borne the child out of wedlock and then left it there so that it would be cared for. He went closer, and it waved its tiny fists and gurgled. He should pick it up, but he did not know how.
He was just standing there, debating whether to return to the house and send one of the maids to
deal with the infant, or whether he should call a stable-hand to take a message, when a woman rose from the shadows behind the manger. She had been lying down in the straw, but, as he watched, she pushed herself into a sitting position. She gave a low groan and put a hand to her head. She seemed distrait, making him wonder if she was the mother. Her hand fell from her head and she used it to support herself as she wriggled into a more upright position. As she did so, the light from the lantern hanging outside the stable door fell full on her face, and he gave a start of astonishment.
‘Miss Bennet!’ he exclaimed.
There was no doubt about it. The young lady was Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The curve of her cheek, the arch of her neck, the adorable nose, the exquisitely curved lips and those beautiful, devastating eyes, all proclaimed her to be the woman he loved - passionately, hopelessly, and irredeemably, with a love he had been unable to expunge, even though he had spent the last seven months trying. Seeing her there brought all his feelings back in a flood, a tidal wave that washed over him and left him weak with longing, knowing she would never be his.
She looked towards him and his heart turned over inside him as he saw her adored and adorable face in full, with every delicate feature that had been etched into his memory and scored into his soul. That face hovered before him each day as he tried to go about his business and it haunted him by night when she invaded his dreams. It was like a miracle to find her here. He had never thought to see her again and yet here she was, in front of him, her dark ringlets tumbling across her shoulders in a riotous profusion. He was so full of love for her, he thought his heart would burst.
But when his first elation had subsided he was puzzled, and then anxious, for there was no recognition in her beautiful eyes. They seemed to look right through him instead of focusing on him. Had she forgotten him already? Surely not. Surely he had meant more to her than just a passing acquaintance? In all the long months, he had been unable to forget her and yet it seemed that she had been able to forget him.
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4 Page 19