Which that Season Brings
Page 1
Which that Season Brings
A Pride & Prejudice Christmas Novella
P. O. Dixon
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Featured Book Excerpt
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Parting Thoughts
Bonus Offer
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by P. O. Dixon
Introduction
Broken promises often lead to disappointed hopes and dreams and even broken hearts.
Such was the aftermath of the Netherfield party’s departure from Hertfordshire on the heels of the ball.
What if Mr. Darcy returns with his friend Mr. Bingley to Hertfordshire during the Christmas season?
Darcy’s reasoning is sound. He simply means to be of service to his lovesick friend. There’s also the matter of wanting to protect Miss Elizabeth Bennet from his nemesis, George Wickham.
What if Darcy’s true motive is of a rather more personal nature—one that he is not even aware of himself?
When asked, by those who know her best, how she feels about Mr. Darcy’s return, Elizabeth insists his reasons can have nothing at all to do with her. Blinded by her dislike of the proud gentleman from almost the first moment of their acquaintance, will Elizabeth finally see what others see when the season brings Mr. Darcy and her back together again?
* * *
Which that Season Brings is a delightful ‘happy for now’ novella which reimagines Jane Austen’s timeless classic, combining just enough of the old to satisfy your want of nostalgia and enough of the new to quench your desire for another romantic escape with Darcy and Elizabeth.
“I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings.”
Jane Austen
Chapter 1
London, England - December 1811
Fitzwilliam Darcy’s friend Charles Bingley paced the floor, pleading his case. His own sentiments a mixture of consternation and concern, the former watched in silence. And waited.
Contrary to Darcy’s expectation, time and distance away from Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire had done nothing to lessen his friend’s fascination with the angelic creature.
What a disappointment, for as much as Bingley may have fancied himself in love, Darcy had seen no such evidence of the lady’s mutual esteem. In fact, he had gone out of his way to persuade himself that he was mistaken about Miss Bennet’s regard for his friend the last time they were all in company—the evening of the Netherfield ball.
True enough, the young lady had bestowed an abundance of lovely smiles upon his friend. Indeed, she listened to Bingley most attentively and nodded and spoke at all the right moments, but it was nothing that Darcy had not seen before. Charles was an amiable young man who made friends easily wherever he went.
What young woman in want of a husband would not behave as Miss Bennet had done when she found herself the recipient of the unabashed adoration of a single young man with a large fortune?
Having ceased his pacing in front of the blazing fireplace, Bingley ran his fingers through his untidy hair. “I know you contend that Miss Bennet does not care for me as I care for her,” said Bingley, interrupting Darcy’s musings. “I do not believe it, but even if it were true, it does not matter. Nothing would bring me more joy than to be close to the woman I love at Christmastime—to bask in her warm smiles as she is wont to bestow.”
“At the risk of sounding hard-hearted, Charles, might I remind you that I have heard you speak similarly of other young ladies before?”
The younger man shook his head. “This time is different. I long for her. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I ought to return to Netherfield just as I promised her that I would do once my business in town was concluded. I fear I shall never forgive myself if I do not keep my word. Can you not see how much this means to me?”
Darcy shrugged. “I am not sure what you want me to say. What would you have me do?”
“I want you to come with me—that is if you are not previously engaged. Then, you might see for yourself how mistaken you are about Miss Bennet’s affections for me. She and I are designed for each other. I know it. Return with me to Netherfield Park, and you will know it too.”
Having prided himself on always taking such prodigious care of his young friend, Darcy did not relish the thought of denying him this one request. What was more, the idea of spending the season alone held little appeal to Darcy, what with his sister visiting a friend and her family in Bath and his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh and his cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh visiting their Fitzwilliam relations at the Matlock estate in Derbyshire.
Of course, he had been invited to visit the Matlock estate too. But between Lady Catherine’s insistence he must marry Anne and his aunt Lady Ellen Fitzwilliam, the Countess of Matlock, insisting he choose a bride from among the prominent families of the ton, being in Matlock was the last thing in the world he wanted.
On the other hand, Bingley’s family members were not to be counted among Darcy’s most desired companions for the Christmas season either, especially as he had recently spent the better part of autumn in company with them as Bingley’s guest in Hertfordshire.
Darcy said, “I understand that families ought to be together at Christmas, and it is for that reason I cannot even consider accompanying you to Hertfordshire. No doubt your family will join you.”
“You are in luck, my friend. My sister Louisa and her husband, Hurst, have other plans. Caroline will not consider returning to Netherfield without her—I dare say, even with the prospect of spending Christmas in company with you.”
Those particular words were inducement enough. Miss Bingley’s treatment of the Bennets was beyond the pale. In truth, his own behavior when in company with her left much to be desired. His role in any disparagement of the Bennet family was mainly in keeping with his attempt to ward off the lady’s relentless teasing about his admiration for the second eldest Bennet daughter’s fine eyes, yet that was no excuse.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy would be lying were he to pretend that he did not think of her just as much as his friend Bingley professed longing for Miss Jane Bennet—albeit for different reasons. While Bingley fancied himself in love with the young woman whom he had known less than a few months, Darcy’s preoccupation with Miss Elizabeth had nothing at all to do with love.
It has more to do with the bewildering effect the young woman has on my sensibilities.
Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. How else was he to explain the fact that he had singled her out to dance during the Netherfield ball?
He was not pleased with the way the two of them had left things that evening—arguing over George Wickham, of all people, and her spirited defense of the scoundrel as though she was utterly oblivious of the honor he had bestowed on her in singling her out for a dance at the ball.
On the other hand, my leave-taking has effectively left Miss Elizabeth vulnerable to that scoundrel. The least I might do is return to Hertfordshire to warn her of the perils that such a man of Wickham’s low character poses to her.
Thus resolved, Darcy said, “I shall happily accompany you to Netherfield, my friend.”
Bingley’s satisfac
tion with this response was all that might be expected and in no time at all the departure date was set.
Interestingly enough, Darcy suffered an odd sense of relief mixed with anticipation—as though a burden he did not even realize he had suffered had been lifted.
I do not think I would ever forgive myself were Miss Elizabeth to fall victim to Wickham’s charms.
Chapter 2
Hertfordshire – Longbourn Village
Merriment and joy filled the halls of Longbourn House, and it had very little to do with the season. At the center of all the excitement was not the two younger Bennet daughters, Kitty and Lydia, who had rightfully earned their reputations as being the silliest girls in all of England, nor was it the older daughters, Jane, Elizabeth, or Mary, who were also considered to be rather silly, and by their own father, no less. No, it was the lady of the house, Mrs. Fanny Bennet, whose jubilation could not be repressed. A woman of mean understanding who fancied herself discontented whenever it suited her purposes, she burst into the dining parlor where everyone else in the family sat around the heavily laden table enjoying their breakfast.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet,” said the lady to her husband of more than three and twenty years. “We are saved, I declare. We are saved!”
“Whatever do you mean, my dear?” Mr. Bennet asked with scarcely a glance above his morning paper.
“Have you not heard the news? Mr. Bingley is planning to return to Netherfield Park. He is said to be arriving any day and no later than Boxing Day, to be sure.” Having known her own share of beauty during her youth, Mrs. Bennet’s chief occupation of late was marrying off her five daughters, each of them in their turn. Her life’s solace was visiting and news. This combining of the two was a great cause for joy indeed.
She placed her hand on her bosom willing her racing heartbeat to still. “Oh, what a blessing this is for our eldest daughter! What a blessing this is for all of us.”
“A blessing you say? Since when does a man returning to his own home warrant such accolades? I daresay I have gone away and returned to Longbourn on any number of occasions with no such exaltations.”
“Oh! Mr. Bennet, how can you be so tiresome? You know very well that Mr. Bingley means to take Jane off our hands once and for all.”
Elizabeth, the second born daughter, placed her hand on her elder sister Jane’s arm. The latter smiled which was her wont to do on such an occasion as this, but it was hardly convincing for Elizabeth knew how much Mr. Charles Bingley’s departure from Netherfield with the explicit promise of a prompt return had injured her dearest sister when the promise was broken.
To add insult to her injury, the gentleman’s sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, had written to Jane stating that the gentleman had no plans to return. Elizabeth could not speak for her sister, but for her own part, Miss Bingley’s words were etched in her memory.
“When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days; but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have determined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintances are already there for the winter.
“I wish that I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making one of the crowd—but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings, and that your beaux will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of those of whom we shall deprive you.”
Even if Jane had chosen to accept Miss Bingley’s testimony that Mr. Bingley did not intend to return for the winter, despite his having promised her otherwise, Elizabeth was not so easily persuaded of the gentleman’s indifference. However, as days absent turned into weeks, Elizabeth too had begun to give up hope.
“I have learned that his sisters will not accompany him,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Oh, I shall be most delighted if Mr. Bingley would bring along some of his single gentlemen friends. That would be most fortunate for our other girls.”
“How so, my dear?”
“Why, so they may marry some of them of course!”
Here, Mr. Bennet looked up from his paper—directly at his second eldest. “Perhaps he shall bring his good friend Mr. Darcy with him.”
Elizabeth raised her cup to her lips—mostly to mask her bewilderment. No doubt Papa’s words were meant for me. But why? Does he know something I do not know? Why is Papa looking at me?
“Oh, bother, Mr. Darcy,” his lady exclaimed with energy. “I should hope we never have to lay eyes on that particular gentleman again!”
Elizabeth could not say with certainty that she disagreed with her mother. She could not say she agreed either. The time she was together with the gentleman had left her exceedingly puzzled. Even now, her heart skipped a beat with the mention of his name.
“I am surprised to hear you say such a thing, my dear. The gentleman did single my Lizzy out for a dance at the Netherfield ball, did he not? Is dancing not one of the most highly recommended means for encouraging affection?”
“I have often heard it said that poetry is the food of love,” Mary interjected somewhat tentatively.
“Poetry? Dancing? What difference does it make? Everyone who knows anything knows the tall, proud man fancies himself above all of our company,” cried Mrs. Bennet.
“And lest anyone forgets, he said Lizzy was not handsome enough to tempt him,” young Lydia exclaimed.
Elizabeth shifted a little in her chair, knowing she had no one to blame for this constant reminder of Mr. Darcy’s cruel words other than herself. After all, she had been the only person in Hertfordshire to overhear his remark to his friend Charles Bingley during the Meryton assembly all those weeks ago, and she had been the one to repeat the insulting sentiment to almost anyone who would listen as a means of assuaging her bruised ego.
“No, one must never forget what that haughty man said about our Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet.
As though not content to let the subject end there, her father said, “What say you, my Lizzy? How do you feel about the prospect of Mr. Darcy’s return?”
“So long as Mr. Bingley returns to Hertfordshire, as I always knew he would, he could be accompanied by ten Mr. Darcys, and it would make no difference to me. Jane’s happiness is my only concern.” She looked at her sister, wishing for a glimpse beyond Jane’s angelic smile to determine how she really felt about this intelligence.
Before Elizabeth could fashion her next sentence, her sister Kitty said, “And she is happy. Just look at how radiant she is.”
“As she very well ought to be,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Have I not always said my Jane cannot be so beautiful for nothing? Mark my words, there will be a wedding at Netherfield in under three months.”
As happy as part of Elizabeth was on her eldest sister’s behalf, she could not help being bothered by her mother’s prognostication. Indeed, a significant part of her blamed her mother for Jane’s sufferings of late. The other part of her blamed none other than Mr. Darcy. The former because she had boasted aloud of an impending marriage between Jane and Mr. Bingley during the Netherfield ball, and the latter because he had heard it and, no doubt, in Elizabeth’s busy mind, acted upon it were she to judge by the ensuing disgust that was written all over his face.
Elizabeth suspected that Mr. Darcy had as much a part to play in Mr. Bingley’s absence from his own home at Netherfield Park as did Bingley’s pernicious sister, Miss Bingley. Elizabeth had confided part of this to her sister Jane and gone even further to suggest that Jane must return to town with their London relations, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, after Christmas so that Jane might put herself directly in Mr. Bingley’s path.
As though their thoughts tended along similar lines, Mrs. Bennet said, “It looks like our Jane will have no need to return to town with my brother and sister after all.”
; Kitty asked, “Oh! Can I go in Jane’s stead?” She turned to the youngest. “May both Lydia and I go?”
“La!” Lydia exclaimed. “Why should I wish to go to London when there are officers encamped as far as the eyes can behold within a stone’s throw away?”
How it vexed Elizabeth to hear her younger sister rattle on and on about the officers who were encamped just outside of Meryton. The last thing Lydia needed was the opportunity to make herself, as well as her family, ridiculous. And yet, the young girl relished in that prospect, oftentimes with her own mother’s encouragement.
Alas, it is the business of Mama’s life to find husbands for her daughters.
Mrs. Bennet thought she had done her part at least where the two eldest daughters were concerned. She had all but arranged for Jane to marry Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth to marry a Mr. William Collins—the heir apparent to the Longbourn estate. Now there was a chance for the former failed attempt to be reconciled. But as for the latter, a second chance was never to be, which suited Elizabeth perfectly well, for she had rejected Collins’s proposal of marriage and in no uncertain terms, effectively sending him into the arms of her intimate friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, and likewise rendering herself a lost cause in the eyes of her dear mother. Her mother’s pained vexations were such that Elizabeth would not soon forget:
“Come here, child,” her father had cried as she appeared in his library after being summoned by her distraught mother. “I have sent for you on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true?”