by P. O. Dixon
Elizabeth smiled. It would seem the gentleman is not so taciturn as he would have others believe. It being her turn to speak, she replied, “As much as I am hesitant to suspend such a stimulating pleasure as you are suggesting, Mr. Darcy, I am utterly inclined to agree. A ballroom setting, such as this, affords so many diversions to entertain.”
Smiling, Darcy said, “I am your humble servant, Miss Elizabeth.”
Flattering words uttered from his lips were one thing—something readily discounted with the passage of time and waning recollection.
But his look—his smile.
Whatever had been the gentlemen’s feelings before, one thing was now clear: Mr. Darcy was most definitely not looking at her to find fault.
Elizabeth knew at once that she was in grave danger of actually liking Mr. Darcy. What was more, the night was still young. Their second set was just getting started.
I dare not even think about what tomorrow might bring.
The two of them went down the other dance in much the same fashion as the first. Each revealing a bit more of their individual characters to the other than either had ever allowed before. At length, the dance was over, compelling them, however reluctantly, to part with the awareness of each side that to do otherwise might give rise to speculation neither of them desired.
Both turned in the usual way and quit the dance floor, thinking rather than knowing that something had changed.
After a moment or two, Elizabeth looked back and saw with great pleasure that the handsome, and yes, agreeable, gentleman was looking back at her too, even as he drifted deeper and deeper into the crowd.
I see you, Mr. Darcy. For the first time in our acquaintance, I see you.
Chapter 16
“Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Bennet, standing by a window and sneaking a quick look outside the next morning. “That disagreeable Mr. Darcy is coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion, but he would go shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him?”
The agitated lady threw a frantic glance around the room at her daughters. Her panicky eyes landed on her second eldest. “Lizzy,” she exclaimed with energy, “you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley’s way.”
Elizabeth felt not the least bit inconvenienced by her mother’s scheme; yet she was really vexed that her mother should be always be disparaging a man of Mr. Darcy’s character so brutally.
As soon as they entered the parlor, Bingley’s manner bore a measure of confidence none of them had seen since his return to Hertfordshire. Right before their eyes, it seemed, he was coming into his own. “Mrs. Bennet, pray what I am about to say does not come across as untoward, for it is my fondest wish to go for a walk with Miss Bennet this morning.”
“Why, by all means. I recommend the two of you to walk to Oakham Mount. It is a nice long walk. No doubt, you have yet to see the view,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Lizzy and Kitty will be happy to accompany you for Mr. Darcy’s sake.”
“It may do very well for the others,” replied Mr. Bingley, “but I am sure such a walk will be too much for Miss Kitty. Will it not, Miss Kitty?”
Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently consented.
As she went upstairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her. “I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that disagreeable man all to yourself,” she began, “but I hope you will not mind it. It is all for Jane’s sake, you know. There is no occasion for talking to him, except just now and then. Whatever you do, do not put yourself to any inconvenience.”
* * *
Darcy should have known better than to confide in his friend about spending time with Miss Elizabeth the evening before and how agreeable their time together had been; however, disguise of any sort was his abhorrence, and thus it was the only way to explain his long absence from the rest of the party.
On the other hand, had he not confided in his friend, then Bingley would not have taken it upon himself to play matchmaker. And Darcy would not have found himself walking alongside the beguiling young woman who had occupied the better part of his dream.
When the four of them set out, Bingley and Jane lagged behind, allowing Darcy and Elizabeth to outstrip them. This was just as well, so far as the latter two were concerned. For Elizabeth’s part, she dearly wished this time alone for her sister and her lover might prove fruitful in keeping with her mother’s desires as well as Jane’s.
For Darcy’s part, anytime alone with Elizabeth was time well-spent. Emboldened by his dream, coupled with the time alone with her the evening before, he resolved never to squander another moment in her presence masking his admiration.
Determined to execute his resolution, Darcy made some comment on a topic that he thought surely would liven his walking companion’s uncharacteristically somber spirits.
“What books have you read of late, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Books, sir?”
“I know how dearly you love to read—at least, I was given to think so from observing your doing so while we were all at Netherfield.”
“I do love to read, Mr. Darcy. It is just that I find it rather uncanny that you should be asking me about books.”
“Uncanny? Do you care to elaborate?”
“I do not think I should for fear that you might consider it rather inappropriate.”
“Perhaps you will allow me to be the judge of that. Pray, why do you find it uncanny that I should ask you about books?”
“Well, sir, it is just that you and I have spoken of books before.”
“Ah, you mean at the Netherfield ball last month, when we danced.”
“Actually, at the Netherfield ball … last night, during my dream.”
“You dream of me, Miss Elizabeth—of the two of us?”
“I did, indeed,” Elizabeth boldly owned. “Now hate me if you dare.”
“Hate you? I do not dare, for that would render me a hypocrite.”
“Sir?”
“Would you believe me if I told you that I dreamed of you as well? Of the two of us at the Netherfield ball?”
Elizabeth gasped.
“It is true. I will share my dream with you if you will share yours with me.”
Elizabeth demurred. “I—I would rather not, sir.”
“Then we shall both have our secrets,” Darcy said. “I suppose that explains why you seem rather pensive this morning, Miss Elizabeth. I was concerned you were inconvenienced by my presence, especially after having passed so much of the past evening with me.”
“No, sir,” she replied, “I am not the least bit inconvenienced. However, I do feel as though I ought to be apologizing to you for my mother’s not-so-subtle attempt to play matchmaker between my sister and your friend.”
“No apology is needed, trust me. Indeed, Bingley is precisely where he wants to be.”
“Then, you do not object?”
“Object to my friend finding himself hopelessly in love? No, I do not object. It has been a long time since I have seen him so contented.”
“I might say the same for my sister. The time away from your friend cast such a pall on Jane’s spirits. I know there are those who would say that the feelings the two of them suffer for each other were a short duration in the making, but I am a firm believer that love does not adhere to some superficial timeline. The heart wants what it wants when it wants it, and there is very little to be done about it by mere mortals.”
“Love at first sight is certainly within the realm of possibilities of mere mortal sentimentalities, I suppose.”
“As well as the opposing sentiment,” said Elizabeth, her spirits rising to playfulness.
“Are you suggesting hate at first sight as a viable sentiment, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Hate is a powerful word, and one which I would rather avoid attaching to
anyone when I can help it. However, if I am to be honest, I must confess I was strongly prejudiced against you from almost the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed.”
“Might I hope that your feelings have since changed?”
“I would say my sentiments have undergone quite material a change, sir.”
“Perhaps you might tell me the basis of your initial prejudice, for whatever was the cause, I should hate to commit a similar offense.”
She eyed him directly. “Do the words ‘fairly tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me’ mean anything to you?”
Darcy colored. “I am sorry you had to hear that, Miss Elizabeth. Would that I could take it all back.”
“Ah, take it all back. Is that not the sort of thing that dreams are made of, sir?”
“Indeed,” replied Mr. Darcy with a knowing smile. “If it means anything, I must confess that it was not long after the evening at the Meryton assembly that I began to consider you as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”
A companionable silence fell over them for a moment or two. Looking deeply into each other’s eyes, at length, they spoke each other’s names simultaneously. Feeling certain that he suffered the greater share of embarrassment, Darcy said, “Pardon me.”
“No, I insist you be allowed to speak first.”
“I leave for Town this afternoon.”
Her disappointment, she did not try to suppress. “So soon?”
Darcy nodded. “I must. I have business affairs to attend.”
“I see.”
“Have you any imminent plans to travel, Miss Elizabeth? To London, perhaps?”
“My sister Jane had planned to return to town with my uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, at the end of the week.”
“Is there any chance of your joining them as well?”
She looked at him questioningly. She said nothing, which encouraged him to say more.
“My own uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Matlock, will host their annual Twelfth Night ball. I would love it if you will come.”
“Are you inviting me to attend your relations’ ball, Mr. Darcy?”
“I am.”
“As your guest?”
“As my guest, and yes, I am well aware of all that such an arrangement entails.”
“I—I do not know quite what to say.”
“Say yes.”
Before she could fashion a response, the sparkle in her amazing dark eyes and the pleasing turn of her lovely countenance told him all he needed to know. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. He bestowed a lingering kiss first on her knuckles, and at length on the inside of her palm. Looking up, their eyes met.
“To the promise of Twelfth Night,” he whispered. “And everything which the new year will bring.”
Elizabeth’s sentimentalities were all aflutter. As suddenly as that, her future shone brighter than the late-night star which lulled her to sleep the night before. The feelings she suffered, she had experienced the night before—during her dream. This was no dream.
To the promise of Twelfth Night, indeed, she silently considered, her hand in his, relishing in the magic of his touch.
Smiling, Elizabeth could not help wishing for many more Christmas tides such as this and delighting in the hope that her spirits may forever abound in all the gaieties which that season brings.
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What a blessed time of year this is—my first Christmas at Pemberley. Such were Elizabeth’s thoughts as she took in the fresh air. How wonderful it felt to have all her family there. Even Lydia’s presence warmed her heart. Missing were her aunt and uncle Phillips from Meryton and her aunt and uncle Gardiner and their adorable children. The former two, she had meant to exclude for the sake of her husband’s sensibilities. He had done his best to suffer Mrs. Phillips’ company during the days leading up to the wedding. How Elizabeth had looked forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from her aunt’s society, which was so little pleasing to Mr. Darcy or her.
As for the Gardiners and her young cousins, she picked out the brightest star in the night’s sky and made a wish that they would all be together next year.
Adding to her pleasure was her Aunt Lady Vanessa’s presence at Pemberley, in spite of the turmoil her ladyship had inadvertently added to their holiday party. Elizabeth knew and understood that her aunt’s heart was in the right place. In the end, that was what truly mattered.
Elizabeth searched the sky for yet another star—that one perfect shining light that would make even her most improbable wish come true. Alas, it was not to be, for if she could have but one wish it would be to share that magical moment with Jane.
Darcy found Elizabeth standing outside. He too took a moment to admire the wintry landscape with the snow glistening under the night’s shining stars. He knew without asking what she was thinking about—he recognised that look. She was thinking of her sister Jane.
Standing behind her, he laced his arms around her waist. She leaned into his loving embrace and rested her head against his broad chest. For the longest time, they stood there in silent wonder. Mindful of the cold air, he swept her up in his arms and carried her inside, where he commenced cradling her before the blazing fire.
Elizabeth said, “You must think me rather silly. Here I am surrounded by family and friends, and I feel sad and lonely.”
“Not at all, my love.”
“I feel this way every year at Christmas since losing my sister. I rather thought this year would be different, but now I am beginning to consider that I shall always feel this way at this time of year.”
How it pleased her to be able to speak so openly on the subject of her sister. Prior to meeting him, expressing her thoughts in her journal had provided the means for her coming to terms with her sister’s passing. Elizabeth sometimes felt that Jane’s passing did not weigh as heavily upon the rest of the family. She told Darcy as much.
“I know I am not being fair, for not everyone grieves the same. I am sure my papa, my mama and my sisters are all bearing their grief as well, only in different ways.”
Then again, it was Elizabeth who had refused to leave Jane’s side as she waged her losing battle against what had started as a trifling cold, as her mother lamented. It was Elizabeth who held her sister in her arms as she struggled to take her last breath and ultimately gave up the fight.
Elizabeth closed her eyes to ward off her tears. She nestled closer to her husband. Meeting and falling in love with Mr. Darcy had been such a balm to her aching heart. Here was a man who understood her pain and was always there reassuring and comforting her to this day. She prayed it would always be that way.
Darcy said, “Indeed, everyone does grieve in his or her own way. As for you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, you likely will suffer bouts of melancholy from time to time. That is not a bad thing. It goes to show you carry your sister in your heart forever. She will always be part of you.”
Between his family and hers there existed so many shades of imperfection perfectly suitable to discord, yet when it was just the two of them like this nothing else mattered. Between Darcy and Elizabeth harmonious accord abounded. He prayed it would always be that way.
Darcy reached for one of the two glasses of rich burgundy wine that he had poured before joining his wife outside earlier and handed it to Elizabeth. At length, he took a sip of his own wine. Endeavouring to distract his wife from her sadness, he began speaking of matters that would surely lighten her spirits, for it always pleased her to laugh at the ridiculousness of others when she was certain it wou
ld not give offense. What better place than the sanctuary of their own rooms where no one would be privy to anything that was said?
Indeed, her habit had proved quite contagious and served Mr. Darcy well too. Between her sycophant cousin Mr. Collins and Darcy’s aunt Lady Catherine’s outrage over Pemberley’s polluted shades, there was ample fodder to carry the couple for several hours until both were too exhausted for further talk, and they sought the solace of being in each other’s arms in bed.
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Parting Thoughts
Dearest Reader,
I truly hope you enjoyed Which that Season Brings. I really enjoyed writing the story. I love the excitement of writing a new Darcy and Elizabeth story with a heartwarming happily ever after ending.
I'd like to request a favor. If you enjoyed reading Which that Season Brings, please don’t keep it a secret. If you’re favorably inclined, I would very much appreciate a review. Reviews can be hard to come by and yet they mean everything in terms of making or breaking a book’s discoverability.
Thank you so much for reading Which that Season Brings. I'm delighted you chose to spend your time with me.
In sincerest gratitude,
P. O. Dixon
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