“Those two will be the death of me, I swear. Why me? The girls are so dainty and mild. Then I am cursed with twin hellions. Now I find out that their father was a crazed child before he became the sedate man I married. Why did he not tell me this beforehand?”
“Would it have changed your heart, my Lady Essenton?” Darcy asked with a laugh.
Georgiana flushed prettily. “Unlikely. But I would have been forewarned!”
“Where is your husband anyway?”
She grunted. “Leaving me to flounder while he hides in the music room practicing the piece we wrote for today.” She brightened, squeezing her brother’s arm as they strolled the wide corridor leading to the north wing. “It is very good, William, if I say so myself.”
“I have no doubt it will awe and delight, dearest sister. And the tree is a fabulous idea, despite the overzealous enthusiasm displayed. Your frequent excursions abroad for concerts and study have paid off in numerous ways, this German custom only the latest inspiration.”
“This ‘German custom’ has been practiced by our royal family for years. Queen Victoria has written of her fondness for a decorated tree. You wait, my skeptical brother. Soon everyone in England will have a tree for Christmas. Once the Pemberley tree is decorated with the glass ornaments we obtained while in Lauscha and the German lametta, silver tinsel, in addition to the ornaments the family has made, the ribbons, and candles, you will be as awed as we were while living in Hamburg and Vienna. The Christmas markets, they call them weihnachtsmärktes, are incredible. I have trunks of ornaments at home, but brought a large box of my favorites.”
“You misunderstand me, Georgiana. I am quite delighted at the concept of a tree. I personally chose the Scots pine hewn and now erected in the ballroom. Days spent on horseback scouring the woods, mind you, before we found a gorgeous specimen that may not contend with your German varieties, but is stunning and will decorate nicely.”
“Are we talking about the Christmas tree? It seems to be the prime subject these days, even to the point of wandering dark hallways and injuring body parts.”
Georgiana and Darcy turned at the sound of Fiona’s voice, noting her amused smirk and Alexander’s wince. Lizzy was walking alongside her faintly limping son and by the twitching of her lips it was clear she was privy to the story behind Fiona’s remark.
“Our son may look exactly like you, my love, and we know his temperament is remarkably similar. But apparently he did not inherit your uncanny ability to sneak quietly.”
“Oh? I have never noticed. He is adequately stealthy when we hunt.”
“Very well! Since I know my humiliation will be publicly broadcast, I may as well recount my clumsiness to the entire family all at once and get it over with.”
Fiona nodded and continued to smile brightly. “Indeed it is a perfect Christmas story. My father will love it!” Alexander blanched, immediately remembering what happened minutes after his embarrassing stumble. Fiona merely laughed and lifted to kiss his cheek. “Do not fret. I promise not to mention how I alleviated your pain.”
Her dimpled smile and wink made Alexander groan and redden. The others burst out laughing.
The formal dining room was nearly filled to capacity. Between the recent wedding of Alexander and Fiona, Noella’s eighteenth birthday, and the advent of the Christmas tree to this year’s holiday, nearly every relative and friend of the Darcys had been invited to celebrate this Christmas at Pemberley. Most were housed in the manor, with every bedchamber in use for the first time in memory. Other friends from the neighborhood would be arriving after church for the tree decorating and luncheon birthday extravaganza. Due to the multitude of people anticipated and the size of the tree selected by the Pemberley groundsmen and Master, the massive ballroom had been converted into a comprehensive parlor, music room, and gift repository.
Breakfast was an organized affair, unlike the usual free flowing manner, with food kept at the sidebar. Place settings were assigned and courses served in a regimented schedule. Of course, this controlled timetable in no way meant that calm and serenity reigned.
The Master and Mistress of Pemberley entered the room arm-in-arm, taking in the gay atmosphere with happy smiles. But before either could speak, the birthday girl’s voice interrupted their thoughts and cut through the lively air.
“As far as I am concerned, Hugh Pomeroy can fall off a cliff. Good riddance, I say. He better not say a word to me or I will give him a piece of my mind!”
They turned to see their eldest daughter flouncing angrily toward them, her face a thundercloud. She was talking to Jane and Mary, both women trying hard not to laugh.
The object of Noella’s harsh dismissal stood several paces inside the door talking to Michael. He glanced up at the irate declaration, but instead of looking worried he grinned and started chuckling. Michael grabbed his arm and forcefully propelled him across the room to a curtained alcove.
“All right, what did you do to my sister now?” He looked at his friend with murder in his eyes. “I saw you two sneaking away last night but trusted your honor, Hugh Pomeroy. I can and will beat you to a bloody pulp if you hurt my sister.”
Hugh pointedly stared at the colorful bruise encircling Michael’s swollen right eye. “That I am well aware of, my friend. Your beating me, I mean. Your success in the boxing ring leaves me no doubt of that. But quit glowering at me, will you? I think it is rather what I didn’t do that has her up in arms.” And then he began to laugh. He snuck a peek through the drapes to see a visibly furious Noella ranting on to Audrey and several of her female cousins. “Oh, this is too rich!”
“What in blazes are you talking about?”
Hugh opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the abrupt parting of the curtains. “Are you two hiding in here?”
“Go away, little boy. This is a man’s conversation.”
Nathaniel merely rolled his eyes at his brother, ignoring the severe glare, and stepped into the alcove. “You might want to stay out of sight for a while, cousin. Unless you enjoy tongue-lashings. Noella may well sear the skin off your bones this time. What did you do anyway?”
Hugh shrugged. “Miss Darcy may have been informed by a reliable source that she was to be proposed to last night.”
“She did?”
“And you didn’t?”
“Yes,” he nodded to Nathaniel, “and no I did not,” he directed to Michael, who whistled and shook his head.
“Who told her that?”
Hugh flushed slightly but flashed a cocky grin. “I might have mentioned my intent to Hannah and Audrey, and Deborah and Margaret, who probably shared the secret information with Noella. Just speculating.”
“And then you didn’t propose? Are you insane? If you want to die an early death, let me do it. It will probably be less painful.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Relax, I have a plan.”
“Napoleon had a plan too. Look how well that turned out.”
“I am confused,” Nathaniel frowned. “Have you spoken to Father yet? I mean, we all know Noella’s been after you for ages, and frankly I think you’re a loon to marry her, but are you or not?”
Hugh stared at Nathaniel, weighing carefully before speaking. “Listen, Nat. This is serious, so you must remain silent. Your sister’s happiness depends on it.” Suddenly sober and exhibiting maturity beyond his ten years, Nathaniel nodded. Michael looked as solemn as his younger brother. “Here it is. I spoke with Uncle William and my father months ago, before Noella’s debut in Town, as a matter of fact. Your father was firm on waiting until after Noella experienced one Season.” He grimaced, the momentary flash of pain as the confident cast fell from his face more telling than his words. “Blast, that was awful. Her dancing at Almack’s, flirting with those blighters, watching them fawn over her. I wanted to wring their scrawny, lily-white necks!” He clenched his fists, then coughed and gathered his wits, finally shrugging again and relaxing, although his voice remained strain
ed. “He wanted me to wait until she was eighteen. I didn’t want to hear it, but he was correct. Plus, it gave me time to prepare and establish myself. Father has helped with that, so by the time we marry I will have a proper home for her.”
“So…” Michael scratched his temple, “Does that mean you are going to propose today then? Last night was a diversion?”
“Nope!” And the arrogant grin was back. “At the Cole’s Twelfth Night Masque!”
Both Nathaniel and Michael stared, more confused than ever. Hugh threw back his head and laughed. Then he clapped them on the shoulder. “Just wait and see. I have it all planned, with the help of Aunt Elizabeth and my mother. What is grander than a spectacular proposal at the preeminent ball of the holiday with all of Derbyshire’s elite witnessing? It shall be epic. Miss Darcy will be the shining star, envied and honored, stealing the limelight from everyone, the crowning glory of the evening. And I will be the luckiest man in England when she says yes.”
“If she doesn’t kill you between now and then. I think it may be the longest twelve days of your life, my friend.”
Hugh’s dreamy expression and broad smile were assured and slightly lewd. “Trust me. I know how to handle Noella Darcy. I am probably the only man on earth who can. By the time we return from church, she will have forgiven me and will be expressing her adoration fervently.”
Nathaniel muttered something about that being disgusting while Michael renewed his threat to pummel Hugh black-and-blue if he touched his sister. Hugh merely laughed as he bravely exited the sheltered alcove.
Noella’s glare may well have burned Hugh’s skin with its intensity—her choler not aided by the gleaming smile he flashed in her direction—but the nonverbal exchange was quickly interrupted by the appearance of Audrey. The dainty girl was dwarfed between the towering Dr. Darcy and his burly apprentice, Dr. Vaughan, yet all eyes instantly fixed upon her face. Tranquility radiated from her core, a glamour of peace and innocence that none could resist when she was near, or even in the same room. Her ethereal beauty was breathtaking and wholly untarnished by the slight sag to her left eye and mouth. She was mesmerizing, in a multitude of ways, and none escaped the spell she cast.
“Michael, we have a poultice of arnica, comfrey, and parsley for you to place onto your eye. It will reduce the swelling and diminish the bruising.”
“Audrey prepared it herself,” Dr. Darcy interjected, the aged but spry physician gazing at his niece with overwhelming pride. “Excellent work by the best assistant I have ever had. No offense, Dr. Vaughan.”
“None taken, sir. And I agree with your assessment. Miss Darcy’s apothecary skills and knowledge of herbals exceed any I have seen, even those at college.”
Audrey pinked under the praise and penetrating look from the young doctor. But her voice was firm and clinical as she instructed her brother. “You must apply this as a compress as often as possible. If you keep it fresh and in place, your eye will be almost normal by evening.”
“Why would I want to do that? I won the fight fair and square, and wear my only wound with honor. Received a purse of twenty sovereigns for the win and plenty from private betting.” He winked at his uncle, “I told you not to bet against me, Uncle George.”
George winced, glancing nervously at Audrey, who smiled sweetly at her uncle. “Fear not, Uncle George. I won’t tell Mama or Papa. But Michael, your wound distresses Mama and we cannot allow that.”
Her tone remained dulcet and nonjudgmental, but Michael cringed, glancing guiltily toward his mother. “Oh, very well,” he grumbled, “give it here. Probably smells foul and stings to boot.” He yanked the bowl out of her tiny hands and slapped the wet cloth against his left eye. “Making a mountain out of a molehill if you ask me. It’s just a stupid bruise. I hardly feel it. Now I look the fool and everyone will be laughing.”
“No one will laugh, and if they do, you have my permission to punch them. I have plenty more where this came from, after all.” She patted his cheek, her angelic face sunny. Then she turned to Hugh, her countenance and voice compassionate, “Cousin, I will arrange a place for you next to Noella in church so you can atone for your mischievousness. Try not to frustrate her beyond measure. She truly does love you deeply.”
Hugh hung his head, shame drenching him as he stole a glance Noella’s direction. She looked up as if sensing his regard. Her flinty eyes engaged his repentant ones for a moment, flickered to Audrey, and then back to Hugh. Even from across the room he could see their chocolate depths melting, the sparkle brightening their darkness to warm umber. He sighed, lost and lovesick as he had been for two years now.
“Nathaniel, Grandmama has apparently forgotten that Thomas is no longer three. Help me rescue him before he dies of embarrassment?” And then she glided away, her elfin form supported by a polished wood crutch that in no way diminished her grace. Dr. Vaughan sighed, for one unguarded moment his mien showing the rawness of his affection before settling into a mask of neutrality.
The modest chapel in the village burst at the seams with the number of Pemberley guests attending this year. The dusting of snow from five days ago was largely melted and the weather fair enough to permit most of the visitors to walk, a fact the estate’s groomsmen and coachmen were fervently thankful for. Of course the number of conveyances driving into the spacious avenue after the service were considerable, but as always the efficient Pemberley staff rose to the challenge.
Sofas, chairs, chaises, and settees were scavenged from every room to accommodate the army flooding into the mammoth ballroom. A cluster of thickly cushioned couches arranged for optimal tree viewing was reserved for the oldest guests, Lady Catherine choosing the middle armchair and imperiously draping her voluminous skirts as a queen. That she was then flanked by the loquacious Mrs. Bennet and outspoken Mrs. Gardiner—both now widows—on one side and the ornery George Darcy on the other added amusement to an already entertaining afternoon.
For once the children were not in a frenzy to open their presents. Rather, the exuberance was centered on the tree. Footmen hauled dozens of boxes and trays into the room, setting the precious ornaments onto waiting tables. The women took charge, doling out the decorations to the children in an age appropriate manner and assisting in the hanging. The men supported the ladders needed to reach the higher branches and assumed the responsibility of wisely placing the tiny candles that would be lit that evening. It was a production to be sure, but one filled with merriment. Background music was provided by those talented with instruments and singing. Snacks and drinks were replenished steadily, and gradually the tagged gifts were distributed and opened. Surprisingly there were no mishaps beyond a few broken cookie ornaments.
The only interruption to the flow was the delivery of an enormous painting. The family gathered close and everything halted when Darcy opened the crating and the masterpiece was unveiled.
The nearly five-foot square canvas, painted in brilliant colors, showed the front façade of Pemberley with Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth standing regally on the topmost step of the columned portico. They were turned slightly sideways with Elizabeth in front of her husband in a semi-embrace. Alexander, equally noble and the image of his sire except for his coiled brown curls, was positioned one step below with Fiona by his side, her flaming red hair tumbling over one shoulder. Michael, dark and brawny, stood with one arm flung over raven-haired Noella’s shoulders, their devilish grins identical. The younger Darcy siblings were spaced evenly in between.
The painter had resided all summer at Pemberley, dwelling with the Darcys in order to properly capture their personalities on canvas. The result was amazingly accurate and awe-inspiring.
Lizzy slipped away from the boisterous crowd some minutes after Darcy excused himself to ensure the painting’s safe delivery to his office. She quietly opened the door to discover him gazing at the framed canvas propped on a sofa. He did not turn from his serene contemplation of their family, but she knew he was aware of her entry—they always sensed the presence of
the other—and sidled up to him, arms naturally embracing.
“I plan to hang it there,” he nodded toward the wall above the settee. “As much as I love Gainsborough’s landscape, I would prefer to have you and our children watching over me as I work. Someday it can join the others in the Portrait Gallery, but not yet.”
“I concur. We look wonderful here. It is an amazing portrait, arriving at a perfect time.”
“How true. It induced me to reflect on Christmases past. All of them have been wonderful since you came into my life.” He looked at her then, blue eyes tender and inundated with love.
“All of them?” she repeated, memories flashing through her mind and her tone only partially teasing, but her eyes were full of the same deep love when they locked with his.
“Even those Christmases that were sad or difficult were special, my heart. My life is complete since we married and I would change nothing. This Christmas is the most recent in a very long line of incredible memories.”
“It is not over yet!” She reminded him, both of them laughing as they returned their gazes to the painting.
Silently, in sweet harmony, they admired the canvas testimonial to what they, through God’s grace, had achieved in the long years of their marriage. They studied the painted images, each beloved beyond measure. The portraitist had easily identified the individual characteristics, capturing them brilliantly. Especially manifest was the love, unswerving commitment, and supreme happiness verily shining from their faces as proud parents to the next generation of Darcys.
She broke the quiet contemplation, tugging gently on his waist. “Come, love. Our family awaits and I have a special present for you.”
“I thought we were finished exchanging gifts this year.”
“It is something special I have held in reserve.”
“Secrets?”
“Of course! It is Christmas after all!”
A Darcy Christmas Page 22