by Pamela Aidan
“Ahem.” The sound of Richard pointedly clearing his throat brought Darcy back within the confines of time. “I believe her name is Georgiana Darcy. May I introduce you?”
“What?” Laughing, Georgiana looked up into her cousin’s face and then her brother’s.
“Your brother seems much struck with something,” drawled Fitzwilliam. “If it were I, I would say it is with that very fetching bonnet. But knowing Darcy, he was likely pondering some great question, and you, my dear, were merely in the way of his gaze.” Darcy rewarded his cousin with a brief, freezing glance from beneath lowered brows before stepping into the aisle.
“Oho! A weighty question it must be indeed!” Fitzwilliam persisted. “Now what could it be?”
“Richard, desist!” Darcy commanded him in an undertone.
“Not a question, I think! No, that thunderous frown bespeaks something more warm than philosophy.”
“Philosophy!” D’Arcy exclaimed, joining them in the aisle. “Did I just hear Richard say the words think and philosophy almost in the same breath? Darcy, you must call for the Bishop, for surely a miracle has occurred within these walls. Praise Heaven, my brother has thought!”
“A talent of mine, Alex,” Fitzwilliam retorted. “Surprised you didn’t know, but I am confident Lady Felicia will keep you better informed.” D’Arcy immediately stiffened at the sally, his eyes darting between Darcy and his brother, his jaw locked in an alarming manner.
“Go to the Devil!” D’Arcy hissed at him, and turning sharply from his relatives, he strode down the aisle and out of the church, ignoring the many gestures of respect that those gathered offered him.
Incensed, Darcy turned then upon his remaining cousin and addressed him in a frigid tone. “I will thank you to keep your quarreling private, Richard, and not display it for all the world to see or my sister to overhear.”
Bridling at Darcy’s tone, Fitzwilliam threw back his shoulders, preparing to meet the surprise attack to his flank by heretofore friendly forces, when Georgiana’s large, troubled eyes met his own. “Your pardon, Georgiana.” He flushed guiltily. “I forgot myself — under great provocation I might add.” He glanced at Darcy. Turning back to Georgiana, he added, “But I should not have succumbed so easily to Alex’s goading. I beg your forgiveness, Cousin.”
“You are forgiven freely, Cousin,” Georgiana returned softly, “but I fear Cousin Alex is very distressed, and perhaps it is he whose forgiveness you would do better to seek.”
A gentle smile replaced the scowl on Fitzwilliam’s face, and taking her hand lightly, he bestowed a kiss on her gloved fingertips, confessing, “You are perfectly right, my dear girl, and I will do as you bid. Darcy, you will excuse me, I trust.” He bowed to his cousin and turned his step down the swath his brother had cut to the door.
Brother and sister looked after him a moment and then turned to each other, Darcy offering his arm. Georgiana took it gratefully, and together they strolled to the ancient church doors. “I am astonished at the behavior of our cousins and cannot think how they could so grievously forget themselves in your presence, Georgiana. But I must say, you handled it wonderfully!” Darcy almost laughed. “I have rarely seen Richard brought to contrition in such a short span of time. That was the true miracle!”
“Miracle?” Georgiana dimpled at his praise. “I thank you for the compliment, but whether within these holy walls or without, I cannot take the credit with any degree of complacency.”
“It does you honor that you say so,” Darcy replied quietly. They had left the church and now reached their carriage. Darcy handed her in and climbed in after her. After seeing to his sister’s comfort and giving the coachman the signal to be off, he settled back into the squabs. The carriage pulled forward slowly as James maneuvered the team down Church Hill and through the narrow streets of Lambton. In moments they were crossing the ancient stone bridge over the Ere and tooling along for the gates of Pemberley.
Although Georgiana’s face was turned to the carriage window, Darcy could see the set of her delicate jaw beneath the brim of her bonnet. He watched silently as she worked her way through whatever was disturbing her. Now and then he caught small sighs that he was not meant to hear but that sorely tested his resolve to hold his peace until she should speak.
Finally, she turned back to him, her manner hesitant. “Fitzwilliam, do you recall the words of the collect this morning?”
“Which ones, sweetling?” He regarded her earnestly.
“The prayer for the grace and mercy of our Lord in the course He has given us to run.” Her voice quavered a little, and Darcy could see she was greatly affected.
“Yes, I remember,” he answered simply.
“When you said I had caused Cousin Richard’s contrition, it was not of my doing. It was that — mercy, I mean. The mercy of forgiveness, freely received as it is freely given, was, I am certain, the motivation for his contrition.” She trembled so by the finish of her speech that Darcy removed his carriage robe and added it to hers.
He took her hands then, chafing them between his own. “But, Georgiana, mercy has its own power. It is above the ‘sceptered sway,’ if we are to believe the Bard, and of more effect than a ‘throned monarch.’ It is —”
“— ‘Twice blest,’” Georgiana quoted back to him. “‘It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.’ Fitzwilliam, I only gave to Richard what I have received, and even in that, I am as blessed as he.”
Darcy breathed out a heavy sigh and tucked her hands under the carriage robe much as he had done since she was quite a little girl. “I have a question, now, for you. The passage this morning that went, ‘And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding…’ Is that what you have been trying to tell me? That your recovery from…from everything is because…” He could go no further, for he did not have the words.
“Because of the mercy of God?” she supplied for him in tender tones. “Yes, my dear brother, exactly that.” The carriage slowed for the turn in to the lane that led to the gates, but the lessening of the noise of travel did not encourage the two within to further discourse. Instead, each regarded the other in a thoughtful silence that neither had the ability to break.
By the time they had gathered in the hall and Darcy had begged his aunt and uncle to be seated at table for the glorious repast his cook was so proud to offer Pemberley’s guests, it was clear that a repair in the breach between the Earl’s male issue had been effected. The conversation between them and the looks they exchanged bespoke a tolerance each of the other that caught the attention of all of those seated around the table and caused the eyebrow of their good father to hitch ever higher as the meal progressed.
“Darcy, please have the footman bring me a glass of soda and water, for I fear this surfeit of civility will put me quite out of digestion,” His Lordship requested finally, after yet another polite exchange between the brothers.
“Pater!” exclaimed Fitzwilliam. “I should think your digestion would be improved, now that Alex and I have cried ‘truce.’”
“Truce, is it?” His Lordship looked round the table to determine if anyone present believed his younger son’s explanation of this new accord. “D’Arcy, what do you say?”
“It is as Richard says, Your Lordship,” D’Arcy answered readily, taking a sip of wine. “At least for the present.” He set down his glass with a fine precision, a smirk playing upon his lips.
“Then may the present stretch into eternity” — Lady Matlock sighed — “for I have prayed for just such a thing. I sign my name as witness to your truce, Alex.” She regarded him piercingly and then, in a moment, transferred her gaze. “Richard, do you both uphold your terms at least until Epiphany, and I shall have my Christmas present!”
Both of her sons had the grace to flush, but it was Fitzwilliam who rose and took his mother’s hand into his own saying, “It shall be as you wish, Mater. The gentlemen of our family God will rest merry in honor of the season and of you.”
From
under lowered lids, Darcy’s glance flitted to his sister for her reaction to the unprecedented scene playing out before them. Unshed tears brightening her eyes, she watched Richard bow over his mother’s hand and bestow a loving kiss upon it. When Alex joined the duo from the other side and leaned down to kiss the lady’s cheek, Georgiana’s eyes closed. Darcy watched as she mouthed silently what he took to be a small prayer of thanks, and the tear that had hovered on the brink of her lashes broke free to trace its solitary way down her cheek. He looked away before she might catch him at his observation.
The meal progressed in such merriment after, that the gentlemen eschewed their brandy and tobacco in favor of the ladies and the entertainment that had been promised. Georgiana rose and went to her aunt, who still much affected by the rapprochement of her sons, took her arm in such a gay manner that the younger lady let fall some of her hard-gained years and executed a skipping step as she led her aunt down the hall.
Darcy watched in some amusement and no little relief his sister’s reversion to girlhood as she and their aunt proceeded to the music room. But rather than follow them or D’Arcy out of the room, he elected to await the pleasure of his uncle. Turning then to inquire of His Lordship’s readiness, he found the peer and his younger son in earnest dialogue, their hands joined in a firm clasp. Quietly leaving the room, Darcy awaited them in the hall, a knot of longing tying up his vitals and leaving him gulping for air. It was still no good. The ache of his father’s loss, five years gone, still would catch him and deliver him such a blow that tears would follow if he did not take himself immediately and forcefully in hand.
Straightening his shoulders, Darcy started for the music room. Returning to Pemberley’s rich Christmas traditions had been both balm and woe to his equanimity. The few times he was not reminded in some way of his past sorrows and his present responsibilities were when the joy of the season caught him up or when he allowed himself to drift into the more immediate past of his disturbing verbal engagements with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had relived the moments of their dance at the Netherfield ball dozens of times, pressing himself to recall her every word and nuance of manner. Of course, the feel of her hand clasped within his and the sweetness of her lithesome form passing back and forth around him in the patterns of the dance were not forgotten either. Nor was the inexplicable sensation of intimacy caused by a shared prayer book and voices joined in psalms.
These pleasurable and disturbing memories he had found insufficient. It was true, as his sister had surmised, that he had taken to imagining Elizabeth at his side here. Would she enjoy his uncle and aunt? The gardens and park of Pemberley were universally admired, but would Elizabeth find them pleasing? He had even found himself in minute examination of a piece of silverware, wondering if she would find its heavy ornamentation to her taste. And what would she think about this incomprehensible development in his sister? He was sore in need of another’s comfort, he admitted finally, as his fancy brought Elizabeth again beside him, her hand resting upon his arm. He looked down and saw her, her brow cocked at him, a teasing smile upon her lips. Yes, she could cozen him out of this heaviness of spirit. Where would he ever find her like again?
The sounds of feminine laughter and a masculine chuckle broke through his thoughts, and bidding fancy away for the moment, Darcy rounded the corner of the door and joined his relatives. D’Arcy was whispering something in Georgiana’s ear that sent her into renewed giggles, while Lady Matlock looked on in approbation.
“No! You cannot be telling the absolute truth, Alex!”
“Ask my father if you doubt me, Cousin,” D’Arcy replied with a knowing smile, “for your brother will never admit to it.”
“Admit to what, Alex?” Darcy poured himself a glass of wine.
“To running off one Christmas Eve to join the Derbyshire Mummers just before their performance in Lambton.” Darcy winced. “You were ten, I believe, and we were all at St. Lawrence’s for the service when you turned up missing.”
“Brother, it cannot be true!” Georgiana looked at him in wonder.
Darcy nodded slowly as the wine gently awoke his palate. “It is true, but I was only ten; and you may believe that our father impressed upon me the indecorum of such an adventure.”
“But our uncle…?”
“Oh, your father was forced to call upon mine to help extricate your brother from an altercation with some of the younger mummers in which he was rather outnumbered,” D’Arcy supplied happily.
“Alex!” Darcy frowned at his cousin. “This is hardly fit conversation…”
“But it is very interesting!” came Fitzwilliam’s voice from the doorway. “I remember the occasion quite well and cheering you on from the carriage window. Oh, it was a lovely brawl, sir, a lovely brawl!” He raised his glass to Darcy, D’Arcy and His Lordship following suit. “Never let it be said you were not pluck to the bone, Fitz! One against three, wasn’t it?”
Darcy inclined his head. “It was four — and I admit it only for the sake of accuracy.” He turned to Georgiana. “It was an exceedingly foolish thing to do, and I was proud of it only for a very few minutes before Father caused me to see reason.”
“Caused his backside to see reason!” crowed Fitzwilliam. “I distinctly remember you standing for Christmas dinner that year and being devoutly thankful I wasn’t you.”
“Shall we have some music?” Darcy took the opportunity of the lull in the conversation occasioned by all the young men present remembering similar exchanges with their own fathers to change the subject. For the next half hour Darcy and his sister delighted their relatives with the duets they had prepared. Lady Matlock then arranged herself behind the grand harp and played upon the harp strings as well as the heartstrings of her dear relations as she rendered compositions that reminded them of Christmases past and loved ones no longer with them.
When she was done, Fitzwilliam led her from the instrument to her seat and then turned to the rest of his family. “I do not claim any musical talent, nor to have practiced in preparation, but here it is…and join in if you remember the words.” He sat down at the pianoforte and struck a chord.
All hail to the days that merit more praise
Than all the rest of the year,
And welcome the nights that double delights
As well for the poor as the peer!
Good fortune attend each merry man’s friend
That doth but the best that he may,
Forgetting old wrongs with carols and songs
To drive the cold winter away.
Smiles all around attended Fitzwilliam’s contribution to the evening, and his brother, father, and cousin were drawn into it, joining him at the instrument.
‘Tis ill for a mind to anger inclined
To think of small injuries now,
If wrath be to seek, do not lend her your cheek
Nor let her inhabit thy brow.
Cross out of thy books malevolent looks,
Both beauty and youth’s decay,
And wholly consort with mirth and sport
To drive the cold winter away.
This time of the year is spent in good cheer
And neighbors together do meet,
To sit by the fire, with friendly desire,
Each other in love to greet.
Old grudges forgot are put in the pot,
All sorrows aside they lay;
The old and the young doth carol this song,
To drive the cold winter away.
When Christmas’s tide comes in like a bride,
With holly and ivy clad,
Twelve days in the year much mirth and good cheer
In every household is had.
The country guise is then to devise
Some gambols of Christmas play,
Whereat the young men do the best that they can
To drive the cold winter away.
The impromptu quartet bowed profusely to its audience with much laughter and congratulation among its member
s. But as Darcy looked up from another bow, he seemed to see that nuptial figure about whom he had just sung hovering at the music room door, resplendent in her bride clothes. And the lovely face beneath the twining holly and ivy was Elizabeth’s.
Chapter 5
An Honorable Man
Upon its wheels striking the London road, the traveling coach abandoned its unpredictable jolting for a gentler dip and sway, thereby allowing its two occupants to relieve the tedium of their journey with the books they had tucked into their valises. After a half hour had passed in their separate contemplations, Darcy chanced a glance at his sister. Georgiana’s lower lip was caught between her teeth, and the disposition of her brow seconded her air of deep concentration on the words before her. Darcy tempered his reflexive sigh and turned back to his own reading, but it could not absorb him as it had before. Absently, he plucked up the gossamer threads of the bookmark that had rested upon his knee and wound them round his fingers as he reviewed the holiday now spent.
True to his wishes, Pemberley’s tradition of Christmas had been upheld in a grandness of manner that more than satisfied its neighbors. Christmas Eve Day the public rooms had been opened to all who wished to view the Hall in its holiday glory. Visitors were conducted about in groups by the more brawny of the household servants, who pointed out each room’s aspect and furnishings with proprietary pride. At tour’s end, the parties were refreshed with hot cider and baked delights from the kitchen. Outside, there were games and roasting chestnuts, sleigh rides, and skating upon the lake; all accompanied by roving bands of musicians or singers. Later, every imaginable cart or wagon had been pressed into service to convey all of Pemberley’s people to evening service at St. Lawrence’s and then back again to the servants’ and tenants’ ball held in the great harvest hall of the estate. Here the generosity of Pemberley had continued in the provision of a great feast, complete with drink and music, for half the night. Every child had departed for home with a tangy, sweet apple, a pocketful of walnuts, and a pair of thick woolen stockings, while their fathers had brought shiny half crowns to their lips in thanks to their Maker for destining them for Pemberley.