Elizabeth could hardly comprehend his gallantry at making her so entirely blameless. “I cannot recall the events you reference. You must have me confused with someone else.” Truthfully, it was as though she was seeing him for the first time, and since she no longer acted under prejudice, she was likely a new person to him as well.
He smiled and played along. “My apologies.”
She directed him towards the house. “Will you be returning to London with Mr. Bingley?”
“Yes, I can only spare a few days here. I came after having reason to wonder if your sister truly did care for Bingley and to deliver my warning about Wickham. I should speak to your father now.”
Just before entering Longbourn, they stepped under a mistletoe ball still left hanging. Darcy looked up.
“We have been slow to take our decorations down, as you see.” She felt herself blush but could not fathom it being because Darcy might kiss her.
He stepped closer to her and reached for a berry over her head. “Nonsense, it is only just after Twelfth Night.” His breath fanned her cheek, and inexplicably, her heart rate increased.
“Do the rules still apply after the holiday?”
His eyes searched hers. “The rules?”
“That a gentleman must kiss any lady he finds under the bough and that she will be unlucky in love if she refuses.”
“It would be a shame to be unlucky in love. Would you really want to risk it?”
She smiled at his tease. “You talk as though you truly mean to—”
His lips met hers, and all thought left her mind. For one delicious moment, reason, wit, and residual resentment died away, and only she and Mr. Darcy existed. When she opened her eyes, he was gone, and Elizabeth was left wondering if she had imagined the entire encounter.
*****
Despite the fact that Elizabeth believed the entire world shifted on its axis in early January when Mr. Darcy returned with Mr. Bingley, Hertfordshire society continued on with little change. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy returned to London as planned. While there, Mr. Bingley renewed his acquaintance with Jane, and when Bingley again stayed in Town longer than expected, Elizabeth found she could almost be happy with his pliancy. Only the realisation that she was in agreement with her mother in wishing that Bingley would court Jane from Netherfield forced Elizabeth to calm her nerves. Instead, she contended herself with reading accounts of Mr. Darcy’s behaviour in letters from Jane. She never saw anything that made her believe he thought of her at all. Jane made no mention of him asking after Elizabeth. Her aunt’s letters said little more than how excessively civil he was to them all, taking pains for them to meet his sister and inviting them to dinner at his house.
January lapsed to February, and at last Elizabeth would be going to London before travelling onward to Hunsford to visit her friend, the newly married Mrs. Collins. They would only be in Town for a day, and she could hardly hope to meet Mr. Darcy in such a small span of time. Upon arriving at the Gardiner residence and hearing that they would attend the theatre in Mr. Darcy’s box, she could scarcely contain her delight.
“We shall be seeing Twelfth Night. Mr. Darcy said he thought you might enjoy it. I hope you do, although I do not recall you ever saying you preferred it much before,” Mrs. Gardiner said to them in the carriage.
Twelfth Night! Could he be thinking of their last encounter still? They arrived in due time, and Mr. Darcy awaited them in the hall. Mr. Bingley and his sisters were there as well. Bingley immediately went to Jane’s side, but Miss Bingley remained perched on Mr. Darcy’s arm. Elizabeth hardly knew what she hoped to learn from the evening even without the presence of Miss Bingley, but now any chance of private conversation was impossible.
They soon went up to his box but before sitting were met by a very amiable older gentleman and elegant lady with the appearance of rank. Darcy introduced them as his aunt and uncle, the Earl and Countess of Matlock. Seeing their large party, they mentioned the open seats they had in their own box. Miss Bingley and the Hursts eagerly agreed to sit with them, and Elizabeth smiled in wonder as Darcy sat her to his left.
The play began before she found courage to speak. She forced herself to seem calm when she wished to wring her hands in distraction. It was some time towards the end of the first act when she felt a tap on her hand.
“Forgive me, I ought to have asked earlier,” Darcy said. “I have an extra opera glass should you wish to use it.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. When she reached for them, Darcy pressed a Christmas rose into her hand along with the glass. She looked at him in confusion.
“For when we meet again in Kent. I was out of mistletoe.” He squeezed her hand and then put the bloom above her ear. His hand grazed her face as he lowered it. “Even lovelier.”
The play could no longer hold Elizabeth’s attention as her thoughts rapidly swirled in her mind. It had been plainly in front of her all the time, and she refused to see it. In the months since their last meeting, she had plenty of time to review their every encounter. Where she once catalogued Darcy’s every fault, she now saw only his strength of character and honour. Could logic so thoroughly acquit him of every evil? No, the greater force of love was to blame.
Elizabeth impatiently awaited for his arrival at Rosings. They met by chance on a walk by an oak tree. Weeks later when it was time for Darcy to depart, he proposed marriage under the same tree. Elizabeth accepted with all of her heart. When their eldest daughter was born near Christmas day two years later, the couple agreed she ought to be named Mary Anne, for without the words of relatives named Mary they may never have met again.
The End
Home with You
“Jane, are you coming with us to town?” Kitty asked her eldest sister. “We want to see the officers.”
“You will see them this evening at dinner,” Elizabeth chided.
“Well, I wish to speak with Mr. Wickham, and we can never do that if you are there,” Lydia reprimanded, and Elizabeth blushed.
It was true; he paid his attentions quite obviously to Elizabeth. It could only remind Jane of her own pain.
“She will not come. She wants to sit and pine over Mr. Bingley,” Lydia said in a very teasing and unsympathetic tone.
“Hush.” Elizabeth shooed her sisters from Jane’s side, and they loudly went down the stairs to question if Mary would join them. “Have you thought, dearest, about returning to London with Aunt and Uncle?”
Jane smiled a little. “You think I might see Mr. Bingley there?”
Elizabeth frowned. “I do not think so. It does not seem likely that Miss Bingley would encourage such a meeting, but you would be away from Mama and her incessant complaints. Town has many diversions, and I know you enjoy the company of the Gardiners and their children.”
Jane nodded. “Yes, I suppose it would be enjoyable.”
Elizabeth squeezed her hands and left the room. Their mother was insisting that she accompany Kitty and Lydia to Meryton. Since she recently refused an offer of marriage to Mr. Collins, the estate’s heir, her mother was attempting to push Elizabeth into the arms of any willing man.
For a moment, Jane felt jealousy. She had never received an offer of marriage, but how could she be jealous of Elizabeth’s very unwanted offer from a man such as Mr. Collins? Still, it was no secret that she had hopes of receiving one from Mr. Bingley. Their mother had assumed as much from many gentlemen over the years, but he was the first one Jane actually wished and hoped for.
Aside from Mr. Bingley’s departure from the neighbourhood and the clear intent of his sister to never have him return, Jane felt increasingly lonely. Elizabeth had never found a man to stir her interest. Well, at least not romantically; she certainly was interested in smearing Mr. Darcy’s name. She could not understand Jane’s pain, no matter how empathetic she tried to be. Jane’s other good friend, Charlotte Lucas, had just become betrothed to the very Mr. Collins whom Elizabeth had refused. Charlotte had no romantic expectations, and Jane had the sen
se that Charlotte found both Elizabeth and herself entirely insensible. Surely Charlotte thought Elizabeth should have accepted Mr. Collins, and she likely thought Jane should have done something to attach Mr. Bingley. Charlotte certainly must have done something to attach Mr. Collins so quickly for he proposed to her less than three days after proposing to Elizabeth. But that thought was uncharitable, and taking it in the best light was simply that Charlotte and Mr. Collins were well-suited to each other and would be happy.
Still, she had no friends who could understand. The bells would ring at the churches on Christmas in only a few days, and nothing would alleviate her melancholy. She missed Mr. Bingley; she would miss him for a lifetime.
She cared nothing for the reverent songs of the season. The only song in her heart wished Mr. Bingley back to Netherfield for Christmas.
That afternoon, her aunt and uncle Gardiner arrived. Mrs. Bennet was all aflutter.
“Oh! You arrived so late that I was certain you had been attacked by highwaymen!”
“Hardly likely, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said.
“Or that you had changed your mind!”
“Now why would we do that?” Mr. Gardiner asked. “Christmas is a time to visit family and be with the ones you love.”
Jane tried not to sniff.
The Gardiners were soon settled, and Jane was rushed off to get ready for the evening. She could not enjoy the dinner or subsequent entertainment at all. Her mother loudly complained about the loss of Mr. Bingley, increasing Jane’s every feeling of grief and pain.
She and Elizabeth had never discussed it. She would never have had the words before, but now she would say she knew that she truly loved Mr. Bingley because she felt a physical emptiness without him. She had fantasised about being engaged by Christmas and visiting Netherfield as its future mistress. She was uncertain she could ever have a happy Christmas again.
On Christmas morning, she arose and blindly readied herself for the day. Her ever-present serene demeanour entirely hid the truth of how she felt. Cold, alone, dull to anything but loneliness. She followed her family into the church and went through the motions, not noticing all the whispers and the pointed glances between her and some figure in the back. She was hauled out of her seat by her mother the minute the service was over and nearly launched into the arms of a man. Gasping, she looked up into the eyes of Mr. Bingley!
She burst into tears. “You came home for Christmas!”
He fervently nodded, placed her hand on his arm, and led her away from the throng of people—all staring in their direction.
“Darcy forgot a book, and I was only to write the housekeeper and ask her to send it on, but I decided to come myself. Christmas is a time to be with those you love.”
She had been looking at her hands but jerked her head up to meet his eyes. “You love me?”
“Yes, I do.”
She broke into a wide grin. “Oh! What a happy Christmas!”
He chuckled but looked earnestly at her. “Dare I hope you return my sentiments?”
At first she could not speak. She only smiled and nodded. “Yes, I do. Now tell me that you will never leave me alone at Christmas again.”
“Never again.”
Over the course of their long marriage, Charles Bingley kept his pledge. Christmas was not always celebrated at their house. More than one Christmas was spent at Longbourn overlooking the grating behaviour of Mrs. Bennet and the younger girls, but if Jane was with him, he always found his home.
The End
Fortune Favours the Bold
Charles Bingley walked down the fashionable section of Bond Street alone. His sisters were shopping, and his brother-in-law was at his club. Georgiana had a cold, and Darcy clucked over her as a mother hen, refusing to leave the house. It was just as well; solitude let him dwell on happy memories in the company of his one true love. She was indifferent to him—Darcy would only speak the truth and would never wish to wound him—but it could not change his own feelings. When he left for London the day after hosting a ball, he needed to meet with his solicitor. While there, he began arrangements for a marriage settlement, but then his sisters and Darcy arrived with the depressing truth. Even if he wished to marry an indifferent lady—which he did not—she would do nothing for his family’s advancement. If she had even liked him, it would be worth it all, but as it was...
He glanced around him and saw a young buck with a lady on his arm. A matronly sister trailed behind. The gentleman directed the ladies to a jewellery shop, and the one on his arm exclaimed in delight. That was precisely how he had expected to spend Christmas this year. He had always enjoyed buying gifts for those he loved but had planned to shower Jane to express what he could not say with words. Now he was left wandering the cold alone, hoping to numb his heart. If only he could see her one last time.
He began to wonder what he would say. If he were speaking to her as though it were the end of their acquaintance, then he would hope that at least she had some happy memories of their conversations. Something that might cheer her when she was melancholy, like the thought of her gentle smile and soft-spoken words did for him.
Other men would talk themselves out of his next thought, but he decided to send her an anonymous note, simply wishing her a happy Christmas. He returned directly to Hurst’s townhouse and wrote:
I wish you a merry Christmas.
He hesitated and then finished with:
I know I am dreadfully breaking propriety, but I wanted to tell you I care. I hope you can guess who this is from.
A few blocks away, another Christmas note was written. Georgiana Darcy had sent her brother on an errand so she would have time to write her letter to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Forgive the impertinence, but I cannot help but wonder about how Christmas is celebrated in your home. My brother tells me you have four sisters; it must be so joyous to share the holiday with so many loved ones. I have only my brother and must thank you for bringing some kind of cheer to him.
William wrote of you in letters. I have a terrible cold, and while he watches over me, he tells me frequently of something he learned when you were at Netherfield nursing your sister. You may imagine that after the loss of our parents, Christmas has been a sad time for us, but William is now more willing to find the joy in the season. For your kindness to my brother and me, I thank you. I wish you a happy Christmas.
Georgiana sealed it and had her maid send it out for the post directly before she could think better of writing to a total stranger.
*****
Jane stared at the letter in her hand. She thought she recognised the writing.
“Who is it from?” Mrs. Bennet wanted to know.
“Probably Miss Bingley again,” said Kitty.
“No, that was not her handwriting. Rather ungraceful, but it was postmarked from London.” Mrs. Bennet was insistent as she tried to peer over her daughter’s shoulder.
“For Heaven’s sake, madam. It must be Mrs. Hurst then. Now leave the girl alone.” Mr. Bennet finally interceded before getting up from the breakfast table and returning to his library sanctuary.
As soon as she could, Jane went upstairs to read her letter. She thought she would weep and knew there was only one thing she could do. As she gathered her writing materials, Elizabeth entered the room.
“Jane, I have received the most curious letter.”
“I did not know you got one.”
“Oh yes. Mama was so interested in yours and any news of Mr. Bingley that she paid no attention to me at all.”
“Well, what did yours say?”
Elizabeth handed her the letter, and Jane’s eyes went wide. “My, dear Lizzy! Mr. Darcy must be in love with you!”
“That is silly! He could not talk to me without contempt, and he is gone from the area. That hardly speaks to admiration.”
“I am surprised to hear you think so as often as you have told me Mr. Bingley loves me although he is not here.”
“It is different for you ent
irely! Mr. Bingley paid you so much attention that only a blind person could think he was not in love with you.”
“He is in love with me.”
“I am so glad to hear you admit it! And without sorrow, too. What has changed?”
“He wrote me a letter,” Jane said softly.
“What?”
“Here.” She handed her letter to Elizabeth.
“You must write him back! Care not for propriety. Write him every week until he returns in case that nasty sister of his steals the letter.”
“You think she would be so awful?”
“I am certain she would.”
“I do not know if I have courage enough to write so many letters. He may love me now but have forgotten me by the time he reads it.”
“Do you really think he is as fickle as that?”
“No, but it is a fear I have nevertheless.”
“Cease speaking and write.”
“I will—only if you reply to your own letter.”
“Oh, why would I want to correspond with Miss Darcy?”
“She certainly does not seem to be the proud and ill-natured young lady Mr. Wickham told you about.”
“I suppose not.”
“It really was unfair of him to speak of a person we have no acquaintance with and cannot form our own opinion of.”
“That may be, but we all know Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Wickham’s assessment of him is quite correct.”
“Is it? Do we really know him? For some we may know off a few days acquaintance, others are more difficult to sketch. If he would lie about Miss Darcy, why not lie about the brother?”
“That is the most unforgiving speech I have heard you utter in your entire life.”
“It is simple. I believe Mr. Darcy in love with you, and I am not blind to his good qualities. If there is any chance at all that you may return his feelings, then I am very angry at someone who may interfere, having lived through it myself.”
Once Upon a December Page 5