Mr Darcy's Christmas Carol
Page 1
Mr Darcy's Christmas Carol: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Meg Osborne
Published by Meg Osborne, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MR DARCY'S CHRISTMAS CAROL: A PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATION
First edition. November 20, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Meg Osborne.
ISBN: 978-1386176282
Written by Meg Osborne.
Also by Meg Osborne
A Convenient Marriage
A Convenient Marriage Volume 1
Longbourn's Lark: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Three Weeks in Kent: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Suitably Wed: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
A Visit to Scotland: A Pride and Prejudice Variaton
The Consequence of Haste: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
A Surprise Engagement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Fate and Fortune
Too Fond of Stars: A Persuasion Variation
A Temporary Peace: A Persuasion Variation
Pathway to Pemberley
The Collins Conundrum
The Wickham Wager
The Darcy Decision
Three Sisters from Hertfordshire
A Trip to Pemberley
An Assembly in Bath
An Escape from London
Standalone
After the Letter: A Persuasion Continuation
Half the Sum of Attraction: A Persuasion Prequel
A Very Merry Masquerade: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Novella
The Other Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Novella
In Netherfield Library and Other Stories
Mr Darcy's Christmas Carol: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Such Peculiar Providence
A Chance at Happiness
The Colonel's Cousin: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Captain Wentworth's Christmas Wish
Midwinter in Meryton
Watch for more at Meg Osborne’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Meg Osborne
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Also By Meg Osborne
About the Author
Chapter One
“Merry Christmas!”
“Season's greetings!”
Fitzwilliam Darcy plastered a polite smile onto his usually grim features. It cost him no small effort, and as a result, the expression was hardly convincing. He was not fond of London society, even when he did not also have Christmas to contend with.
As if sensing the irritable turn his thoughts had taken, Caroline Bingley appeared from within the crowd and greeted him with a dazzling grin that was almost disturbing in its enthusiasm.
“What a wonderful evening this has been,” she declared, glancing around her as if the presence of several members of London's high society served only to emphasise her words. “It was a very good idea of yours, Mr Darcy, to return to London for Christmas. Just imagine how dreary Hertfordshire would have been at this time of year.” A malicious gleam lit her eyes. “We might have been forced into attending an advent gathering at Longbourn, rather than an evening such as this.”
This comment was engineered solely to garner a reaction, and Darcy was unable to prevent a reflexive grimace from settling over his features. An evening in a crowded London townhouse, marking the season among his colleagues and contemporaries might be scarcely bearable to him, but the thought of a noisy, crowded Christmas party at the home of Elizabeth Bennet was a painful prospect, even in imagination.
“Dreary is not the word I would have used,” he remarked, fixing his gaze straight ahead, towards the exit, the route of escape he might take when polite obligation had been met, and he was at last permitted to leave.
Caroline laughed as if his words had been a joke. The noise grated on his nerves, and he recalled another young lady’s laugh, at another social gathering he had been pressed into attending. His frown deepened, and he shook his head slightly to clear the memory. He had come to London, in part, to escape one Bennet sister. He certainly did not mean to cede his thoughts to the other at every opportunity.
“Where is your brother?” he asked, little caring if his tone were brusque. Where such a mood might offend or upset a young woman of more delicate disposition than Miss Caroline Bingley, even outright insult would not be enough to deter her interest in him. Accompanying them to London at Caroline's suggestion hardly helped my cause, he thought ruefully. I did it for Charles. Yet, now that they were all here, he wondered at the wisdom of the move.
“Charles?” Caroline shrugged her shoulders, affecting ignorance, although the way her eyes immediately sought out the fireplace betrayed her full and certain knowledge that Charles Bingley was precisely where she had left him, occupying a seat near the hearth and staring morosely into the embers. “I am sure he is quite content,” she said, as if discussing her brother with Mr Darcy was the very last thing she wished to do at that precise moment. This served only to irritate Darcy further, for it was concerning Charles that she was forever seeking his attention. It is only concerning Charles, Darcy thought, that I give her my attention to begin with.
This was uncharitable, and he felt the disapproval that Georgiana would have given such a sentiment. Georgiana was not here, and Darcy had had his fill of the social manoeuvres of Miss Caroline Bingley long before that evening. She may have posed the question of London as being in Charles's best interests, pressing Darcy into service to separate Charles from a match neither of them approved of, but she certainly did not act entirely out of altruism. In fact, of the three of them, she seemed the only one content with their current position.
“Darcy!” Sir George Newton joined the duo with a booming laugh. “I thought I saw you lurking here in the corridor. You do not often grace us with your presence here at Christmas!”
“This year seems to be the exception,” Darcy said, with a polite smile.
“Well, then you cannot mean to stay hiding all evening! I know you shall not wish to dance, and so I shall offer you escape before my dear lady wife ensnares you for her own ends. A group of us are settling to play a hand of whist: come and make a four.”
If there was an excuse, Darcy could not find it, and so it was with resignation that he allowed Sir George to lead him away. It freed him from Caroline Bingley’s unfettered attention, however, and for that must be rejoiced in. He liked Sir George, as well as he liked any of the London set, and the game occupied all four men in playing, rather than talking, so that the evening passed relatively pleasantly.
“Well, good evening, gentlemen,” Darcy said, standing at the close of what would be his last hand. He had stayed longer than he had originally planned, and certainly long enough to be considered polite, yet even so he was not unhappy to be able to make his excuses and turn towards home. He scanned the crowd as he left, to see if he could make out Charles and Caroline. Mercifully, Caroline was fully occupied - this time in conversation with two other young ladies, evidently observing all around them and passing judgment as they saw fit. His friend was
not in his usual seat by the fire, and at last, Darcy distinguished him, dancing with an elegant dark-haired young woman. He could see Charles’ partner only from behind but something about her movements struck him as eminently familiar. She turned, then, and for half a moment Darcy recognised Elizabeth Bennet. He was shocked into stillness, wondering what on earth she was doing in London, and why Caroline stood idly by, enabling, if not encouraging, her brother to dance with the sister of the woman they had sought to remove from his circle. He blinked, and the young woman’s features shifted She was not Elizabeth at all, but some other young woman, with softer features and a less determined chin. Darcy shook his head, wondering why his mind had chosen to play such a trick - and why, of all the women in his acquaintance, it chose to taunt him with Elizabeth Bennet’s apparition. Swallowing his discomfort, he acknowledged that Charles, if not happy, was at least fully occupied in dancing. His sister would, Darcy hoped, see to it that her brother was forced into society more than he would choose in his current mood, and with greater success than Darcy would achieve.
He saw his chance, then, for an unhindered escape, and took it, hurrying out into the winter night without a backward glance, lest any other ghosts of Meryton attempted to assail him.
Usually, the proximity of one house to another was something Darcy disliked about London, but this evening he was glad it would be but a short walk back to his townhouse. He hurried down the street so quickly that he quite ignored several acquaintances, who paused to wish him the greetings of the season. He could not quite let go of the notion of Elizabeth Bennet appearing before his eyes, as if fate determined he would not forget her as easily as he intended. It was a trick of the light and no more, he reasoned, but even so, his anxiety did not completely recede, and he did not slow his pace until he reached his own door-step. There, with the door closed behind him and surrounded by his own familiar belongings, he might relax at last.
AFTER AN HOUR’S PEACE in his study, he had anticipated his anxieties receding. If anything, though, he found his thoughts straying to Hertfordshire even more.
“Too much society,” he grumbled aloud. “And too much brandy.” He reached for water, not wanting to agitate the kitchen staff in seeking something as soothing as milk. He was a grown man, not a boy in need of a comforting drink to chase away a bad dream. Even so, he shuddered, in spite of the warm fire blazing in the hearth, and pulled his favourite armchair a foot or two closer to the flames. The sound of London’s night-time bustle began to fade from his notice and the comforting crackle of the fire, along with its warmth, began to lull him towards sleep. As his head nodded he wondered, drowsily, whether he ought to retire to bed.
His window, which had been left open to allow the tiniest crack of fresh air to circulate, suddenly caught on a breeze and pulled wide The gust of wind billowed the curtains momentarily, before slamming the glass shut with a finality that startled Darcy out of his half-sleep. His candles had been all but extinguished by the gust, and the noise of the window slamming closed again summoned his housekeeper, who knocked and entered, stifling a yawn.
“Are you alright, sir?” she asked, hurrying to the window and securing it firmly. “I’m sorry, I thought Mavis had closed the windows up for the evening.” She cast a cursory glance towards the clock on the mantel. “I hope nothing keeps you up at this late hour, sir? Can I fetch you anything? Perhaps a warm drink?”
“No,” Darcy said, more sharply than he intended. He followed the word with a polite grimace in lieu of a smile, and his housekeeper ducked into a half curtsey, before excusing herself.
The room felt even emptier, somehow, in her absence, and with reluctance, Darcy turned towards bed, acknowledging to himself that it was late in the evening and he’d serve nobody well by forcing himself into wakefulness simply out of some obstinate desire to rule over his need for sleep. It was on this final retreat towards the door when he ensured the fire was out, and snatched up a remaining candle to light his way upstairs, that he noticed another casualty of the cold night air’s onslaught. A pile of papers had been whisked off his desk and onto the floor, and with a grunt, he stooped to retrieve them. He dropped the pile back onto the mahogany desk, vowing he would sort through them on the morrow, when a certain word caught his eye and made him pause. It was his own hand and spelt out the very names that had been on the tip of his tongue half the evening. Bennet...Longbourn...Netherfield. He scanned the missive, unable to place it for a moment, before recognising it as a letter he had only half-finished addressing to Georgiana. His account of life at Meryton had been interrupted by the sudden decision to uproot and abandon Hertfordshire in favour of London, and he had gone no further with the letter.
Yet even now it haunts me! he thought, ruefully sliding the piece of paper free and folding it neatly. He carried it with him to bed, intending on reading it over once more before disposing of it. Georgiana would have a fresh letter, one without mention of the Bennet sisters, although he was sure she would wish for more intelligence concerning their near neighbours, for he had mentioned them in passing in his previous note, and received, in her reply, a demand for more detail. Gentlemen never feel the necessity of description, she had complained. How am I to imagine the people of whom you write if you cannot even spare a line or two to tell me of their looks? This Miss Bennet that Mr Bingley is already attached to - for I assume that to be the case, though you said nothing so clearly in your letter and I have resorted to looking for all that you did not express - must be very beautiful, but what is the nature of her appearance? Is she fair-haired or dark? Short or tall? Dainty or plump? And her sisters, are they all very different creatures, or all in a mode one after another? Tell me more, William, for I am lonely and eager for some distraction from my own consuming thoughts at present. Better yet - and these words had made him smile when he read them. Invite me to stay. Mr Bingley will not mind, and his sister, I am sure, is as sweet-natured as he and would welcome another guest at Netherfield. Merely send word and I can be with you before Christmas! He had not sent word, of course, nor would he, for Georgiana would be overwhelmed by the busyness of London, particularly London at Christmas.
Tucking the note into his pocket he reached his room and continued to ready himself for bed, grateful that the memory of his sister had turned his thoughts from freely rampaging about the countryside back to something approaching order. It was not befitting to allow them to roam so, and it was pointless to dwell on people he had left so firmly behind him. So he had seen a lady who, in passing, bore a vague resemblance to Elizabeth Bennet. Did that mean he must forevermore be haunted by her bright eyes and teasing tone of voice, even here and in his own home?
“It is a nonsense,” he told his reflection, taking one last cursory glance in the mirror before extinguishing the candle and finding his way towards the bed in the dark. He pulled his blankets to his chin and stared up into the blackness. “She is nothing to me. Hertfordshire is nothing to me. I was there at Bingley’s request only.”
His whisper brought him almost entirely back to his senses, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy.
He had been in Hertfordshire at Bingley’s request, and now he was in London at Bingley’s request. Perhaps he ought to start eschewing his friends and decide on his own course of action if such removals were to leave him thus unsettled.
A bird screeched somewhere in the blackness of London, the last sound Darcy heard, as he surrendered to sleep...
Chapter Two
“Kitty, stop that!”
“Mama! This is so unfair! Make her stop!”
“Girls, have you no compassion on my nerves? And where is your sister? Elizabeth? Elizabeth!”
Lizzy had successfully managed to find a moment of sanctuary hiding in the window seat behind the drapes, ignoring the chaos that surrounded her by sheer force of will. Her concentration was fixed on her book with such intensity that the fingers that clasped tight hold of it turned white with effort. She had read the page before her twice, she knew, yet she
could not recall a single word of its contents, so distracted was she by the bickering of her sisters. And Mama, she thought, with a glower that could rival that usually seen upon the countenance of a certain gentleman who had absented himself quite abruptly from Hertfordshire, and whom she had no cause to miss. Why then must he plague me by invading my memories at every opportunity? she thought, grimly pulling the curtain aside to reveal her hiding place.
“What is it, Mama?” she asked, setting her book aside and hopping down from the windowsill to be of whatever assistance Mrs Bennet required this time.
“Oh! Lizzy! There you are.” Mrs Bennet sighed.
“Were you hiding in there this whole time?” Lydia asked, incredulous.
“What on earth for?” Kitty echoed, peering over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “It does not look at all comfortable a seat....”
“She was spying!” Lydia said, triumphantly.
“Well, I do think that an unkind trick -”
“GIRLS!” Mrs Bennet sank into a chair, beckoning Elizabeth closer with a plump arm. “Lizzy, where is Jane? I hoped she might be with you, walking somewhere.”
“It is raining, Mama,” Elizabeth said, patiently. “And you know Jane has not been at all well these past few days.” She bit her lip. “In fact, this morning she seems worse. I really do think we might consider sending for a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Mrs Bennet’s eyes flew open. “And how, pray, would we pay for him?”
“Mama, Jane is very unwell -”
“Jane is tired, and perhaps a little lovesick -”
This provoked a smothered giggle from her two sisters that Elizabeth successfully silenced with one sharp look.
“And what if she is? She has borne a dreadful disappointment.” Lizzy folded her arms stiffly across her front. “I still think you were wrong to encourage her in such an attachment when this was always likely to be the case.”