Mr Darcy's Christmas Carol

by Meg Osborne

  “You are very kind, Mr Bingley.” Elizabeth shared a glance with the lady beside her, and then lifted her eyes to Darcy’s in a look that might have been a challenge. “I would not wish to inconvenience you, or Mr Darcy.”

  “What inconvenience?” Bingley brushed off the suggestion. “We have a carriage with two spare seats, and you are two ladies. We might make a comfortable end to our journey and save you a mile’s walk.”

  Another moment’s polite hesitation and the ladies were conveyed into the carriage.

  “You must permit me to introduce my aunt, Mrs Gardiner,” Elizabeth said, a little breathless from the exertion of first walking and then clambering into the carriage. Both gentlemen greeted Mrs Gardiner with a smile, and she glanced knowingly at Bingley for a moment before training her pale eyes on Darcy.

  “Mr Darcy....” She turned his name over as if probing it for recognition. “I cannot imagine you to be the same Mr Darcy who resides most often at Pemberley?”

  “Indeed he is!” Bingley offered, jumping in before Darcy had a chance to formulate a response. “See, Darcy, your reputation precedes you, even to the aunts and uncles of those we might call friends.”

  Everybody laughed, politely, even though Charles’ joke was not particularly funny.

  Mrs Gardiner recounted her childhood in Derbyshire, and in the short journey back to Longbourn it became apparent that she and Darcy shared more than one or two acquaintances in common.

  “What a small world we live in!” she marvelled, as Darcy helped her down from the carriage. Depositing her safely, Darcy turned to offer a helping hand to Elizabeth, and their eyes met, briefly. She was regarding him curiously, as if she were not quite sure she recognised him. The thought was strangely unsettling. Have I changed so much in our short separation? He was not sure whether this was something to lament, or to rejoice over.

  Chapter Twelve

  Upon reaching Longbourn, there could be no question of the two gentlemen not being pressed into taking tea with the family - indeed, Mrs Bennet did not stop rejoicing over their sudden and surprising return long enough to allow either man to speak a word.

  Elizabeth sidled to the back of the parlour, allowing Mrs Bennet full sway in interrogating first Mr Darcy and then Mr Bingley, who bore her inquisition with rather more grace and good humour than his friend.

  “We just happened to be passing,” he explained. “When we saw Mrs Gardiner and Miss Elizabeth out walking we could not conceive of leaving them to continue on foot when we had half a carriage to spare.”

  “But how came you to be passing?” Mrs Bennet pressed, glancing back at Elizabeth as if her daughter might possess the answer neither gentleman had yet offered. “We were quite convinced of your absenting yourselves to London for Christmas - yes, and very disappointed we were, too, by this turn of events, were not we, Lizzy?”

  “Devastated,” Elizabeth confirmed.

  “Where is Jane?” Mrs Bennet recalled the absence of her eldest daughter almost immediately and dispatched Kitty to fetch her from upstairs. “She will want to see you, of course, Mr Bingley,” she said, quickly. “Please, do sit down, both of you, and I shall fetch us some tea.” Lydia was ordered to arrange for some refreshments, which chore she undertook with rather less grace than her sister.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I hope your sister rallies?”

  Lizzy had been so distracted by the chaos of Longbourn’s parlour - rendered still more chaotic by the addition of both gentlemen as well as her aunt and uncle - that she had scarcely noticed Mr Darcy’s sidestepping the crowd and finding himself in the corner to her right.

  “Rallies?” she smiled. “I was not aware she needed to, sir.”

  “Ah, indeed.” His black eyebrows furrowed. “Forgive me, I was under the impression she was unwell.”

  “Not at all,” Elizabeth said, arching an eyebrow.

  “And you - that is, you all - are you all quite well?” Darcy continued, after a moment’s awkward pause in their exchange.

  “Indeed we are, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth struggled to contain her amusement. The poor man looked pained, as if straining to conjure conversation was the most difficult task he could conceive of. Elizabeth decided to take pity on him and turned their exchange once more to their surprising return to Hertfordshire. She had not yet determined the true reason for their return, which had, it seemed to her, mirrored their equally swift departure. “I see Miss Bingley is not with you. Has she gone on ahead to Netherfield, Mr Darcy?”

  “She remains in London.”

  “What a pity she and her brother will be separated for Christmas.”

  “Actually, I think them both rather grateful for it,” Darcy muttered. When Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot still further up her forehead at this wry acknowledgement, he hastened to explain. “Miss Bingley is fond of London society and relishes the opportunity to socialise and be seen, particularly at Christmas.”

  “You and Mr Bingley do not share her desire?” Elizabeth asked, wryly. “To be seen?”

  “I imagine, if you know me but at all, you would understand how little the notion of such a thing appeals.”

  The honesty of this answer startled Elizabeth, and she returned Mr Darcy’s guileless smile with one of her own.

  “In this, it appears we share a common interest, Mr Darcy. I would much rather spend Christmas surrounded by my family and able to quietly enjoy the comforts of the season than being forced to attend a vast array of society parties.”

  “Then I hope you will not think our presence intended to interrupt such familial felicity,” Mr Darcy said, with a brief bow.

  There was a movement by the door that interrupted Elizabeth before she could speak again, and all heads turned to see Jane enter, a shy smile lighting her features with more warmth and delight than had been evidenced there for quite some time.

  “Mr Bingley! Mr Darcy! When Kitty told me of your return I felt certain she was teasing me, and yet here I see she told the truth all along.”

  Kitty frowned, sniffing back the tears that not being believed had wrought. She flew to her mother, and was patted distractedly on one shoulder, and eventually found comfort in her aunt’s corner, where she sat, contentedly watching the rest of the conversations in silence.

  “Miss Bennet!” Mr Bingley greeted her with warmth and affection that was plain even to Elizabeth’s ears. She darted a glance towards Mr Darcy, and was surprised to see a look of contentment resting over his dark features. He appeared to approve very much of Bingley’s smiling attentions to Jane, which was so at odds with the picture Elizabeth had constructed of Mr Darcy’s feelings towards the match that she quite lost herself in trying to discern what lay beneath this sudden reversal.

  “Is something the matter, Lizzy?” Lydia asked, as she danced back to her own seat, and allowed the tea to be served. “Surely you have seen Mr Darcy before and need not stare at him as if he were a stranger here!”

  This was said in a stage-whisper, but it was enough to cause Elizabeth to start, and blush, and look very determinedly away. All of these she did not manage quite quickly enough to avoid Mr Darcy turning his head and looking directly at her in surprise, which made Lydia hiccup with laughter.

  “And what are your plans for Christmas, gentlemen?” Mrs Bennet asked, fully enjoying her role as host to such a lively party.

  “We are for Netherfield!” Bingley said. “Where we shall pass a very quiet Christmas indeed, for it shall be nought but the two of us - and Georgiana, God-willing.”

  “Your sister hopes to join you?” Elizabeth asked. The mention of Georgiana provoked interest in her, for she had long nursed a desire to be acquainted with the young woman she had heard so many pleasing reports of.

  “Yes,” Darcy turned towards her, his lips rising in a slight smile. “I do hope you might have cause to become acquainted with her, Miss Elizabeth.” Recalling the presence of her sisters, he extended the invitation to all of the young ladies. “That is, I hope she might find friends amongst you. S
he will know nobody here save for Charles and me and -” he hesitated, shaking his head almost imperceptibly before continuing. “I do not foresee her eager to go to Meryton alone.” He turned to Elizabeth again. “I would hope I might entrust her to your care, Miss Elizabeth. I believe she would benefit greatly from such a friendship, and it would be a great personal favour to me to know that my sister had such a kind friend.”

  Lizzy felt warmth pool in her cheeks to be thus singled out, and nodded, fervently, little trusting herself to utter any words in response to such a request. When Mr Darcy looked at her, she felt her cheeks grow warmer still, so that she was forced to look away. How was it that she, who he had so recently made no attempt to hide his disdain for, was the one young lady present he particularly wished to befriend his sister? I do not know what spirit overtook you in London, Mr Darcy, Elizabeth mused, stirring her tea thoughtfully. But I cannot own I dislike it.

  DARKNESS WAS FALLING by the time Darcy and Bingley arrived at Netherfield. They had been inveigled into spending far longer than either one intended to at Longbourn, a state which neither gentlemen appeared to mind.

  Indeed, Darcy was surprised how little he himself had minded it. Instead of being irritated by Mrs Bennet’s pestering, he had been touched to note the genuine affection the older woman appeared to display at seeing their neighbours returned so soon to Hertfordshire. Much of her attention had been focused on Bingley, too, which allowed Darcy all the freedom he might wish for in observing the interactions of the other people in the room. Mrs Gardiner had been eager to speak with him again, and he was glad to hear her relate her memories of his father from when she was a girl. That she had done so within Elizabeth’s hearing ought to have been a cause for concern, that Elizabeth might think ill of him to enjoy having his father’s many virtues thus paraded. Instead, when he had chanced to look at her, he had seen real sympathy in her features for the departed old Mr Darcy, and the impact such a loss had had on his only son.

  Indeed, it was in his interactions with Elizabeth that he had been most pleasantly surprised. She had been cautious, at first, but relaxed as the day wore on, so that their conversations evolved from the stilted small talk of strangers to a vast and vivid exchange of feelings on everything from the weather to the latest developments in France, to current trends in books, music, art - in short, he had found her to be as witty and intelligent as his subconscious had intimated her to be, yet in this iteration he had not struggled in keeping up his own end of the conversation. At his mention of Georgiana, she had smiled, and bid him tell her more about his sister, who had up until then been but a name to her. This was easy for Darcy: he was fond of his sister and enjoyed speaking of her virtues, of which there were many. It did him good, too, to dwell on this truer picture of Georgiana than the one his dreams had tormented him with the previous evening. How delighted he would be to behold her again in the flesh and be able to reassure himself, for certain, that she was her own self and not some festive sprite sent to disturb his sleeping self.

  “What a fine day!” Bingley declared, as they finished a light supper and retired to the study. Neither gentlemen wished to be too demanding of the staff that were surprised by their return, so they had settled to drinking brandy in a small room that could be easily warmed by a fire and good company.

  “It certainly appears to have cheered your spirits,” Darcy acknowledged, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning back in the comfortable chair that he had claimed as his own during his stay at Netherfield.

  “Yes, I take no shame in confessing my spirits were a little discontent at being in London,” Charles acknowledged, taking a sip of his drink. “I much prefer living in the country, and with such kind neighbours as the Bennets - I really feel we shall have a far better Christmas than anything Caroline might have conjured for us in London.” He smiled, recalling some delicate moment of conversation between himself and Jane Bennet earlier that very day. “I think we might ride over there again tomorrow, Darcy, and pay a proper call.”

  “What was today, if not a proper call?” Darcy asked, nonetheless willing to indulge his friend in this flight of fancy.

  “It was an opportunity: but it is not how these things ought really to be done,” Bingley mused. “Mr Bennet was not at home, and really -” he paused, straightening a little in his chair and colouring in his cheeks that was not entirely due to his proximity to the fire crackling in the hearth.

  “You do not move slowly, do you, Charles?” Darcy acknowledged, with a grin.

  “What cause is there to delay?” Charles was philosophical. “You said yourself that Miss Bennet is all that is beautiful and good in the world. It serves me ill to toy with her on account of patience or propriety.”

  “The first you have not been innately blessed with: the second, I shall recommend you adhere to.” Darcy saluted him with his glass, nonetheless happy to see his friend so enthusiastic and contented with his plans.

  “Then you will ride over with me?” Charles asked, chewing his lip. “For I confess I do not wish to go alone.”

  “I hardly think you need me-” Darcy began.

  “Oh, but I do. I shall ruin it, I know I shall. What is it one says? Dearly beloved...”

  “That is the minister,” Darcy interjected, drily. “I do not believe the Church of England has yet conceived of a liturgy for the eligible young suitor proposing marriage.”

  “Of course.” Charles grinned, downing his drink in one mouthful with a grimace. “You see? I need you by my side, for Mr Bennet will think me quite stupid and is likely to deny me my opportunity on account of it.” Charles’ voice dropped. “And I am not stupid, only a little nervous.”

  “Which state he will no doubt praise you for. It speaks to your good character and the depths of your affections for Miss Bennet.” Darcy rose, pouring a drop more brandy into his glass and refilling Charles’. “If you wish me there, of course, I will come.”

  “You are a good friend, Darcy.” Charles yawned. “And now that that is settled, I think I shall retire.” He set his glass down, scarcely noticing it still contained some brandy.

  Darcy bid him goodnight but lingered a while in the warm glow of the fire. He was not surprised to see Bingley so intent on declaring his feelings to Jane and securing her hand in marriage so soon. In fact, he rejoiced at it. He had successfully routed one part of his dream, thus he could feel satisfied the rest would fade like smoke as well. He shook his head, marvelling at the power such images had held over him. Still, now, in the shadows cast by the fire against the wall, he could recall every emotion that had plagued him in his dreams. What nonsense, he thought, sleepily swallowing the last of his draught and feeling his eyelids grow heavy. Surely I am the only adult in all England so tormented by figments of my own imagination!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elizabeth Bennet bolted upright in bed, her heart hammering in her chest. She glanced around the familiar room, watching the interplay of shadows over the quilt that had been hers for as long as she could remember, and allowed her breathing to return to normal.

  How ridiculous! she thought, smiling to herself at the shock of waking so suddenly from her dream and needing to reassure herself so carefully that it had been exactly that: a dream, not real life at all.

  For it had felt like real life: her life. The vaguest feeling of disappointment settled over her, and she slid back down into her bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She had been married, which was in and of itself not so strange a dream. She might not cling so fervently to romance as either Jane or Lydia, in their differing ways, but she had nursed her own dreams of love and marriage, had lived a hundred different romances in the novels she had read. But this dream had not been sweeping in scope, nor disproportionately thrilling and adventurous. It had, in fact, been a very ordinary sort of a dream. She toured a grand house, her house, although it was not one she could recall ever seeing before and was far grander than either Longbourn or Netherfield, which she might have expected after
a day spent discussing both houses and their occupants in detail.

  And that is the explanation for Mr Darcy’s presence in my dream, I am sure! Lizzy thought, stifling a laugh. For she had been married to him, in this alternate version of real life. He had been just the same as ever he was, although he smiled rather more readily in her imagination than he seemed to in real life, and although they had squabbled and teased one another, it had been with smiles and affection and made into a game. A game! As if she could ever imagine Mr Darcy possessing such a sense of humour.

  And yet...his reappearance that afternoon had surprised her. He had been the same Mr Darcy she had known at Meryton and Netherfield, and yet he had been changed. His manner was warmer, his frown less fierce. At the mention of his sister, in fact, he had been almost cheerful.

  A line of melody tugged at Elizabeth’s memory and she tried and failed to catch hold of it. There had been a notion of Georgiana in her dream too, playing the piano somewhere in the distance. That must have been down to Mr Darcy’s description of her that afternoon. Lizzy had protested that whilst she would try her best to make Georgiana feel welcome, she worried that the poor girl would suffer if she imagined Elizabeth to be musical, for, whilst she appreciated talent and enjoyed listening to music, she did not possess any amount of natural skill. Mr Bingley had laughed, and declared that Georgiana Darcy possesses enough natural skill at the pianoforte for half a dozen women combined, which had made Mama momentarily fret, before she realised there was no hidden slight against any one of her daughters contained within these words, and she declared that she, too, looked forward to hearing Miss Georgiana play sometime during her stay.

  Elizabeth rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. It was a nonsense dream, constructed from snatches of remembered conversation, nothing more. Yet it had not been unpleasant to be married to Mr Darcy, even if only in a dream.