Georgiana sniffed and pursed her lips. I shan’t ever make that mistake again. She was adamant no man would so easily fool her. She frowned as she thought. But I am not well acquainted with the world. How shall I ever know if a man truly loves me or simply desires my fortune?
“Not far now,” her aunt, the Dowager Countess, Lady Henrietta Fitzwilliam of Matlock, declared.
“Good,” sighed Georgiana’s maid, stretching out her back and yawning unbecomingly.
Georgiana shot her a disapproving look.
“Sorry, Miss Darcy,” Meg muttered and hung her head.
“Do not fret. It has been a dreary and tiresome journey from Hertfordshire, and I too am tired and in need of stretching my legs a little. If only the rain would stop.” Aunt Henrietta sighed and shoved her hands deeper into the ermine muff that lay across her lap. “It’s the sort of cold that gets deep into one’s bones and refuses to leave. I daresay we shall both be taxing the kitchen staff this evening and ordering hot baths to be drawn in our rooms.”
“It has been a terribly harsh summer, and our farmers say all portents point to a harsher winter to come,” Georgiana offered.
“Indeed. It does make one wonder what the winter will be like this year. It has been a dreadful year all round.” Aunt Henrietta sighed deeply, and Georgiana knew she was thinking about having lost her husband to consumption earlier in the year. “I believe the broadsheet newspapers are declaring that it is the year without a summer.”
“I can well believe it. It seemed like spring barely had the strength to change the season and then gave up entirely. I hope things will get back to normal soon enough.” Georgiana stretched her toes towards the heated brick in the centre of the floor and was disappointed to find that it had almost grown cold since their departure from Netherfield Park.
“I had thought that, with our removal from Derbyshire to London, our winter would be warmer this much farther south.” The old lady leant forward, almost pressing her nose against the windowpane in the door. “It is not so much warmer at all, but I declare it is ever so much drearier, drab,” she slumped back in the chair, huffing, “and a darn sight wetter than Derbyshire to boot.” She sat back and closed her eyes as she rested her head against the plush upholstery. “I wish I had brought one of my dogs to keep my feet warm.” She chuckled. “Perhaps I shall have to purchase one of those lap dogs that are so popular with ladies of the ton.”
By the time they reached Earl Matlock’s house in Pembroke Square, North London, the temperature had plummeted even more and the rain had turned to snow.
As the footman opened the door, Aunt Henrietta declared, “Oh, this is ghastly! Come along, Georgiana! Make haste! Let us get into the house before we catch our death of cold out here.”
Georgiana descended the carriage, helped her elderly aunt negotiate her way past the slushy puddles in the street and up the three steps into the house, where the butler held the door open for them.
“It is heartily good to see you, Hobbs,” Aunt Henrietta said undoing her bonnet ribbon. “We will need hot water in our rooms and tea in the drawing room as soon as possible. It has been a frightfully chilly journey.”
“Yes, ma’am. And might I say, it is good to see you too.” Hobbs took their bonnets and pelisses. “I trust you had a pleasant journey from Derbyshire, though, ma’am?”
“It was tolerably good until Hertfordshire, as I said,” Lady Matlock informed him, “where, unfortunately, the weather was not on our side. As we neared Watford, the roads were all but an impassable quagmire.” She spun around to check that the trunks and maids were now all in from the cold. “Are we all in safe and sound?” she asked. Satisfied that all were accounted for and out of the inclement weather, she turned back to Hobbs. “Get that door closed and get the tea made.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now,” Aunt Henrietta took hold of Georgiana’s hand, “come with me, my dear. We are both to be in the front bedrooms. They get the late afternoon sun and, as such, they warm up nicely. Yours is the lavender one.” She smiled fondly. “I remember when you were a child, you loved that room the best.”
Georgiana tilted her head to the side, recalling with precision the last time she was in that particular room. “You certainly have a good memory, Aunt. It has been an awfully long time since I was last here.”
“My dear,” she gave Georgiana’s hand a little squeeze as they ascended the stairs to the first floor arm in arm, “by the time you get to my grand old age, memories are about all you have left.”
“Oh, how very maudlin!” Georgiana turned her head to observe her aunt as they walked along the landing towards the front bedrooms. She did not rightly know her aunt’s age. The years had etched lines on her face, yet she did not believe her to be of great age, certainly not as old as her uncle, who died at the grand age of sixty-seven. However old she was, Georgiana admired how soft and velvet-like her skin was. She just resisted the desire to reach out and caress it, its allure was so great. She always remembered her to be a famous beauty, and she still was, even as she aged. “You cannot be of any great age at all, Aunt. Not when your eldest son is only five-and-thirty years old.”
To Georgiana’s surprise, the great lady by her side burst out laughing. “Oh, my dear niece! What a delight you are!”
Having seen her aunt safely installed in her own room, Georgiana retired to hers. She remembered the way, of course. Memories assaulted her senses as soon as she placed her hand on the knob and opened the door. Vividly, she recalled her mother in this room many years before, with herself and her brother running around and playing tag together happily. A shiver passed across her shoulders as she closed the door behind her, and a profound sadness stirred her heart. She missed her mother and father still after so many years had passed. Neither of them lived, and this time it was Georgiana’s turn to be the occupant of this lavishly decorated guest room. She glanced around at the full tester bed and the beautiful bespoke furniture, seeing her mother before each piece in her mind’s eye. Her gaze lingered on the dressing table. She had spent many hours as a small child sitting and watching her mother have makeup applied and her long elegant hair styled into the period's fashion. Georgiana’s throat constricted.
Shaking her head to rid herself of memories that dragged with them an overpowering and unbearable melancholy, Georgiana walked directly to the front windows and surveyed the street outside. The snow was heavier now and, from what she could see from her vantage point, it was beginning to settle upon the bushes and trees. If it carries on this way for much longer, the pavement and roads will be covered as well.
A gentle tap at the door alerted her to what she assumed was her maid’s presence. “Come in,” she bade, and, as she expected, the young girl opened the door and entered, a footman following closely behind carrying Georgiana’s trunk. “Ah, wonderful. Please put it at the end of the bed,” she directed, half-turning momentarily and then going back to gazing at the increasingly white scene in the street outside.
The two women waited until the footman had taken his leave before speaking to each other.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Darcy, but that was some tiresome journey, an’ make no mistake. Do you want to take a nap before tea? I can inform her ladyship if you like.”
“I agree with you, Meg. It was tiresome. But we are here now, and we shall not travel again until the first signs of spring.” She strode towards the bed and smoothed her hands over the rich damask bedspread. “I would so like to take a nap, Meg, but I fear that if I do, I shan’t sleep at all this night.” She smiled at the girl who still hovered near the door and still looked half-frozen. “I think we’d best unpack the trunk and see if the exertion cannot warm us both up a little.”
Three
By the time Georgiana had changed out of her travelling attire into a morning dress and descended the stairs to the great drawing-room, the fires had already been lit, and she was glad to see the blaze in the chimney warming the room. The orange glow was we
lcoming, and Georgiana felt the tension from such a tedious journey begin to leave her body. Tea was served and awaited her on the table before the settees, along with a plate of sweet mince pies.
Georgiana had only just poured herself a cup of tea and sat down when the doorbell sounded. She made to place her cup back down on the tray when her aunt raised her hand to stop her.
“Stay where you are. Hobbs will tell whomever it is that we are not at home to callers today. Enjoy your tea, my dear.” Her steely grey eyes held Georgiana captive until she sat back down on the settee. “I daresay word has spread throughout town that I have arrived. No doubt, many of my acquaintances and many more genteel folk with whom I am not acquainted shall also be paying their respects. For who does not wish to rub shoulders with nobility when a Dowager Countess comes to stay?” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Goodness knows it would be polite of them to leave off calling until tomorrow morning at least. Why they feel the need to be the first to call, I shall never understand. It is not as though it carries some sort of accolade with it. I shall be the one to make the decision as to with whom we associate, regardless of who called to see us first.”
Georgiana looked over the rim of her cup of tea at her aunt as she sipped and saw her eyes now twinkling in much the same way her brother Fitzwilliam’s did. Her tone was scolding and her words complained, but her eyes told how she found the situation amusing all the same.
“Of course, you may also have something to do with it, being the sister of Mr Darcy and all.” Aunt Henrietta’s giggle was so quiet that one would have missed it unless they were watching her closely. Her shoulders jiggled up and down ever so slightly, as did the bodice of her gown. Her lips remained tightly together to contain her laughter.
“I doubt very much that anyone would wish to see me,” Georgiana spoke up.
Before Aunt Henrietta could issue a response, the clearing of a throat alerted them to Hobbs’ presence.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but already the calling cards are piling up.”
“You see, my dear?” Aunt Henrietta addressed Georgiana archly. “Bring them here,” she said, waving her hand at Hobbs.
The butler did as he was bid and placed the tray beside the Dowager Countess on the settee. One by one she picked them up, making humming noises or huffing as she read from whom the card was.
“Well, it seems all and sundry have made their intentions known. They are champing at the bit for a visit with us or from us.” She tossed the last of the cards back onto the pile beside her and signalled for Hobbs. “Take them away and put them on my writing table for now.” She returned to her cup of tea. “I cannot be dealing with invitations to visit or be visited by anyone at the moment. I have such a thumping headache. I do loathe travelling.”
“Is there anything you wish me to get you, Aunt?” Georgiana asked, scooting to the edge of her seat.
Aunt Henrietta sipped her tea, her eyes closed. “Oh, you are such a good girl. Such a blessing to my dear sister, Anne,” she whispered, almost as though to herself.
Again, memories of her mother flooded Georgiana’s mind. Inside, she knew this visit was going to be brimming over with nostalgia. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. If I am to be reminded of my dear Mama, then I shall have to gain control of my own emotions. I deeply miss her, especially at this time of year, and even more so with my first venture into London society. I wish Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were here. She closed her eyes.
“Why the long face?” Aunt Henrietta asked, jogging Georgiana back to the present.
Shaking her head, her curls bouncing onto her cheeks, she replied, “Oh, it’s nothing, Aunt. I was simply thinking of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth.”
“I am sure they are very well just where they are.” Aunt Henrietta replied, nodding towards the plate of mince pies. “You really ought to eat something, Georgiana. You are looking decidedly wan. Clearly, travelling does not agree with you either.”
“Yes, Aunt. That must be it.” Georgiana did as she was told, reached out, and picked up a mince pie from the icing sugar-dusted pile. She put it on a side plate and returned to the settee, glad of the occupation of chewing and not talking. Her emotions were getting the better of her. Thankfully, with each swallow, she felt the lump in her throat lessen.
Instead of following that melancholy train of thought, she focussed her full attention on the pie in her hands. She loved the spicy fruit pies each Christmas and often had to restrain herself from eating more than two of them in one sitting. The pastry was butterier than the ones made by their cook at Pemberley, but she found the addition pleasant. Also, somehow these were sweeter, and, if she was not deceived, these also contained more cognac. She wondered if asking for the recipe would offend Cook. The thought ran through her mind of procuring it and asking Mrs Reynolds, their housekeeper, to see if she could find a way of persuading their cook to give the recipe a try. She licked the icing sugar off her lips. Either that or I shall have a batch sent to me from Pembroke Square each and every year.
For Georgiana, mince pies always heralded the beginning of Christmastide, and she was filled with the warmth and joy that accompanied the season as she ate.
Her mind drifted back to Pemberley. In Derbyshire around this time, they were sure to have a light dusting of snow. However, with London’s reputation, she believed this Christmas would be dank and wet, the southeast having a reputation for rain. Whether that was true or not, Georgiana could not rightly say, having not travelled much in the region.
She opened her eyes and stared into the orange flickering flames of the fire. Never mind. Here with Aunt Henrietta, I am certain to have a wonderful time, I have no doubt.
Four
By the time evening came and dinner was called, Georgiana had written to her brother, bathed, and was so tired from the journey that she was practically falling asleep on the settee before the fire in the drawing room.
She forced her heavy lids to open as Hobbs entered the room and informed her that dinner was served. She pushed hard to move her leaden limbs as elegantly as she could manage out of the room and into Aunt Henrietta’s sumptuously decorated dining room.
The breath stuck in her throat as she saw the room for the first time in years. It had been entirely decorated for Christmas with more ornaments than Georgiana ever remembered seeing, even at Pemberley. She was astounded at the quantity of candles, although, thankfully, they were not all lit. The glare would have been unbearable within the confines of the dining room, she surmised. As she crossed the room to stand next to her aunt, Georgiana lightly brushed her hand over the beautiful evergreen foliage adorning the table. She paused to touch one of the bright red berries, not believing it was real with such vibrancy. However, one touch was sufficient to verify it was indeed real.
“This is beautiful, Aunt,” Georgiana said, her eyes wide in awe as she reached her side.
Aunt Henrietta turned her face towards Georgiana’s, the same awe and excitement displayed there. “It is, is it not? I do love this time of the year and the perfect excuse to decorate our homes with nature’s bountiful splendour.”
Georgiana pointed. “What is that?”
Turning her head back towards the sideboard, Aunt Henrietta explained, “When our boys were young and at boarding school, your uncle and I travelled extensively throughout the continent of Europe. It was a most eye-opening experience, I can tell you, and something I would recommend to every young person of means. One of our favourite places was Prussia. We visited during wintertime. They bring the most beautiful evergreen trees into their homes and decorate them with apples and roses made of paper and even with lit candles. I was most taken with the tradition and very excited to bring it back with us to Matlock. Unfortunately, with two young boys full of energy at Christmastide when they were home from school, having lit candles on the tree was not a good idea. Your uncle,” here she closed her eyes and placed her hand on her heart, “God rest his soul, did not like the tradition at all. With all
the expense he laid out in making our estate the beautiful place it is, he was loath to go outside into the grounds and cut down a tree just to decorate the house at Christmas.”
Georgiana smiled at the intense happiness on her aunt’s face. “And now you have decided that you want to have that particular tradition this year,” she replied tentatively.
“Yes. I find my mind stayed upon my dear husband far more these past few days than it has since his passing. Although my thoughts are not turning melancholy, so do not alarm yourself on my account, but they are filled with wonderful memories of our life together.”
Georgiana placed her hand upon her aunt’s arm.
“So, you see, my dear,” Aunt Henrietta patted Georgiana’s hand, “I had this little sapling brought inside. He is still in the ground in his little pot, and I intend to keep him well watered so that in the spring, after spending a little time in the orangery, he can go back outside where he belongs.”
“It is exactly as it should be.”
“Indeed. Your Uncle Thomas would approve, I believe. We can have this tradition wrought with so many happy memories with little or no harm to this tiny tree.”
“I think so,” Georgiana agreed. “How are you going to decorate it? Not with candles, I presume.”
“No.” Aunt Henrietta chuckled. “I think prudence wins out as far as candles on the tree are concerned. Besides, I do not believe this little fellow’s branches could hold the weight of even a spent candle.” She chuckled as she fingered the sapling’s branches. “In Prussia we noted that they decorated as a family.” She made a funny little noise in her throat and cocked her head to the side, “I suppose they still do. I thought it would be nice if you and I both made little paper roses for it one evening.”
Georgiana’s smile spread wider. “I would be delighted to help you. It seems to me that it is a beautiful tradition and one I am eager to participate in.”
Miss Darcy's Christmas Page 2