To Forget:Darcy's London Christmas: Pride and Prejudice continuation; Sweet Tea Short Story (2 page)

“He paid her uncommon amounts of attention last night.” He sipped his coffee.

“Indeed he did, and I loath to think what it might mean for all of us. You know how impulsive Charles can be.”

“True enough, but he falls out of love nearly as quickly as he falls in. Are you not a bit premature in your concerns?”

Miss Bingley balanced her forehead on her fingers. “He seems utterly besotted with her, more so than I have seen him with any other. To be sure Miss Bennet is a good sort of girl—who could object to her alone? But her family?”

Darcy lifted an open hand. “I observed the same spectacle. Best not recount it.”

“I could not agree more. Oh, the vulgarity! Can you imagine—of course there is no need as you saw it all yourself. I need not convince you of the very great misfortune of being connected to such people. Charles, though—he has no notion.”

“I quite agree.” The words sounded so strange, tumbling from his mouth.

Agreeing with Miss Bingley? He would have wagered that such a thing would never happen.

“I knew you would see it the same way. We think so alike, you and I.”

Why was she batting her eyes? That was inevitably a bad sign. He clutched the edge of his chair lest he bolt from the room.

“Louisa and Hurst quite agree as well. Though Hurst cannot be roused to think it an urgent matter, Louisa and I are convinced we must act quickly.

“What have you in mind?”

“We must persuade him, to leave this place at once.”

“But you have only just hosted your ball. There will be many anxious to return the invitation. Dinners, parties—”

“I am well aware and dreading nearly every one of them. The society here is boorish and confined at best. The thought of all those engagements is an untold evil. I would endure them for propriety’s sake. But each one presents a grave danger of putting Charles in Jane Bennet’s company.”

Though perhaps a bit alarmist, her reasoning was sound.

“I see no choice but to separate them, for he will give her up no other way.”

“Are you certain such drastic means are required? I have never found him so difficult to sway.”

“Ordinarily I might agree. I have seen you work your persuasion upon him to great effect. But in this, the risk is too great, and the possibility of him being stubborn too real. I fear drastic measures must be taken. It is bad enough that there is no way I can prevent him calling upon Longbourn before he goes to London this morning.”

Darcy gripped his forehead. Was it impossible for her to think something out clearly? Did all her thoughts run in convoluted circles?

“If he is going immediately to London, I do not see the problem. They will be separated as you desire.”

“He will return in just a few days, though, perhaps with strengthened sentiments because he fancied himself lonely whilst he was gone.” She leaned forward and tapped the table. “What I propose is this. He will go to London today, and tomorrow we will all join him. Once there, we might begin to work upon him. He regards your insight very highly. If he were to hear you in agreement with us, it would convince him of the evils of returning to the country.”

Darcy had never sided with Miss Bingley against her brother before. Usually, he only interfered when Bingley asked his counsel. While it was true, Bingley relied upon him often, it was hard to conscience such open collusion.

“You know how my brother enjoys the diversions of London. Once settled there, you can have no doubt of his happiness.” She batted her eyes, again.

He turned aside.

Still, it was for Bingley’s own good that it happen. The sooner, the less painful the ending of the attachment for all involved.

“Very well, I will prepare to leave tomorrow.”

Miss Bingley pressed a hand to her chest. “I cannot thank you enough.”

Pray, no more batting eyes or fluttering hearts!

Darcy rose and excused himself.

If he were to be leaving Netherfield soon, then a morning walk, and on the off chance, an encounter with Miss Bennet, might not be so very dangerous a thing after all.

He called for his hat and coat.

Two days of dry weather had done little to reduce the puddles and patches of mud still riddling the footpath. Pemberley’s footpaths were much better maintained than these. Little surprise. Netherfield’s owner neglected so many details of his estate.

The crisp air proved bracing, and no amount of neglect could diminish the morning sunshine. If he closed his eyes, he could almost smell Pemberley.

A flash of color caught his eye—a familiar shade of blue. Elizabeth had worn that color when she had stayed with her sister at Netherfield

She broke a small branch and slashed at the knee high grasses reaching for her skirts. Her brows drew together and she murmured under her breath.

What was she saying?

Perhaps if he drew nearer.

He ducked behind a large tree and pressed his back to the trunk.

“I cannot believe ... if he should ever ...” only snatches of her solitary ramblings were clear.

He held his breath and closed his eyes.

“Why must Mama push so hard and insist on what she truly does not understand? I know why she thinks it a good thing, but so soon? How can she think she knows his character? It certainly is not the same thing as knowing his position. How am I to convince her only a fool rushes into an alliance, no matter how ideal it seems?”

She cast the branch aside and stalked away.

So Miss Elizabeth saw it, too. The insidious matchmaking attempts by her mother, and she agreed no good would come of them.

She wanted to see her sister separated from Bingley.

Perhaps she might never know of it, but he would perform this service for his friend and for her. On the morrow they would be off to London and make sure Bingley never returned to Netherfield.

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T
he following morning, Darcy settled into his coach, alone with his thoughts. Soon Meryton would be but a memory and the danger to Bingley—and to his own equanimity—would be over. If Elizabeth knew what he was doing for her, she would thank him, but of course she never would.

It should be enough to know himself that he was serving her.

The coach rolled past Longbourn. Would she be out walking now? He flashed a sidelong glance at the slowly passing country side. But no light and pleasing figure rose from the grasses nor peeked out from between the trees.

Just as well.

The little pang in his belly was not disappointment. He should not have eaten those kippers before he left.

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D
ecember 24, 1812

She turned in his arms, staring almost nose to nose with him.

“You were there, on the path to Oakum Mount, watching me as I walked?”

“It was not intentional, I assure you.”

“That does not seem to be what you just told me.” Her eyebrows rose, inviting a challenge.

“True enough, I had hoped to see you there, but had no way of knowing if I would or not. It was just fortunate happenstance that I did.”

“I am not so certain I would call it fortunate. Did you really think I was referring to Jane and Bingley just then?”

“You were not?” Cold prickles spread across the back of his neck.

“By no means! I was referring to Mr. Collins. Mama was determined that I should marry him. I was searching for some way to convince her it was a very bad idea.”

“I should say so! A worse notion has hardly been put forth! Collins?” He shuddered. “But in truth, I had no notion he would have been the one you were talking about. What a revolting notion.”

“In that I would whole-heartedly agree with you. But still, I cannot believe you thought I would wish Jane separated from Bingley.” A tiny ‘v’ formed between her eyebrows, the one reserved for when she was cross indeed.

“I was quick to believe I was doing you a service, but only because, even then, I wished to please you.”

“The one thing I cannot fault you for.” She kissed his cheek.

“I have learned since then not to assume I know your thoughts.”

She laughed, a gay sound that made anywhere sound like home. “And we are all glad for that. So, then what happened once you were in London.”

“Little good, I can tell you that, first and foremost and some of it was absolutely ghastly...”

December 25, 1811

A month later, Darcy stepped down from his carriage and stared at Bingley’s front door. He tugged his shirt cuffs from beneath his jacket and straightened his cravat.

Why had providence made Bingley so very persuasive—or was it merely a reflection of Darcy’s own guilt—that he agreed to attend? Bingley had looked so very miserable when he asked.

“Darcy, you ought not spend Christmas alone. That is far too lonely a fate for a man with both friends and family”

It was true enough, though he had more family than friends.

“Besides
,
this party is your fault.”

“My fault? That is absurd.”

Bingley raised his index finger and shook it at him. “I would not be here in London, apart from your forceful insistence that it was the right and proper thing to do. Were I not in London, this party would not be happening. Thus, since it is your fault I am in London, the party is equally your responsibility as well. And as such, you must attend.”

Darcy huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Surely you cannot tell me you object to Christmastide entertaining?”

Though he was not apt to socialize like Bingley, he did not on principle object to Christmastide socializing. This year was different. All he wanted was to be left alone that he might quiet the cacophony in his own head.

One which centered around Elizabeth Bennet.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head sharply.

Enough of this! Enough!

Why was it, the very thing he least wanted to dwell upon would not leave his mind for a king’s ransom?

Perhaps distraction among merry society was the best thing indeed.

He trotted up the few steps and rapped at the door. The butler opened the door. The smells of Christmas washed over him, a wave forcing him back in time to a much simpler life at Pemberley.

“Will these boughs be enough?” a young Darcy offered his mother an armload of evergreen boughs, cut by his own hand.

“These are wonderful, Fitzwilliam, but the house is quite large. We will need many more to fill it. Why do you not take the donkey cart with you on the next trip and heap it high.”

Mother’s cheeks glowed. Mrs. Reynolds whispered it was because she was increasing, but Darcy was sure it was because of her love of the Christmas season.

“Sir?” The butler peered at him, somber eyes narrowed.

Darcy grunted and entered. Doffing hat and great coat, he paused in the vestibule. Muffled conversation floated down from the drawing room. More fragrances wafted from the dining room, boar’s head and was it ... yes, mince pie.

At Pemberley, mince pie was never served until after the Christmas feast.

So much food was prepared for family guests, tenants and servants, the cooling tables bowed with abundance. No less than three were set erected in the breakfast room to manage the overflow from the kitchen. After the feast, baskets were sent around to tenants and the parish poor, and still there was more left over.

Mrs. Reynolds and Cook would gather all that remained. Every free hand in the house was marshalled to chop and mix filling and pastry crust for piles and piles of mince pies.

For at least a fortnight afterwards, no one came within a quarter mile of Pemberley without having a mince pie pushed into their hands.

His mouth watered and he licked his lips.

“Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley called from halfway up the stairs, her ostrich feather bobbing in time with her steps. “I am so glad you have joined us.”

“Thank you for your gracious invitation.” He bowed from his shoulders.

For all her faults, Miss Bingley was an excellent hostess. She had managed a remarkable feat, pulling together the Netherfield ball in but a fortnight. In all likelihood, she had been planning this event since they had arrived in London.

“Will you join us in the drawing room? We are waiting on just a few more guests to join us yet before we dine.”

She led him upstairs. Evergreen and holly festooned the stair rail and wax candles brightened every corner of the hall. The drawing room, aided by many mirrors, seemed even brighter. Vases filled with tasteful arrangements of laurel and Christmas roses pulled the eye around the room to admire everything.

“May I introduce you to our other guests?”

Darcy glanced about the room. Thank Providence! It seemed none of those horrid contributors to the society columns were in attendance. What more could he honestly ask of an evening?

Still, he hesitated. Acquaintances were a tricky thing. He would be expected to remember and acknowledge these new connections when next they met, something he was ill-equipped to do. Names and faces blurred and fogged in his mind, forever leading him into awkward social blunders.

But what greater offense would he cause refusing her simple request?

“Darcy!” Bingley appeared out of the crowd. “Simply capital to see you tonight. Come, I must have you meet Sir Andrew and Miss Aldercott. He is the most delightful fellow.”

Bingley proceeded to describe the pair in question. Sir Andrew had a penchant for fine horses, but was troubled by gout in his left leg, so he rarely rode any more. Horse racing had become his passion, but he tended to bet too much. Miss Aldercott was his daughter and possessed a substantial fortune. She was usually found in the company of her two pugs, who looked rather like her brother and sister—she was the beauty of the family. She was an excellent horsewoman, due to her father’s influence, but preferred to drive than ride. Her little phaeton had recently been repainted and she was hoping to learn to drive her father’s curricle soon. By the time that they actually found Sir Andrew and Miss Aldercott, it was as if he had the pleasure of their acquaintance for years.

That was the difference when Bingley introduced someone one. His endless ramble offered enough to remember those new acquaintances tolerably well and have some idea upon what to conduct a conversation.