To Forget:Darcy's London Christmas: Pride and Prejudice continuation; Sweet Tea Short Story (4 page)

But Lady Elizabeth seemed made of sterner stuff. She calmly placed her hands on the keyboard and delighted the room with her mastery. Her hands flowed with effortless grace, so mesmerizing he nearly forgot to turn the pages.

Her next piece was an old ballad, one of Darcy’s favorites, sung and played just as flawlessly.

Elizabeth Bennet would never have attempted the first piece, but she might have the second. She would not have been able to manage some of the fingerings and the highest notes were out of her range. No question, her performance would pale beside Lady Elizabeth’s, and yet it would have had a compelling charm all its own. Perhaps even more appealing than the superior performance displayed before him.

Darcy escorted Lady Elizabeth away from the pianoforte. Every unattached man in the room, and some attached, watched her as they walked. Her grace and her figure made it difficult to look away.

He should be pleased to have such a woman on his arm.

Any man would.

“Would you care for a hand of cards, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, not looking directly at him.

He hated cards. A damn foolish way to lose money.

“They can be that,” Mother had said. “And it behooves you to always be cautious. Never allow more than a few shillings to card play. But when limited in such a way, it is a harmless and very sociable pastime.”

“But I lose when I play cards and I do not like to lose.”

“All the more reason you should play. One does not always win. It is good practice to learn to lose graciously.”

Miss Elizabeth did not play cards, at least not whilst she was at Netherfield. There she kept to her books, though at the same time she claimed to like many things, even cards.

What would it be like to play a hand with her? Her eyes would sparkle over her cards, never revealing the luck of her hand. She would banter and tease with each bet, taunting him to reveal more than he wanted, trying to sketch his character.

As she had in the ballroom at Netherfield. What conclusions had she drawn there? Surely she must be aware of his regard.

“Mr. Darcy?” Lady Elizabeth blinked up at him, eyes sparkling, lips smiling.

But her face was all wrong. She was the wrong Elizabeth. As pleasant and ladylike as she might be, she was the wrong Elizabeth.

Any further time in her presence would surely drive him mad.

“Thank you, no. I must ... excuse me ...”

He bowed and strode off. Where was Bingley? He must be somewhere in the room.

There!

Too many long, purposeful strides brought him to Bingley, and he pulled Bingley aside.

“Darcy are you ill? You look like the very devil himself.”

“I must take my leave. Pray give my regards to your sister.”

“If you are unwell, you may certainly spend the night here with us. I shall have a room made up.”

“No ... I ... I need to be ... home.”

Bingley studied him. He glanced at Lady Elizabeth, brows rising, and nodded slowly. “I understand. I will call for your carriage.”

“Thank you, I shall wait outside.”

The cold night air embraced him, soothing the raw oppression of too much company burning his skin. Too much company and too little of the right Elizabeth.

He would conquer this. He must.

December 24, 1812

“The wrong Elizabeth?” She giggled against him.

“You do not think me serious?”

“Oh, I think you entirely serious. I just do not know anyone else who could put it quite that way.”

“You do not approve of my expression?” He leaned down to look into her face.

“I approve whole heartedly. I think it quite dear. I rather like the idea of being the right Elizabeth.”

“Well, be assured you are, I can abide none other by that name, Lady or no.”

“I am honored, sir. I had no idea even then I had such a place in your consciousness.”

“You had no idea? Even after the Netherfield Ball and we danced together?”

“The only thing obvious that night was your discomfort with everything around you and your dislike of country manners.” She cupped his cheek in her palm. 

“I was in agony that night, in so much company. Dancing with you was the only pleasant part of the evening.”

“Truly I had no idea. I thought you only looked at me to find fault.”

“Not at all. I had just learned to be very careful with whom I kept company with in public. Have I not told you?”

“You never mentioned it.”

“I never told you of the gossip writers?” He scratched behind his left ear. “I suppose your presence makes it easy to forget such disagreeable persons and how they used to haunt my every movement in London.”

“Every movement?”

“Every one. Last Christmastide was no exception.” He pulled her close again.

“Tell me.”

D
ec 26, 1811

Sleep did not come easily. It rarely did after so large a social gathering. He slept well past his customary time the next morning. By the time he was dressed and in his study, the housekeeper was receiving the tradesmen and handing out parcels for Boxing Day.

The maid came in with a breakfast tray which included the newspaper. Darcy poured himself a cup of coffee and settled into his favorite chair with his paper. He scanned for something of interest.

Theater announcements noted the opening of a new panto, Harlequin and Cinderella. Mother would have enjoyed that one. She probably would have insisted Father acquire tickets the day after Boxing Day.

“But why not on Boxing Day?” young Darcy asked.

“If for no other reason than to help you develop patience, Fitzwilliam.” She kissed the top of his head and straightened the ruffled collar of his skeleton suit.

“I do not like patience, Mama.”

“That is all right dear, none of us do. But it is an important virtue nonetheless. In any case, we have important things to do on Boxing Day and will not have time for the theater until afterwards.”

“What must we do?”

“Well, in the morning, the tradesmen will come for their boxes. Then, in the afternoon, we have invited the tenants to the manor for refreshments and games for the children. They shall have their boxes then as well. Then the alms houses of the parish must be visited and those boxes delivered.”

“Why do we do all the bringing of boxes? Does no one bring us a box? That does not seem very fair.”

“Life is not always fair, son. It is our privilege to be able to give in this season rather than receive. We have received so much already, it only seems right.”

He had not understood his mother then, but she had been right. Rarely had Darcy ever truly wanted for anything.

He sipped his coffee and smacked his lips. Perhaps that was what made this dilemma of Miss Elizabeth Bennet so difficult.

No point in dwelling upon it further. He pushed up from his chair.

Mother would have instructed him to go and greet some of the tradesmen as they visited. Company held little appeal, but at least this would adhere to a script he understood. That was far less disagreeable than the usual variety of socializing.

He walked back to the kitchen where the housekeeper chatted with two tradesmen enjoying small beer and a platter of bread, cold meat and cheese.

“Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied and the two men rose and bowed.

“Thank you very kindly for the box, sir,” the older of the two men dipped his head again. “The missus has been doing poorly. The victuals and the shawl will go a long way in lifting her spirits.”

“Indeed, sir,” the other man clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “Many thanks. The Darcy House is known for its generosity. It be a privilege to be able to say that the cheese at your table comes from my establishment.”

No doubt that same intelligence also improved his sales. Still, there was no harm in it either. Good work and good merchandise deserved reward.

Darcy forced himself to make the appropriate small talk and remain in the kitchen a full hour whilst several other tradesmen came and went. He would have to leave the housekeeper a few pounds extra when he left for Derbyshire. She, too, should be rewarded; putting all those boxes together according to the needs of the families was no small task.

Mother had taken such care with the task, it was the privilege of the estate’s mistress to do so, she had said.

Did Miss Elizabeth enjoy the task at Longbourn ...

No, no, no, that was not a helpful thought at all.

He left the kitchen and stalked back to the study. The maid informed him Bingley had arrived and was waiting in the parlor.

“Good day, Bingley.” Darcy gestured for him to sit down.

“You are looking much better than when you left last night. I am much relieved.” Bingley settled back and crossed one leg over the other.

“Yes, well, as you see, there is no reason for concern.”

“Are you certain? You did not look at all well—”

“I am entirely well. Is that all you came for?”

Bingley laughed. “You know very well that is not the case. Have you forgotten how Caroline is the night after a major social event? She is doubly so when it is an event she has conducted. You would think all the worrying was done and over with the event, but no. She is ever concocting reasons for fear and trepidation: what will people be saying, what might appear in the society pages, would there be invitations extended or will she be snubbed ... Good Lord, I cannot imagine why she must worry so. It seems sometimes that she must dearly enjoy it.”

“So you are taking refuge here to avoid her.”

“Do not think me so ignoble. I bring with me an invitation.”

“Another party? I am surprised that even you and your sister could manage another one so soon.”

“I would be as well. No, it is not another party. I have acquired tickets for the panto, four days from now. When I purchased them, I had every intention of escorting my sister to the theater. But now I find myself in a quandary. I seem to have planned a very important meeting with the banker that same day. I dare not try to convince him to another date.”

If anyone else made such a claim, he would not have believed them. But Bingley ...

“I cannot fathom how it is you still do not manage to get your dates straight. You truly must consider hiring a secretary.”

“Yes, yes, well, I will pursue that directly come the new year. In the meantime, there is an extra ticket to the panto. Louisa and Hurst are attending—”

“Then Miss Bingley can attend with them, can she not?”

Bingley sighed. “Yes and no. She can, but she hates to be gooseberry in such a party. She insists the entire event is a waste if there is no fourth to attend with them. Pray, will you escort her?”

Darcy rose and raked his hair, pacing the room. “You put me in a very disagreeable position, you know.”

“I thought you enjoyed the panto.”

“I do, that is not the point.”

“Then enlighten me.”

“Do you know what happens when I am seen in public, or sometimes even at a private event, with a woman, any woman, who is not related to me?”

Bingley offered his characteristic blank stare and shrugged.

“The gossip begins and, more often than not, it finds its way into the scandal sheets. Speculation begins as to when an offer of marriage might be made and what the terms of the settlement might be.”

“Surely you are exaggerating.”

Darcy whirled on his heel and glared. The look had been known to cow the most stubborn tradesmen and servants, but Bingley hardly blinked.

“It is no exaggeration. Even if it were, there is the problem of the lady in question.”

“Excuse me?” Bingley pressed his elbows into the arms of the chair and sat very straight.

“If I am in the company of a lady at an event, she inevitably imagines far more interest that I intend. Have you not noticed the care I took in Meryton not to excite the expectations of any young lady?”

How well had those efforts worked? What were Elizabeth’s expectations? Did she understand what it meant when he asked her to dance? She was perceptive, surely she did.

“What, Caroline? You must be joking. Caroline has no interest in you. None whatsoever. You are my friend and nothing else.”

“I am not so convinced.”

“Well, you are wrong. She is not interested in a man who dislikes the pleasures of town and would expect her to remain in the country the better portion of the year. You are entirely safe from her.”

Darcy rolled his eyes.

“Did you not see, even last night? She took no great pains to be with you. She exhibited no jealousy when I introduced you to Lady Elizabeth. Darcy, truly, you have nothing to fear from Miss Bingley.”

Darcy chewed his lower lip.

“If that is your only objection, put your mind at rest and accept the tickets. Go with them and enjoy yourself. You have been so dour since we left Hertfordshire ...” the bright notes left Bingley’s voice, and he sighed. “It will be good for you to go.”

“It will placate your sister so that you do not have to listen to her continued complaints.”

“Well, yes, that too. What say you? I cannot believe you have other engagements at present, and it would be a favor to me.”

Darcy grumbled and muttered under his breath.

“With Drury Lane not yet rebuilt, this is your chance to see if another can live up to Grimaldi’s performance of Clown. You’ve always wondered if any might be as striking, yet you never opt to see another. How can you ignore so convenient an opportunity?”

Why did Bingley have to look so like his favorite spaniel?

“Very well. Thank you for your offer. But I insist on meeting your party at the theater. I will not be seen arriving or leaving with an unmarried woman.”

Bingley laughed. “I shall inform Caroline of the conditions of your attendance. She will not be pleased, but she will deem it better than attending alone.”

Dec 30, 1811

Darcy laid his newspaper aside. Miss Bingley should not have worried, her little dinner party hardly garnered any notice at all. A few brief words of Sir Andrew’s and Lady Elizabeth’s attendance and little more. Would she be gratified at the mention of her event, or offended that it garnered no more notice that a few brief sentences? It was difficult to predict.