Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (12 page)

“Since you are such an authority on ancient customs, are you not forgetting something?”

“What is that?”

“Such licence is permitted only if you can pluck a berry from the mistletoe.”

Fitzwilliam glanced up with a grin.

“Either by accident or by design, you had it hung up too high. Besides, you know as well as I do that pecks on the cheek were not what they had in mind with that proviso. But fear not, when the time comes I will find a way to reach those berries,” he laughed, the aggravating show of confidence making Darcy wish he had instructed Peter to hang the troublesome thing a great deal higher. There was still time to do so. And he would, by Jove, if Fitzwilliam persisted in this infuriating manner!

“You will excuse me,” he abruptly took his leave.

CHAPTER 10

“Hannah, pray seek Miss Bennet in her chambers and ask her to join me, if it is convenient,” Georgiana instructed the maid and, as the girl left, she exchanged a wide smile with her brother who was still standing by the window and resumed her seat at the table, barely containing her anticipation.

They were not kept waiting long but even so, by the time a light tap came to announce Elizabeth’s arrival, Georgiana had become too impatient to remain seated and was already close enough to open the door herself.

“Lizzy! Merry Christmas! Do come. I trust this is not too early for you. But I was hoping for a private moment before we join the commotion below stairs – we both were,” she turned to include Darcy in the sentiment. “In fact, it was my brother’s suggestion that we meet here. You see, we have something for you,” she smilingly added with a gesture towards the little oval table, where two parcels stood neatly wrapped in thin brown paper.

Elizabeth glanced warmly from the sister to the brother.

“I thank you both. You are so very kind, too kind. But firstly, pray excuse me for a moment.”

Without waiting for them to speak, she turned on her heel and vanished from the room, only to return a few minutes later holding two small parcels of her own. She handed one to Georgiana with fond wishes and a tight embrace, then walked to offer the second to Darcy.

“Merry Christmas, Sir.”

It was plain to see that he had expected nothing of the sort, and neither had Georgiana, who exclaimed:

“Oh, Lizzy, you should not have!”

“I can say the same,” he friend replied with a smile and Georgiana cheerfully returned it as she clasped her hand and led her to the table.

“Let us sit,” she urged and the other two were only too happy to comply. She slid Elizabeth’s presents closer to her and smiled again. “You first.” But at her brother’s nearly imperceptible shake of his head she reconsidered, quick to understand his meaning. It would not do to discomfit her dear friend by staring, so she instantly retracted, “Unless you do not mind if I open mine at the same time? I find I am not quite as patient as I thought.”

“Not at all. But I should not wish to excite your anticipation. ‘Tis but a small gift.”

“And I shall treasure it,” Georgiana replied warmly, lifting the little parcel to fiddle with the string, still unable to resist the temptation of surreptitiously watching her friend’s progress with hers, impatient for her reaction.

When it became apparent that they were all doing the same, Miss Bennet laughed lightly and tore at the brown paper, only to gasp when the parting folds revealed the beautiful garment within.

“Oh, Georgiana! This is exquisite,” she whispered, finally finding her voice.

“You like it? I am so very glad!”

“How could I not? What a delightful shade! And this beautiful lace. You are much too generous. Too generous by far.”

“Nonsense,” the other protested. “‘Tis all Mrs Moore’s work. I merely–… Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed, having finally opened Elizabeth’s gift to her. It was an ivory silk reticule, painstakingly embroidered with countless sweet violets, perfectly shaped and very tiny, covering the entire surface in an intricate pattern. “I have done nothing for your dress other than choosing the colour, but you! This must have taken you hours upon hours.”

“It was a pleasure, and lovingly done.”

“Dearest Lizzy! I can see that, it shows in every stitch. But I have never seen you work on it. When did you find the time?”

“Oh, here and there,” Elizabeth said airily, with a little wave. “I could not let you see it, that would have defied the object. Although you very nearly caught me once. But since you did not ask why I was moved to caper about the room so early in the morning I assumed you did not see me hide it.”

“I certainly did not,” Georgiana laughed and said something further, but Darcy was no longer listening.

Throughout their time together in Georgiana’s private sitting room he had contributed nothing to their interactions, content to witness them in silence as he often did these days and take pleasure in their warm affection for each other, as well as in one of the rare occasions when Miss Bennet had cast her cautious reserve aside.

She was the very picture of Christmas cheer this morning as she laughed with Georgiana and it was gratifying to know she enjoyed her present. The thoughtful and painstaking effort she had put in her own gift to his sister moved him deeply, as did the notion that she must have indeed spent many hours in her chambers labouring over it. Moreover, her choice to adorn the reticule with Georgiana’s favourite flowers showed that she knew her well and knew precisely what would please her.

And now he was given proof that she knew him too. While the young ladies were merrily chatting, plain curiosity and a strange sense of anticipation had prompted him to quietly unwrap Miss Bennet’s Christmas gift to him. It was thin and narrow, its shape no indication of its contents, and he was still none the wiser after the first glimpse within. It was only when the paper fully came apart that it was revealed to be a bookmark. Nay, not a bookmark, but a work of art. The long strip was covered in the minutest cross-stitch, almost too tiny to be discerned with the naked eye, depicting a view of Pemberley as faithfully as a watercolour, or rather an oil painting. Pemberley in the autumn, as the reddish tinge of the maples showed, and the golden shapes of the beeches. Every detail of the house was captured to perfection, and its reflection undulated over the waters of the lake as they formed ripples in the breeze.

Awed and speechless, Darcy lifted the exquisite creation from its wrappings, running his thumb over it, and it was only then that his fingertips sensed the cross-stitch on the underside. He turned the bookmark over and his eyes widened to discover that it was made of not one but two pieces of skilful embroidery sewn together back to back. The second showed Pemberley in the spring. She had never seen it thus, so how did she know there would be daffodils on that very patch beneath the lime tree? Or bluebells by the orangery, or that the magnolias would bloom with rosy tints?

He glanced up, only to find Miss Bennet’s eyes fixed on him, their warm glow mesmerising. He cleared his voice.

“I thank you for your wonderful gift. No words can do it justice. But… how did you know?”

“That you would find uses for a bookmark?” She laughed lightly. “It was a fair assumption, Mr Darcy.”

He smiled back.

“Indeed. But I meant to ask how did you know what Pemberley looks like in the spring.”

She gave an airy little shrug.

“No mystery. I asked Mrs Reynolds. She was most helpful in describing it to me.”

“I must agree with Georgiana. You have put a vast deal more time and thoughtful care in your gifts than we have in ours.”

“I must beg to differ,” she protested warmly. “They are the very essence of thoughtful kindness, Sir, and I deeply appreciate them both.”

“Oh. You have opened the other one already?”

He had not noticed, engrossed in his admiration of the exquisite bookmark, and now regretted his distraction. He would have liked to see her do so and catch her first reaction, but judging by the way she had just stroked the leather bindings of the book she probably did enjoy receiving it.

“I only wish the notion had come to me sooner, so that I could order a new copy from town. Unfortunately none could be found at Messrs Howe and Crompton’s. But I was hoping you would not be too averse to owning the very one that has given you comfort.”

Her voice was low and uneven when she answered.

“Quite the opposite, Sir. ‘Tis all the more treasured for it.”

“I am very glad to hear it. As Georgiana and I will treasure your exquisite gifts. And I hope that when spring comes you will be pleased to see for yourself the very scene you have so skilfully and faithfully depicted.”

“I thank you,” was all she said this time, and Georgiana grimaced.

“I daresay we would soon have to make our way below…”

Darcy smiled at her obvious reluctance.

“Do not be so downcast, sweetling. ‘Tis Christmas Day, a time to be jolly.”

“And so I would have been,” she replied with a delightful little pout, “if only there was just the three of us at Pemberley for Christmas.”

He could not argue with the sentiment. It would have pleased him too, a great deal better. He carefully folded the bookmark and placed it in his breast pocket, then glanced at his watch.

“Our guests will have started to come down for breakfast and we should set off to church in a couple of hours, so there is nothing for it, we must be convivial. Come, it will not be so very bad,” he smiled and stood to drop a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, sweetling,” he said, then turned to Miss Bennet.

She had already stood, and before she could gather her belongings from the table, he reached for her hand. She looked up in surprise and her countenance turned rosy. It was so frequent an occurrence these days, that sudden rush of colour to her cheeks whenever she was near, that he might have come to disregard it had she not looked so utterly charming when she blushed. His hand clasped hers and he carried her fingers to his lips. It occurred to him in passing that he had not kissed her hand before. Yet somehow today it seemed not only natural, but fitting.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Bennet.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr Darcy,” she whispered back, close enough for him to notice for the first time that there were specks of gold and amber in her dark brown eyes, before she cast them down and withdrew her hand.

She excused herself and left them promptly afterwards, declaring she would join them in the breakfast parlour in a little while.

Yet she did not, for quite some time. Not until most of the household and the guests had begun to assemble for the traditional walk to church. He could not imagine what had kept her, and none of his conjectures touched upon the truth.

And the truth was that as soon as she gained the privacy of her bedchamber Elizabeth leaned against the door and, eyes closed, pressed the back of her fingers to her lips, on the very spot where his lips had briefly rested. With a heavy sigh, she walked to gingerly place the folded dress upon the bed. She stroked Georgiana’s gift with a fleeting smile of gratitude for her kindness, but the book was kept clasped tightly to her chest as she walked to sit in the chair by the window. Eyes closed, she remained there for a great length of time – in the same spot where, night after sleepless night, she had embroidered her very heart and soul into scenes of Pemberley that would remain with him long after she was gone.

The coming spring might be her first and last in Derbyshire. Her one and only chance to see the beautiful house clad in the cheerful hues of reviving nature. But the bookmark would still caress his fingers, whenever or rather
if
ever he would use it.

He would. He liked it – had put it in his breast pocket. It was still there, even then. Even then, that fortunate little strip of embroidered fabric was warmed by his warmth, close to his heartbeat. Why had he put it in his breast pocket?

Another heavy sigh banished vain dreams and empty hopes, and her hold on the cherished book slackened. Very slowly – slowly and carefully, as though it were spun glass – she opened it in her lap. She went no further than the title page, inscribed in a large flowing script and then in ever smaller letters as
Gulliver’s Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World. In Four Parts. By Lemuel Gulliver, First a Surgeon, and then a Captain of Several Ships
.

There was no frontispiece, just a wide map of fanciful places spreading over the reverse of the front cover as well as the adjoining page. On its other side, where a frontispiece might have been, there was instead a bookplate with an elaborate design bearing the Darcy crest at its centre. Below, he had written in his firm hand,
‘To Miss E. B. Happy Christmas & happy memories. F. D.’

Her fingers trembled over the initials but not close enough to touch them, although the ink had long since dried. Instead, she stroked the blank margin underneath and, closing the volume, she pressed it to her lips.

That was what she would take with her when she left. A secreted handkerchief. A treasured gift. And memories. All blissfully happy. Unbearably so. Memories of an intangible perfection, that pierced her heart.

* * * *

The rest of Christmas Day was as busy as Darcy had anticipated. The church service was followed by the habitual pursuits, leading up to the lavish Christmas dinner served with all the pomp and circumstance of yesteryear, including the ancient tradition of the boar’s head.

Despite her reservations, Georgiana seemed to enjoy the evening in Lady Amelia and Miss Bennet’s company, and the latter was in the very best of looks in her new apparel, although perhaps not in the best of spirits.

As soon as the season’s madness concluded and they regained their former tranquillity, he would have to learn the cause of her discomfort, Darcy determined. It would be easier, he hoped, without all this incessant bustle and far too many guests.

Predictably the bustle only increased over the following days, when preparations for the Twelfth Night Ball were added to the increasingly taxing duty of entertaining a houseful of visitors. Poor Mrs Reynolds, Monsieur Gustave and the rest of the household were rushed off their feet and would doubtlessly appreciate a return to normality as much as he.