Page 33 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
Darcy clasped his hands behind his back. That hit very close to the mark. His pride had been a significant impediment to his own happiness. But he was well past any sense of superiority now. He would be insufferably proud again, though, if only he could convince Miss Bennet that he was worthy of her. For a man worthy of her regard could truly be proud to have won it and her.
“Not a prize to be won,” he murmured.
“Did you say something, Darcy?” Bingley asked, finally drawn away from the scene outside.
“Nothing of import.” Elizabeth was a treasure, that much was true. But her respect, dare he hope—her love—was something he would work every day to preserve, to deepen.
Bingley tossed the cigar back in its box and poured two small glasses of brandy. Darcy took one and sipped it slowly.
As tirelessly as Darcy worked to maintain the family seat, to make it prosper for his family and those who depended upon it, Pemberley would never love him. He might have scoffed at such sentiment once, but no more.
He loved Elizabeth. He wanted, more than anything, to be a man she could love in return. He wanted to share Pemberley with her in all its trials and triumphs, but it was another sort of legacy he wanted more, the legacy of a love that would live on in their children and grandchildren.
It was a great deal to hope for. To make it happen, he must first speak to Elizabeth.
“Are you ready to rejoin the ladies, Bingley?” he asked.
Charles nodded. “I am.”
Elizabeth followed Jane out of the dining room and into the hallway. Mr. Carstairs was shaking out Mr. Darcy’s greatcoat but draped it over his arm when he saw them. “Mrs. Bingley, Miss Bennet,” he said, and then paused. “Miss Bingley.”
Miss Bingley frowned. “Is that Mr. Darcy’s coat?”
“It is.” Carstairs addressed Jane. “I was about to have it sent up to his rooms, now that it is dry and has been brushed.”
“Thank you, Carstairs,” Jane said approvingly.
When they entered the parlour, Miss Bingley was not with them. They waited for a few moments before Jane returned to the hall to locate her. Miss Bingley was not far from the door, and she was wearing a self-satisfied smile that Elizabeth could not like.
“What shall we do to pass the time?” Miss Bingley asked. “Perhaps some music? Mr. Darcy has always appreciated my playing.”
“That would be lovely, Caroline,” Jane said, seemingly relieved that the woman was not continuing to be difficult.
Miss Bingley moved to the pianoforte and began a few country airs. Even Elizabeth had to admit she played them very well. Jane spoke quietly about her plans for Christmas dinner, and Elizabeth tried to quell the happiness that welled up inside. She would be able to spend Christmas with Mr. Darcy. Unless the snow grew very deep indeed, they would go out to gather greenery and decorate the house. Perhaps they might even hang a kissing bough where she would be sure to be caught standing. She clasped her hands together in her lap and said a silent little prayer that she was not wrong. How he could have overcome his aversion to Mr. Wickham so far as to contemplate marrying into a family that counted him among their members, she did not know, but at this moment, she did not care.
Thus they remained for three quarters of an hour. Elizabeth caught only a few words from Jane in all that time. Pudding. Goose. Pies. They took up some work, finishing some infant clothing for the parish.
When the music shifted rather abruptly into Clementi, which she knew Mr. Darcy enjoyed, Elizabeth looked up to see the men entering. Due to Charles’s desire to be with his wife, no doubt, not to any haste on Mr. Darcy’s side. Still, she watched him closely, and he smiled at her, a gentle smile of promise.
“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley called in a voice as sweet and yet sophisticated as Elizabeth had ever heard, “I must claim your assistance to turn the pages, sir. Do say you will.”
Elizabeth wanted to pick up the nearest vase and throw it at Miss Bingley’s head. Horrible woman. Mr. Darcy could not properly turn down such an agreeably framed request, and though his expression hardened, he dutifully turned away and stepped to the pianoforte as Charles came to sit next to Jane.
Now that Jane’s attention was all for her husband, Elizabeth was free to observe the pair at the pianoforte. Miss Bingley nodded at the bench, but Mr. Darcy pulled a chair up to the instrument and sat in that instead, using the length of his arms to turn the pages at the exact moment it was required for Miss Bingley to continue seamlessly through the music. Elizabeth thought he must have performed the office regularly for his sister.
When the Clementi ended, Miss Bingley immediately began a piece by Pleyel, giving Mr. Darcy no chance to take his leave. Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Several sonatas followed until Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She stood and announced she was retiring.
Mr. Darcy’s glower was, she trusted, meant for Miss Bingley rather than her. The pleasure that suffused Miss Bingley’s countenance was worse than her manipulations had been, but Elizabeth was certain that she would be able find Mr. Darcy alone somehow. If Miss Bingley was anywhere near either of them, they would never be able to have a moment’s conversation.
She bid the others a good night and tried to offer Mr. Darcy a hopeful smile. He blinked but remained stoic, and Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. With a little sigh, she left them all for her chambers, where she was sure she would not sleep.
Darcy had slept heavily but awoken early. He stared up at the canopy over his bed for a time trying to return to sleep, but it was no use lying in bed when his mind was not at peace. He heaved himself up, dressed, only calling for Scripps when he could not tie his cravat properly, and then went in search of some coffee. Fortunately, Scripps was as efficient as ever, for Darcy’s request preceded him; the cook had already sent coffee to the breakfast room for him though the meal itself was not yet prepared. Darcy gulped down two piping hot cups in blissful silence.
Thus fortified, he donned his outwear and headed out into the snow to check on his horses. Although he now had no intention of leaving Netherfield until he had been able to speak with Elizabeth, Darcy wished to make certain his horses were all healthy, shoed, and otherwise prepared to make the journey north—it was always wise to be prepared for all contingencies. He had certainly learned that much over the past year.
Anders was cleaning the coach when he arrived.
“Good morning, sir,” he said, doffing his hat.
