Trapped in Scandal

Chapter Four

Darcy

25th December 1812

C hristmas morning at Pemberley dawned crisp and bright, the frost glinting on the manicured lawns like crushed diamonds. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at the window of his study, gazing out at the wintry expanse of his estate. The landscape was tranquil, its beauty unmarred by the discord that had settled over his household. Yet the festive peace he had so often cherished felt hollow this year, as though the season itself mocked him.

Christmases past had been occasions of quiet joy. He remembered his mother decorating the halls with her own hands, laughing softly as she directed the placement of holly and ivy. His father would preside over the family’s traditions with an easy authority, his deep voice carrying warmth through the house as they gathered to exchange gifts. Even after their passing, Darcy had found solace in preserving those traditions for Georgiana’s sake. Watching her face light up with the simple pleasures of the day had always brought him a measure of peace.

But now, everything was different. This year, his wife—a woman he had never wanted—sat in the parlour below, waiting for the festivities to begin. Elizabeth Bennet. The name itself stirred a storm of resentment within him. He had been forced into this marriage, bound by duty and propriety to a woman whose recklessness had jeopardised not only her own future but his as well. Her family’s lack of sense, her heedless behaviour… how had she ever thought she could entangle herself in such a scandal without consequences?

Darcy’s jaw tightened as he thought of the weeks leading to their marriage. When news of her predicament had reached him, his first instinct had been disbelief. Surely Miss Elizabeth Bennet, with all her sharp wit and self-assuredness, would not have allowed herself to be compromised in such a manner. Yet the truth was undeniable. She had been found in circumstances that no gentleman could overlook, and his honour demanded he act.

Had she sought him out deliberately? He could not entirely shake the suspicion. It was not unheard of for women in desperate situations to employ creative means to secure their futures. And Elizabeth, for all her outward independence, had no fortune to speak of and a family whose impropriety was notorious. She had needed rescuing, and he—unfortunately for them both—had been the most logical candidate.

His lip curled in irritation as he turned from the window and reached for the gifts he had set aside for the morning. Two presents lay neatly wrapped, one for Georgiana and one for Elizabeth. He had debated whether to include his wife at all but knew he could not entirely disregard propriety. Still, the gift he had chosen for her was as practical as it was impersonal. A set of embroidery silks in various colours. Bingley had suggested something related to her hobbies, and while Darcy thought her embroidery barely adequate, it seemed a safe choice.

He descended the staircase slowly, steeling himself for what was to come. The drawing room was a picture of festivity when he entered, adorned with garlands of evergreen and bright red berries. The fire roared cheerfully in the hearth, and Georgiana was already bustling about, her excitement palpable.

“Merry Christmas, Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed, hurrying to greet him. She was as radiant as he had ever seen her, her joy undimmed by the tension between him and his wife.

Darcy allowed himself a small smile for her sake. “Merry Christmas, Georgiana.”

Elizabeth was seated near the fire, her posture perfectly composed. She looked up as he entered, her expression polite but distant. He met her gaze briefly before looking away, unwilling to engage more than necessary.

Georgiana began unwrapping her presents with unrestrained enthusiasm, exclaiming over each one with delight. Elizabeth handed her a small parcel, which Georgiana opened to reveal an embroidered handkerchief adorned with flowers and a small mouse.

“Oh, Elizabeth, it is beautiful!” Georgiana cried, holding it up for inspection. “Fitzwilliam, look! Is it not charming?”

Darcy glanced at the handkerchief, his critical eye immediately noting its imperfections. The stitching, though careful, lacked the finesse he had been accustomed to in his mother’s work. And a mouse? Hardly a fitting motif for his sister’s belongings.

“It is adequate,” he said coolly, his tone measured but disinterested. Georgiana cast him a reproachful look, but Darcy was unmoved. He set down his own presents and handed one to Georgiana.

Her delight at discovering a pearl headpiece was instantaneous, and she flung her arms around him in thanks. Darcy felt a flicker of satisfaction at her reaction, though it was quickly overshadowed by the knowledge of the gift he must now present to Elizabeth.

He turned to her with the other present, his expression carefully blank. “For you,” he said simply, handing it over.

Elizabeth unwrapped the gift slowly, revealing the threads within. Her expression did not falter, but Darcy saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “A most practical gift.”

“It always behoves a lady to perfect her accomplishments,” he replied, his voice edged with pointed meaning. His gaze flicked briefly to the handkerchief Georgiana still held, the implication clear.

Elizabeth’s lips tightened, but she maintained her composure. “I see. Well, I apologise, Mr Darcy, as I fear my own offering may fall short of your expectations.”

She handed him a neatly wrapped present, which he opened to find a pair of embroidered velvet slippers. The design was not to his taste—too ornate for his preference—but there was no denying the effort she had put into them. Yet even as he studied them, he could not bring himself to voice anything resembling praise.

“They are… practical,” he said at last, his voice as even as he could make it. “And with the weather as it is, warmth is always welcome.”

“They are splendid, Elizabeth!” Georgiana interjected, her tone warm and encouraging. “Fitzwilliam has been in need of a new pair, and these are perfect.”

Darcy nodded curtly. “Quite true. I shall value them for their usefulness.”

The moment passed, but the tension lingered in the air. Darcy rose abruptly, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere. “I shall attend to the staff bonuses now,” he said, addressing Georgiana. “But I will return for dinner.”

Georgiana nodded, her smile tinged with concern. “Please do, Fitzwilliam. It would not be the same without you.”

Darcy inclined his head before leaving the room, his footsteps echoing through the halls. Once alone, he allowed his carefully maintained composure to falter. Elizabeth’s gift weighed in his hands, a tangible reminder of the woman he was now bound to—a woman who challenged him at every turn and whose very presence had upended the life he had so carefully planned.

As he strode towards the servants’ quarters, his mind churned with conflicting emotions. Duty and resentment warred within him, casting a shadow over the day’s festivities. Christmas at Pemberley, once a source of joy, now felt like a hollow exercise. And yet, despite himself, Darcy could not entirely dismiss the thought that perhaps—just perhaps—things might yet improve.

But not today.