Chapter 3
London
The Matlocks’ dining room was handsome by itself, but on Christmas Eve, the arrangements were stunning.
Lady Matlock took special pride and joy in that time of the year and insisted on having the entire family around her table, as well as a large number of friends and relatives.
Her eldest son’s birthday and her own were celebrated together, and even the servants benefited from her disposition and generosity.
Darcy and his sister faced each other, exchanging comforting glances and slight smiles of mutual understanding among the other five and twenty people. There were raised voices, laughter, debates, music, and even some attempts at dancing between courses.
Colonel Fitzwilliam and his brother were the heart of the party, as opposed to their cousin who behaved with perfect propriety to satisfy his aunt’s expectations but nothing more.
Darcy watched the women in attendance more carefully than usual.
He wanted to understand, to compare. He looked at the beautiful young ladies—all heiresses with impeccable manners and extensive educations, dressed in the latest fashion, and competing to gain the gentlemen’s attention.
They looked and behaved flawlessly, yet no look warmed him, no smile caught his interest, and no eyes aroused his admiration.
To him, nobody could compare to her. She was the only one; she was everything—just not meant to be.
And if he could not have her in his life, he might as well never accept anyone else.
“Darcy, are you unwell?” Richard’s voice startled him, and he raised his glass with pretended joy.
“Not at all. I am perfectly fine.”
“Can you be tempted to dance? Or at least join us in conversation? There is nothing the ladies loathe more than to be ignored.”
“It is not my intention to ignore anyone, and I shall do my share of entertaining for my aunt’s sake—except for dancing.”
His last dance had been with her, and he intended to hold that memory as long as he could: her scent, her fair skin, her deft touches, her warm smiles, her sparkling eyes, the garnet cross sparkling above her cleavage, the gown falling gracefully around her.
It was the most alluring dance, and he would never be able to repeat or replace it.
“Except for dancing,” he repeated, both to his cousin and to himself.
∞∞∞
Hertfordshire
Christmas was celebrated at Longbourn with joy—and a great number of guests.
Mr Wilson held the interest of the entire neighbourhood.
He preferred to be presented as “Mr Drake Wilson”—and his family kept their puzzlement private.
He was not a man to be questioned regarding his preferences, so anything they did not know for sure they imagined and presumed, just like the other Meryton families.
Mr Wilson quickly became a friend of the Gardiner children.
He was happy to meet them, and after the first moments of surprise, they welcomed him wholeheartedly.
As soon as they found a few moments, Mrs Gardiner and her brother engaged in private conversation.
It was obvious they still had many things to discuss and needed time to adapt to each other.
A day and an evening—after a separation of twenty-five years—meant as much as a drop of water in the sea.
Time, distance, and many secrets separated them, and although both were eager to repair the broken bond between them, it was a daunting and arduous task.
There was little time for privacy at Longbourn at that time of the year, though.
With Boxing Day close, Mr Wilson proved his generosity by purchasing gifts for each family member as well as for the Longbourn servants. His rushed arrival caught him unprepared, so he bought everything from the Meryton shops, to the equal delight of his nieces and nephews and the shop owners.
For the first time, Lydia received all the bonnets she wanted and a couple of reticules without having to fight over them with Kitty.
In vain, Mr Bennet tried to temper his guest’s generosity. However, Mr Wilson appeared to find gratification in pleasing those around him.
Mr Collins returned the day after Christmas when his noble patroness allowed him to leave Rosings. To the Bennets’ discontent, he claimed his usual room at Longbourn. He insisted he could not stay overnight in the same house with his intended and would not consider taking a room at the local inn.
“I apologise for any inconvenience, but I find it proper to stay at Longbourn when I visit here,” Mr Collins uttered. “My cousin Mr Bennet did not mention anything to me about another guest, so I assumed my usual room would be free.”
“You must not apologise, Mr Collins. It was I who arrived without invitation. I shall gladly move to the inn,” Mr Drake Wilson offered.
“And we did not expect you to return so soon, Mr Collins,” Mr Bennet declared.
“I did everything I could to come back immediately after the Christmas service. Even Lady Catherine approved of my coming, despite the bad weather. Besides my dear relatives and this lovely property that I shall inherit sometime in the future, I now have another strong reason to be in the neighbourhood as often as I can. I do not know whether you are aware that I shall be married soon…”
To the others’ despair, Mr Drake Wilson found a strange enjoyment in encouraging Mr Collins to speak further; therefore, for about half an hour, they heard little but his expectations of being the happiest of men, Lady Catherine’s advice, her ladyship’s generosity, the windows at Rosings, and the beauty of its park.
Happily, after a third glass of brandy, Mr Collins asked permission to retire—blaming the fatigue of a long journey—and remained there until dinnertime.
Mr Drake Wilson rented several rooms at the Meryton Inn for him and his servants; despite his sister’s opposition, he was pleased with the arrangements.
He was a private man with habits that were not easy to accommodate in a house full of people.
But his absence was immediately regretted by his relatives, and he was readily welcomed when he returned in the evening.
On Boxing Day, Longbourn’s dining room was crowded.
The Philipses, the Lucases, and several officers were invited.
Mr Collins, without an invitation, was at the centre of the table, unsuccessfully struggling to draw attention to himself.
Mr Drake Wilson did nothing obvious, yet all eyes were often upon him.
“There is no greater joy for a man than to find the lady of his heart and secure her affection,” Mr Collins declared ceremoniously one evening.
“I must say, I have never been as happy in my life—except when Lady Catherine granted me her protection and offered me the trust of the living at Hunsford.”
“I imagine as much,” Sir William Lucas replied, “as there is no greater joy for a man than to see his daughter happily married.”
Mrs Bennet turned pale. “Oh well, some people are luckier than others. And some only pretend they are happy instead of admitting they only took what was left.”
A moment of silence fell over the room; then Mr Collins began again. “I am sure Lady Catherine will be pleased with my choice of wife. Her ladyship always insists on the importance for a clergyman to have an appropriate woman by his side.”
“You should call yourself a fortunate man, Mr Collins,” Mr Drake Wilson injected.
“I hope that, once you are married, you will give more attention to your wife and less to Lady Catherine. To be honest, only today I heard you speak of her ladyship thirty-seven times. A little too much—would you not agree?”
The statement left everyone dumbfounded and speechless. Mr Collins gulped several times, Sir William looked lost, and Charlotte blushed. Mr Bennet’s amusement was masterfully concealed behind his wine glass.
Mr Wilson continued calmly. “I was wondering: As you will one day inherit Longbourn, do you plan to move here and leave Lady Catherine? Do you think she would approve of that? She might take it as a betrayal. And how will you manage without her ladyship’s guidance?”
Mr Collins had difficulty regaining his voice. “I had not thought of that…I cannot…I shall never leave Lady Catherine. She will surely need my presence…I never considered such a cruel prospect…it is just that…”
“Well, I trust you have plenty of time to give it proper consideration since I expect you to have no such worries for at least twenty more years. I was only curious; forgive me if I troubled you.”
“You were wise to bring up this subject, Mr Wilson. I shall consider it carefully and even speak with Lady Catherine about the matter. Her opinion is always excellent, which is why I mention it so often. I believe one cannot show enough gratitude to the person who has bestowed her generosity upon him. Would you not agree?”
It was Mr Wickham who spoke up unexpectedly. “I agree with Mr Collins. I am forever grateful to my godfather, Mr George Darcy, for his endless kindness and generosity towards me.”
Mr Wilson turned to him with apparent curiosity. “George Darcy was your godfather?”
“Indeed,” Mrs Gardiner answered. “I forgot to mention to you that Mr Wickham grew up at Pemberley. His father was Mr Darcy’s steward. We had the pleasure of sharing some fond memories a few days ago.”
“This is a surprise. I knew George Darcy quite well, and I am pleased to hear people speak so highly of him,” Mr Wilson declared.
“I confess I never heard anyone speak ill of my godfather. And for me, he was a true guardian angel. He offered me his affection and his protection. He planned for me to join the church, and he left me a living. I am not sure whether you are familiar with the village of Kympton?”
“I am…and how does it happen that you changed careers? Did you abandon the church?”