Christmas at Heart (Pride and Prejudice Variation Yuletide Collection)

Chapter One

As Elizabeth Bennet burst out of doors into the late morning, she gasped sharply at the sudden cold.

After clearing admirably for the ball at Netherfield the evening before, the weather had again turned.

She would normally have taken note of the frost on the windows in the drawing room, but her attention had been entirely focused upon Mr. Collins and his dreadful proposal.

Mamma had been waiting in the vestibule, of course.

Heaven forbid she not be the first to hear that her most difficult daughter was to be wed to the ridiculous heir of Longbourn.

In this, as in so many other matters, Elizabeth had been bound to disappoint.

There was simply no way she could abide marriage to such a man.

She had been walking for a few minutes when she heard quick, dainty footsteps behind her. Only Jane walked in such a way, and Elizabeth stopped to wait for her. Something warm descended over her shoulders, and she reached up to fasten the cloak she had left behind.

“Mamma means well,” Jane said, motioning that they should continue.

Elizabeth sighed. “She does. She simply does not care whether we are made happy so long as she is kept safe.”

“Elizabeth,” Jane said softly, shaking her head. “I do not think Mamma has been happy in some time. She must believe it is not as necessary to be happy as it is to be secure.”

“Do you blame me, then, for refusing Mr. Collins?” Elizabeth inquired. Her throat tightened painfully. If Jane was upset with her . . .

To Elizabeth’s very great surprise, Jane laughed. “Of course not. Mr. Collins is a respectable young man, Lizzy, but you would drive one another mad within a fortnight.”

A smile began to tug at the corners of Elizabeth’s lips. “You do not think the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh would approve of me?”

Jane took her arm. “Allow me to admit only that I should like to witness the two of you in the same room.”

Elizabeth half laughed and laid her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Oh, Jane,” she said with a sigh. “Everything is such a muddle. Last night I had such high hopes for the ball, but Mr. Collins dashed them by taking my first two dances. And this morning . . .”

“Were you hoping for a different partner last evening, perhaps?”

“You know I was. But Mr. Darcy’s presence prevented Mr. Wickham from attending.”

Jane made a disapproving sound.

“Jane?”

“Lizzy,” Jane said gently, “I know you have been greatly disturbed this morning, but I must ask. What, precisely, did Mr. Darcy do that kept Mr. Wickham away?”

Elizabeth straightened. “What do you mean?”

Jane’s deep blue eyes held hers. “All the officers were invited, so was not this decision Mr. Wickham’s to make? And had he not said to you previously that he would not run away from Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth frowned. Mr. Wickham had said that. She had related it to Jane herself, as proof that he was the innocent in the matters that lay between the two men. A pang of misgiving struck her. “That is true,” she said slowly.

“I would like to believe that there is simply some misunderstanding between them,” Jane said. “However, I cannot accept that all the fault must be Mr. Darcy’s. And if he had not insulted you so grievously, Lizzy, neither would you.”

Jane was correct, of course, but Elizabeth did not want to admit it.

They were approaching Meryton, but Elizabeth did not wish to meet anyone with whom they might be required to make polite conversation. She turned onto a path through the trees, one that led south, towards the Meryton road.

“Of course, you have been more in company with Mr. Darcy than I,” Jane demurred. “His hurtful refusal to dance with you at the assembly was very wrong. But did he not ask you to dance last night, at a much more formal affair?”

He had done that, and she could make no sense of her conflicted feelings. She was angry with him on Mr. Wickham’s behalf. And she was angry with herself because a part of her still desired Mr. Darcy’s approval.

“Let me ask you something.” Jane drew the hood of her own cloak up over her head, for the weather was not warming. “If you were forced to choose, who would you wed—Mr. Darcy or Mr. Collins?”

Elizabeth tried to laugh, her breath escaping in puffs of frozen air. “Are these to be my only choices?”

Jane just looked at her.

Reluctantly, Elizabeth considered it. Clearly, Mr. Darcy would be a better match than Mr. Collins. Although both men vexed her exceedingly, Mr. Darcy was not entirely devoid of sense, even if he seemed to be devoid of humility. She pulled a face at her sister.

Jane smiled brightly and wound her arm around Elizabeth’s. “Just as I thought.”

They left their tree-lined carriage path and arrived at the Meryton road.

To their left, it stretched out about ten miles, all the way to the Great London Road.

To the right, it led almost directly to Netherfield’s drive two miles away.

Jane paused briefly to glance at it, as though she might see the estate from here.

When she at last turned away, Jane rubbed her arms and said, “It is growing colder. Shall we turn back?”

Elizabeth blew out a breath. “Jane, would you indulge me? I cannot go back just yet. Mamma is sure to harangue me the rest of the day, and I cannot yet bear Mr. Collins’s wounded pride with equanimity.”

“Very well,” Jane told her, pulling her cloak a little tighter. “Perhaps we can walk along the road here for a bit.”

“Thank you.”

They walked another twenty minutes or so in silence, and Elizabeth allowed her mind to clear.

Just as she was about to tell Jane they might return home, they rounded a turn in the road and found a saddled horse standing some hundred feet before them, its reins on the ground. It stamped its hooves at them.

Elizabeth looked at Jane, and her sister looked back.

“Do you think it just ran off?” Jane asked hopefully.

“That horse did not just escape from its stall, Jane. It is saddled, and the bags are full.” Elizabeth was a little frightened, but she had to see whether the rider had come to harm.

She approached the animal slowly, speaking words of comfort.

Once she had come close, she peeked over the edge of the road into the ravine that bordered it.

She saw the back of a hand and gasped. Then the fingers moved, and she felt as though she could breathe again.

“Elizabeth . . .” Jane said slowly, touching the saddlebags that were stamped with an ornate CB. “This is Mr. Bingley’s horse.”

Carefully, Elizabeth eased her way down to the man who was hidden in the rushes. She could see now that it was him, wearing a blue coat, hat missing, his face obscured by a mass of golden-brown, curly locks. “Mr. Bingley,” she said calmly, “it is Elizabeth Bennet. Where are you injured?”

He moaned. “Shoulder. Leg.”

A gentle voice said, “Oh.”

Elizabeth glanced up to see Jane standing above them, her hands covering her mouth.

“Jane,” she said immediately, “you are the better rider. Take the horse home and get help. Tell Papa we shall need the carriage, or the wagon if it is quicker. Mr. Bingley cannot ride as he is.”

Her sister nodded and flew into action, mounting Mr. Bingley’s horse so efficiently that later, Elizabeth never could recall precisely how she had done it.

In the back of her mind, she stored away the amusing sight of Jane riding off to the rescue side-saddle.

Elizabeth would have ridden astride and created a terrible scandal.

Perhaps then Mr. Collins would give up wanting to marry her.

“Well, Mr. Bingley,” she said briskly, pushing away the worst of the frozen grasses so she could see him better, “Jane has gone for aid. Are you able to sit up?”

The arm that was thrown wide of his body did not seem to be the one with the injury.

She helped him roll onto his back and off the offending limb, which gave him some relief.

His countenance was deathly pale and despite the weather, drops of perspiration trailed from his forehead down the sides of his head.

He grabbed the injured arm with his good hand, bending it at the elbow and holding it still against his chest.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, for the sleeve of his greatcoat was very damp.

“Cannot . . . say. Early. Mischief . . .” His breathing became laboured, then he took a breath and said in a pained rush, “Horse slipped. Ice. Poor landing.” His lips were faintly blue.

“I would say so,” Elizabeth agreed. Fortunately, Mr. Bingley’s leg was straight, and he was moving it slightly in an attempt to find comfort, so she did not believe it was broken. “Did you strike your head at all?

“No.” He paused. “Cold. Slept.”

That was not promising. Elizabeth removed her cloak and covered him with it. The cold immediately raised gooseflesh on her arms, but she shook her head at his feeble protests. “You will be very ill if you do not warm, sir,” she told him, trying to be gentle.

“Thank . . .” His voice faltered.

“We will have you at Longbourn in no time,” Elizabeth assured him.

“Why Longbourn?” he said between gritted teeth.

Elizabeth glanced down the road. Jane had already vanished from view. “It is more than a mile closer and will be faster, for now. Your sisters and friend can come collect you from Longbourn once you are warmer and your injuries have been tended.”

He shifted and grimaced.

“Do not try to move, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth warned him. “You will need your strength for when the men come.”

“Mmph,” he agreed and leaned back, staring up at the sky.

When Mr. Bingley closed his eyes, she rubbed her arms vigorously before admonishing him. “Do not fall asleep again, Mr. Bingley.” She reached over to tuck the cloak around him more tightly.

His eyelids cracked open. “’Sss cold.”

It certainly was. “It is, but we will soon put you to rights,” Elizabeth assured him. “Were you riding to London alone? I am surprised Mr. Darcy did not wish to accompany you.”

A ghost of a smile graced his face. “Sisters will stay . . . if Darcy does.” He grunted. “Just a . . . few days.”

Elizabeth laughed softly. “Does Mr. Darcy know you will be gone?”

When Mr. Bingley wheezed a small laugh, she was pleased with her success. “Yes,” he said softly, still drowsy, “I would not. Abandon him. He has enough of . . . that.”

Elizabeth very much wished to ask what Mr. Bingley meant, but it would be impolite at the best of times.

“Well, he is fortunate to have such a thoughtful friend in you,” she declared, and was pleased to see that Mr. Bingley’s cheeks were beginning to gain a bit of colour.

“Darcy . . . is . . . most thoughtful . . . man of . . . my acquaintance.” He closed his eyes entirely again. “Too proud. But . . . good man.”

Elizabeth changed the subject. “My sisters and I had a wonderful time at your ball last night. I believe Jane had the most charming partners.”

He did not smile, but he did speak again. “Your sister is an angel,” he declared in a burst of energy. He said no more, but he did not close his eyes. He merely held himself very still.

“It will not be long now, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said reassuringly as she stood to glance down the road and heard the rattling of a wagon.

It was not possible that Jane could have returned from Longbourn in so short a time.

Yet there she was, emerging from the curve of the road on Mr. Bingley’s horse and followed by a wagon carrying several large men.

Elizabeth waved her arms in the air and then crouched down next to the shivering Mr. Bingley.

“It appears as though my clever sister was able to find someone from Meryton willing to assist us,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “It has saved us a great deal of time. We shall have you at Longbourn very soon, Mr. Bingley.”