Chapter 1 #2
Thus, when Bingley departed to London to meet with his man of business, the very day after the Netherfield ball, Darcy and Bingley’s sisters had agreed to hastily pack up the household and follow him.
It still caused Darcy a pang to remember his friend’s expression as they confronted him, though Bingley had been forced to admit that with Miss Bennet’s unimpaired calm and her kindness towards all the world, it was entirely reasonable that Bingley had mistaken her courtesy for admiration.
It gave Darcy no pleasure to cause his friend pain, but better the transient dejection of thwarted love than the lifelong misery of a marriage without affection.
He had hailed with grim approval Bingley’s plan to remain in London rather than returning to Netherfield and expose himself further to temptation.
Darcy had planned to stay in Town as a stalwart support to his moping friend, so it was a pity that he had received a letter less than a sennight after his own arrival in London, summoning him urgently to Pemberley with news of Georgiana’s illness.
His duty to his sister was more important than that to Bingley, and so he had departed at once to his own manor.
His unease over his friend had been assuaged by distance and time until the arrival of Bingley’s letter.
It was unlike his perpetually cheerful companion to sound so melancholy.
A certain amount of sorrow was expected, of course, but it grieved Darcy nonetheless to observe it.
Still, Bingley had been in love many times before – his passions for Miss Bennet would pass on and die away, just as Darcy’s own fascination with Miss Elizabeth would, no doubt, vanish like the morning mists beneath the sun.
It was inevitable.
***
Pemberley Chapel
Christmas Day, 1811
The small stone chapel was warm with the heat of the bodies filling it, though Darcy sat alone in his box.
Every other old stained oak box was crammed full of people, servants from up at the house and the stable, along with tenants and their families.
Normally Georgiana would be beside him, but it would be inadvisable for her to come out into the cold, ill as she was.
Thus he sat alone in the box, huddled in his coat, his feet propped on the hot brick beneath the pew.
Up at the pulpit, which was decorated with greenery for Christmas, the rector once again shared the age-old good news.
Almighty God, who hast given us thy only-begotten Son to take our nature upon him, and as at this time to be born of a pure Virgin: Grant that we being regenerate, and made thy children by adoption and grace, may daily be renewed by thy Holy Spirit; through the same our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the same Spirit, ever one God, world without end. Amen.
The old man closed the book and turned bright, joyous eyes on his congregation as he started his Sunday message.
Despite his best intentions to listen, Darcy found his eyes and mind wandering.
His gaze landed on the stained glass nearby, blue and red and yellow and brown, glowing with the light of the sun.
Mary knelt in adoration of her newborn son, who was lying loosely wrapped in white upon hay in the brown manger.
Around her clustered Joseph, leaning on his staff, shepherds, angels, and sheep, nosing in for a look at the divine infant.
It was a busy, happy scene, and Darcy felt entirely removed from it.
He sat alone in his pew and felt alone in his heart.
He wished Bingley were here to share the Christmas season and imbue the house with his particular cheer; Pemberley felt large and echoing and empty with only himself and the equally quiet-natured Georgiana.
She was even quieter than usual now, weary and lethargic as the mumps took their toll.
Darcy’s heart clenched with concern as he thought of her, and he offered up a quick prayer that she might soon fully recover.
The doctor’s optimism did not completely alleviate his own worries, and day by day he watched over his little sister carefully for signs of improvement.
She had not been a sickly, delicate child, but still Darcy feared that, as she grew older, she might begin to take after their mother.
Lady Anne had rarely been well during Darcy’s lifetime, and he dreaded should her daughter start to display the same symptoms of uncertain health.
He wished he knew how to cheer his little sister.
She was bearing her affliction gracefully, but it still wore on her spirits, and he could see it.
They could both use a little cheer, honestly.
Involuntarily, his mind went to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
She cheered any room she walked into, merely by her own vibrant presence…
Darcy shook his head, recalling his erratic thoughts.
He rarely allowed himself to get so distracted at church; he prided himself on his attention to the reverend’s sermon.
But she still intruded into his mind at the most inopportune moments, her laugh and her smile and the way she always had a response to everything and the way she lit up a room every time she entered it.
It mattered not. Miss Elizabeth was at her home in Hertfordshire, as she ought to be. No matter how beguiling she might be, she would never be an acceptable wife for a Darcy.