Darcy’s Epiphany #3
On Monday, the party expanded once again.
The Earl and Countess of Matlock, his uncle and aunt, and their elder son, Viscount Hartley, and his family, arrived at Netherfield to celebrate the festive season.
At Longbourn, the Gardiners, Miss Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle in trade, arrived with their children.
When they met, Darcy was embarrassed once again for his prejudices, as he quickly found Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner to be intelligent and well-mannered.
Had he not known they were in trade, he would never have guessed, he thought, as they spoke cordially with Bingley and himself.
On Tuesday, Christmas Eve, the entire party gathered for the first time.
Netherfield had never seen such a gathering; an earl and his connections, a wealthy family one generation removed from trade, a gentleman farmer (as Darcy thought of himself), a family in trade and a family from the middling gentry.
The presence of Hartley’s children, the younger Bingleys and the Gardiner children immediately lightened the mood, as the children were more interested in exploring the grounds and the planned search for Christmas greenery than social status.
Miss Elizabeth, it seemed, was everywhere, introducing topics of conversation between new acquaintances, guiding the children when they grew restless, and sharing quiet words with Georgiana.
The one place she was not, was at his side, and after their growing intimacy the previous week, he felt the lack severely.
But he was ever aware of her presence, even as he spoke of business with Elizabeth’s uncles, Bingley’s childhood antics with Mrs. Bingley, upcoming debate in the House of Lords with his uncle, and Georgiana’s coming out with his aunt.
After tea, cloaks, hats and gloves were gathered for the younger members of the party to collect the greenery.
Darcy found himself offering an arm to both Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth, and they trailed along as the children ran ahead, pointing out holly, juniper and spruce, and asking to climb the trees to collect clumps of mistletoe.
Darcy breathed in the crisp air, catching a hint of the lavender Miss Elizabeth favoured.
He closed his eyes, fixing the sights, sounds and smells of this moment, a treasured memory for the future.
When they arrived back at Netherfield, cart laden with greenery, the matrons took charge of arranging it, and Bingley chivvied Darcy, Richard and Hartley to the side door, where an enormous Yule log waited.
“Come, come, we must do this right,” he urged as the four struggled to lift the log.
With the help of two footmen they were successful, and the log was laid in the fireplace in the ballroom, which had been fitted with tables to allow the entire group to dine together.
When everyone was assembled, Mr. Bennet ceremoniously produced a piece of the previous year’s Yule log from Longbourn -as Netherfield had been unoccupied- and the fire was lit.
The dinner passed with lively chatter and compliments on the bountiful feast produced by the combined efforts of Netherfield’s and Longbourn’s cooks.
That feast was as nothing compared to what they could expect on the following day, Lady Matlock announced with a smile, complimenting Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Bingley on their arrangements.
After dinner, Darcy found himself seated off to the side with the earl and Hartley, as Richard entertained some of the ladies with a highly embellished and well-sanitised accounting of his prowess at war. Darcy watched absently as Elizabeth laughed at his tale.
“Well, boy,” the earl said gruffly. “When are we to hear your announcement?”
He did not pretend to misunderstand the question.
“I do not know. We started off badly. It was not until Bingley proposed to Miss Bennet that I allowed myself to seriously consider an attachment… and then attempt to earn her affection. But nothing will ever happen unless we have more time to converse with some semblance of privacy. Entirely too many people wish her attention,” he ended with a frustrated huff.
“Attempt to win her affection? You, who have been chased for years?” his uncle jested.
Darcy sighed. “As I mentioned, we did not start off well, and it was entirely my fault.”
“Well, she is not what we pictured for you, but we had begun to despair that you would ever find someone to meet your high standards. And your aunt seems quite taken with her,” Lord Matlock said in a more serious tone.
“You do not need my consent -you are your own master- but I do offer my blessing.”
“Thank you, uncle,” Darcy said, his voice equally somber. “I will be glad for my family’s approbation, should I succeed with her.”
***
Christmas Day, 1811
Now, Darcy found himself in the little church of St Nicholas at Longbourn, its pews stuffed with family, friends and neighbours, all celebrating the miracle of Christmas.
Warmth stole over him as he once again looked across the aisle to see the fine eyes of Elizabeth on him.
She smiled, and he caught his breath. Was it possible that the miracle he had hoped for had occurred?
Had he truly improved her opinion of himself? Could he hope?
He turned his eyes, and his attention, back more firmly to Mr. Allen, whose Christmas message of faith soothed his spirit.
The rector’s words echoed through Darcy’s mind as he offered Elizabeth his arm to exit the church.
Outside, brilliant sunshine subdued the chill in the air, and the churchgoers milled about, wishing each other the joy of the season.
Darcy nodded civilly to Sir William Lucas, and smiled as Elizabeth leaned down to hug a tenant’s daughter.
They continued their circuit of the churchyard, and with each conversation, Elizabeth’s warmth helped him ease his previous standoffish manner.
By the time he reluctantly, if temporarily, gave up Elizabeth’s arm in order to return to Netherfield, he was determined. He would ask for her hand this very day. If he could not find an opportunity to speak with her, he would make one.
They dined early, filling the greenery -and ribbon- adorned ballroom. In addition to the families from the previous evening, Bingley had invited Sir William Lucas and family, the Gouldings, and the Longs.
The party feasted on roast goose, and roast beef, game-filled pies with elaborately latticed and decorated crusts, and assorted vegetables, and ended with the presentation of not one, but five, Christmas puddings, as each household invited had brought along the pudding prepared well in advance for the day.
He savoured each bite, just as he savoured Elizabeth’s blush as they stole glances across the table.
Following the dinner, the parties divided naturally into older, younger and youngest, and Darcy, supported by Bingley, suggested a walk in Netherfield’s gardens for the younger crowd.
Darcy offered an arm to both Elizabeth and Georgiana, but found Georgiana swept away by his cousin as the group broke into pairs and trios. While most trod the paths of the dormant gardens, Darcy indicated the gravel drive leading away from the manor house.
“I am in the mood for more of a brisk walk, if that suits,” he suggested.
“That suits very well,” Elizabeth replied. “If I cannot move about, I should likely curl up for a nap like my little cousin.”
After a few comments and compliments on the food, they walked in silence, the chatter of friends and family fading behind them, and Elizabeth pushed back her bonnet, raising her face to the sun’s mild warmth. That sun would not last long, Darcy noted, as a bank of grey clouds approached quickly.
He veered off the driveway onto a path leading to a folly, a Grecian styled gazebo, with Corinthian columns and a statue of Athena in the center.
Stone benches flanked the entrance and they sat without comment, watching their companions wander the garden.
Darcy took a deep breath, marshalling his words, then spoke.
“Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to tell you how much I admire and love you.”
He turned to face her, a nervous chill running down his body. Would she welcome his words? Or reject them, and him?
“I know our acquaintance did not start well.
I arrived with weighty issues on my mind, and allowed my pique and discomfort to colour my every word.
I fought my attraction to you, as I had very particular expectations of my future wife, foolish expectations of wealth and connections, without regard to character or happiness.
But on the day after the ball, Bingley called me out on my arrogance, and then I saw his happiness with your sister.
I realised that wealth and connections were cold comfort in comparison to a true partnership of love and respect.
And I realised that you held neither for me.
Every day since then, I have endeavoured to amend my manners, to show you that I am a true gentleman despite my despicable behaviour when we met, and tried to earn the respect and affection of a woman worthy of being pleased.
I feel -I hope- I have been successful in some measure, and I humbly ask that you do me the great honour of accepting my hand in marriage. ”
Darcy had taken Elizabeth’s hands in his, staring down at her gloved fingers as he spoke. He raised his gaze to meet her fine eyes, brimming with tears. She clutched his fingers and smiled.
“Indeed, my feelings have changed entirely. Within moments of our first acquaintance, I had determined you were the last man on earth I should ever marry. But since St Nicholas Day, I have seen an entirely different man, quite possibly the best man I have ever known. I will gladly accept your hand, and we shall be the happiest couple on earth.”
He raised her hand to his lips, lightly brushing a kiss over her gloved knuckles.
“You have made me the happiest man on earth, to be sure.”
As they smiled wordlessly at each other, the sun’s light dimmed, and snowflakes drifted down, sparkling like stars in Elizabeth’s dark hair. They rose, and he pulled her close, as they slowly walked toward the house, and their future, snowflakes swirling and dancing around them.
***
January 6th, 1812
Twelve days later, the two couples stood at the altar of the little Longbourn church, the sisters sharing their wedding day as they had long dreamed.
He gazed into the fine eyes of Elizabeth Bennet for the last time, as within moments she would be Elizabeth Darcy.
He said a silent thanks for his epiphany, as the rector began to speak:
“Dearly Beloved…”