Pemberley Christmas #3
“There,” he said with satisfaction, still perched atop the ladder. He glanced down to find Elizabeth across the room by the hearth, arranging greenery along the mantle. At the sound of his voice, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes warm with amusement.
Catching sight of the bough swaying gently above the space where the settee normally was placed, she arched a brow. “You intend to make frequent use of that bough until Twelfth Night, do you not?” she teased.
Darcy gave her a slow, purposeful smile. “Naturally. It would be a shame to waste the tradition or allow any berries to go to waste.”
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head, returning her attention to the garland she was tucking into place.
“Then I suppose I must be on guard whenever I sit with you after dinner. Of course, the fact that you must be sitting will make it that much harder for you to reach the berries to claim your kiss,” she added tauntingly.
Darcy began his descent from the ladder, still smiling. “On the contrary, my dear -I suggest you linger there with me. Trust me, I ensured that I will be well supplied with mistletoe berries,” he said, showing her several that were already in his pocket.
Laughing, Elizabeth crossed the room to meet her husband just as he stepped down from the final rung of the ladder.
The scent of pine and holly still clung to the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the fire crackling in the hearth and the slight musky scent of her husband.
Wrapping her arms around him, she smiled up at him, her eyes bright with mischief as she leaned back slightly in his embrace.
“Would you care to make use of that bough right now, Fitzwilliam?” she asked in a sultry tone, her voice low and teasing.
Darcy did not hesitate. Without a word, he leaned down and captured her lips with his, his hands settling at her waist as he drew her closer.
“Now and always, dearest,” he murmured against her mouth.
Their kiss deepened, warm and unhurried, the world momentarily narrowing to the stillness of their sitting room and the faint sway of the kissing bough above them.
But the moment was broken by a firm knock at the door.
They parted reluctantly, breathless and smiling, and Darcy moved towards the door to answer it. When he opened it, a footman stood on the threshold, unruffled by his master’s somewhat impatient expression.
“Yes?” Darcy asked curtly.
“Carriages have entered the park, sir,” the servant reported. “They should arrive within the next quarter hour -perhaps sooner.”
Darcy’s expression shifted instantly, a pleased smile breaking across his face. “Thank you,” he said more warmly, nodding to dismiss the man. He closed the door and turned back towards his wife.
“Come, Elizabeth. We have guests arriving soon,” he said, his grin broad and unmistakably pleased.
“Guests?” she echoed, brows rising. “Who would be calling on Christmas Eve?” Her eyes narrowed as she turned to examine her husband carefully. “You have planned something?” she inquired in a tone of amused suspicion.
He offered no answer, only extended his hand with a glint in his eye. “Come,” he repeated.
Still frowning in curiosity, Elizabeth slipped her hand into his, allowing him to lead her from the room.
As they descended the grand staircase, they passed several housemaids and footmen busily adding the final boughs of greenery to the banisters in the great hall.
Candles flickered gently in their sconces, casting a warm glow over the corridor, while wreaths hung in each window.
From the direction of the kitchens came the faint, inviting scent of mulled wine and spices.
Elizabeth glanced at her husband, her curiosity mounting. “At least tell me who has come.”
Darcy simply smiled again, tightening his hold on her hand. “All in good time, my love,” he said, laughing at her eagerness. “Now, again, come with me, and you will see soon enough.”
He led her into the grand hall. Maids were already waiting in the vestibule to collect the outerwear of their guests. Elizabeth merely looked around, suddenly aware that this had been planned. She began to wonder who their guests might be.
It did not take long for Elizabeth’s curiosity to be satisfied. As the front doors opened and bonnets were removed in the entryway, she caught sight of a familiar head of blonde curls -Georgiana. But it was the second fair-haired figure just behind her that truly seized Elizabeth’s attention.
“Jane!” she cried, her voice bright with surprise and joy at seeing her sister for the first time since their double wedding.
Without waiting for the maids to help her sister remove her pelisse, Elizabeth rushed forward and threw her arms around her.
“Lizzy,” Jane replied, laughing as she returned the embrace. “I am so happy to see you.”
For a long moment, the sisters clung to one another, heedless of the onlookers. Around them, the rest of the party looked on with amusement. At last, they pulled apart, still smiling, and Elizabeth turned to see who else had arrived.
In the wide front hall stood Lord and Lady Matlock, clearly having accompanied Georgiana. Behind them, to Elizabeth’s astonishment, were Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charles Bingley -and, to her utter delight- her sister Mary.
“Lord and Lady Matlock,” she said warmly. “Welcome to Pemberley.” Then, looking around at the entire gathering, she added with a laugh, “How on earth did all of you arrive together?”
“It was a carefully coordinated effort,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a sly grin as he stepped forward to bow. “The result of several letters, a great deal of scheming on Darcy’s part, and no small number of servants with excellent timing.”
Bingley chuckled and added, “We wanted to surprise you both -and it seems we succeeded.”
Elizabeth glanced towards Darcy, who stood beside her with a pleased expression, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You arranged all this without my knowledge,” she accused gently.
“I did,” he admitted, entirely unrepentant. “And I must say, it was worth every moment of secrecy and plotting just to see the look on your face.”
Elizabeth laughed softly, then turned back to her guests. “Come in, all of you. You must be frozen after your journey.”
Her gaze swept the cheerful, bustling scene before her, and she chuckled again.
“Since my husband orchestrated this surprise, I daresay tea is already waiting. I have never known a more capable housekeeper than Mrs. Reynolds -and now I understand why she insisted on menus far more elaborate than I would have requested for only the two of us.”
Warm laughter rippled through the group as they finished removing their cloaks and gloves, the air filling with the sound of conversation. Elizabeth finally greeted everyone, including a long hug for her sister Mary.
As the party moved towards the family drawing room on the first floor, Elizabeth turned again to her husband, her eyes bright with pleasure at her surprise.
She slipped her hand into his and whispered, “Thank you for this surprise, my love. As much as I would have enjoyed the solitary Christmas we had planned, I am so glad to have our families here.”
Darcy chuckled. “I asked Charles if he wished to invite the entire Bennet family, but he claimed that he and Jane needed respite from some of its members. I am not certain how Mary came to be included, but I am happy she was able to join their party. Richard, too, accompanied them, since he had been in London.”
Releasing his hand, Elizabeth stood up on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his cheeks. “I am certain this will be a Christmas to remember, my love. Again, I thank you.”
Darcy lifted her hand to his lips, his smile tender. “You are most welcome for your surprise, Elizabeth. I believe it will be quite possibly the best Christmas I have ever had, now that you are here with me.”
***
That evening, the entire party gathered in the family drawing room following the evening meal.
The Yule Log crackled cheerfully in the hearth, its glow casting dancing shadows along the richly paneled walls.
Lanterns were placed at regular intervals around the room, highlighting the festive decorations that had been carefully arranged earlier in the day.
Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary had found enough greenery leftover from Elizabeth and Darcy’s earlier foray into the woods to quickly form another kissing bough, which servants had hung while the family was at dinner.
Tea was served on silver trays, accompanied by plates of warm mince pies, spiced biscuits, and sugared fruits.
“I declare,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, accepting a cup from Elizabeth, “this may be the most agreeable Christmas gathering I have attended in years.”
“I suspect that is only because you are more accustomed to the company of your fellow soldiers than to ours,” Darcy said dryly, arching a brow at his cousin.
“Nonsense,” Fitzwilliam countered with a grin. “It is simply that your port is far superior to the swill we are served in the officers’ mess.”
Elizabeth laughed, lifting a brow in mock reproach. “Indeed? Then I shall have to procure a bottle or two of this so-called swill, for you have consumed twice as much brandy as any other gentleman present.”
After tea, the party turned to parlour games. Snap-dragon brought shouts and laughter as brave souls snatched raisins from flaming brandy. When it came time for spillikins, Bingley proved unexpectedly adept, while Jane looked on, amused.
“I had no idea you possessed such steady hands, Charles,” she teased.
“Years of trying my hand at fishing,” Bingley said modestly. “One learns patience and precision, if little else.”
Charades followed, and it was during this game that the drawing room rang with the most laughter. Elizabeth and Darcy made an effective, if occasionally mischievous, team.
Though Lord and Lady Matlock did not always join the games, they watched the younger generation with visible fondness. Lady Matlock leaned toward her husband more than once to whisper some quiet observation.
“She has his mother’s spirit,” she murmured after Elizabeth delivered a particularly clever performance in the game, having earned the admiration of not only her husband, but the entire party. “And more than a little of her father’s wit.”
Lord Matlock chuckled softly. “Darcy is clearly lost to her. Not that I blame him. His parents would adore her as well, if they were here.”
Their smiles were softened by memory, their eyes drifting toward Georgiana, whose laughter reminded them of younger days -of their own children’s laughter, and perhaps of Christmases spent with the elder Darcys, long since gone.
Just before the clock struck midnight, the group donned their cloaks and made their way to the Christmas Mass in the Pemberley chapel.
The modest stone building stood quietly beneath the stars, its stained-glass windows glowing faintly from within.
The Pemberley servants had decorated the chapel as well as the house: evergreen boughs lined the window sills, and beeswax candles flickered along the aisle, their golden light dancing over the polished pews.
Elizabeth and Darcy took their place in the front row, as was tradition for the master and mistress of the estate, with their servants filling in the rows behind the rest of the family. Beneath the folds of her skirts, Darcy’s hand found hers, their fingers entwining.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked in a low voice, his breath stirring a wisp of hair near her temple.
“Perfectly,” she whispered back, squeezing his hand.
The vicar began the service, his voice resonant in the still chapel, speaking of hope, renewal, and the quiet joy of the season.
Elizabeth’s gaze lingered on the flickering candle flames for a moment before drifting back to her husband. She leaned closer and murmured, “Thank you.”
“For what, dearest?”
“For this. For thinking of me. For knowing how much it would mean.”
Darcy looked at her then, his eyes tender. “You deserve nothing less.”
Surrounded by the warmth of family, the soft light of the season, and the steady strength of the man beside her, Elizabeth felt a peace settle deep within her heart.
As the service concluded, Darcy and Elizabeth remained standing in their pew while the others began to file quietly out of the chapel. When at last they followed, Elizabeth leaned into her husband’s side, their arms linked as they stepped into the cold night.
“I shall never forget this night -our first Christmas as husband and wife,” she whispered as they crossed the threshold.
Darcy pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Nor shall I, my love.”
“Happy Christmas, Fitzwilliam,” she said softly, pausing to look up at him.
“The happiest of Christmases,” he replied, tilting his head to capture her upturned lips in a tender kiss.