Chapter 8 Festive Commemoration
Festive Commemoration
On the tenth day of November, Darcy greeted the dawn precisely as he had each morning since his engagement.
With eyes still closed, he woke in languid stages as his vivid, erotic dreams of Elizabeth slipped smoothly into conscious visions of being with her in some capacity that day.
What they found to occupy the hours never mattered to him, except for ensuring they managed at least a few minutes alone for shared kisses and caresses.
As the days counted down toward the wedding, solitary interludes were becoming easier to arrange.
Darcy suspected Mr. and Mrs. Bennet would not be quite so trusting if they knew his “rigidly proper gentleman” pose was largely a ruse.
He felt a bit guilty for the minor deception.
Then he would take Elizabeth into his arms and kiss her delicious lips…
and the guilty feelings scattered into the wind.
Anticipating more of the same, he was halfway done with breakfast before a glance at the calendar on his desk reminded him of the actual date.
Today is my twenty-ninth birthday! Why do I continue to forget?
The main reason, as he well knew, was because observing his birthday had not been a major event since his youth.
Since his mother’s death twelve years ago, and indeed for a time before that, festive celebrations of any sort were rare.
If not for some well-intentioned loved one remembering, Darcy strongly believed his birthday could come and go without him marking it at all.
This wasn’t implausible, having forgotten until just now after being reminded two days ago!
That past Friday morning, as he’d prepared for his return to Netherfield, Mrs. Smyth had greeted him with, “Good morning, Mr. Darcy. As you are leaving today, I shall extend my wishes for a joyous birthday now.” As he’d stood there stammering his thanks, Georgiana had bounded down the stairs with a wrapped gift in her hand that she insisted he open immediately.
All in all, he had felt extremely foolish, even if the scene was a near repeat of his birthday for the past ten years plus.
Georgiana always remembered the date, bestowing a colorfully wrapped present along with an exuberant hug and well wishes.
Maybe four times in the past decade, his cousin Richard had tossed him an unwrapped gift—always some sort of liquor that Richard drank half of—along with a birthday wish inevitably including a mention of advanced age and senility.
If Darcy happened to be at Pemberley, and he usually was by November, Mrs. Reynolds would warmly extend her blessings and ensure dinner included all of his favorite dishes.
Never one to relish being fussed over, even when young, the minimal attention suited him just fine.
Who wanted to be reminded that another unremarkable, lonely year had sped by?
Of course, this birthday differed greatly due to the blissful addition of his beautiful Elizabeth.
She was, no argument or competition, superior to any gift received, past and future.
He neither needed nor wanted anything else.
Regardless of his current happiness, nothing had changed as far as his tendency to forget the date itself and his preference to forego any fanfare when forced to acknowledge he was another year older.
These truths notwithstanding, on the carriage ride from London, Darcy had pondered several birthday-related questions he worried may cause a problems. Should he announce his upcoming birthday to Elizabeth as soon as he arrived?
Doing so went against his natural reticence and humility.
But if he said nothing, how would Elizabeth feel when she discovered his birthday had passed?
Would she interpret his silence as withholding a portion of himself from her?
Would she be more distressed at not having an opportunity to honor him and celebrate a special day or at having a mere two days to find a gift?
Perhaps such mundane calendar events are unimportant to her, as most of them are to me.
Deep in his gut, Darcy knew better. Elizabeth was practical, more so than many women, but also extremely romantic and thoughtful.
Women were particularly sentimental regarding birth anniversaries—understandable since females are the ones who bring new life into the world—and held high expectations regarding their own.
The latter had more to do with the gifts, he suspected, based on his sister’s zestful delight over the smallest trinket garnished with a bow.
Additionally, while not quite as animated when presenting a gift as she was when receiving one, Georgiana adored expressing her love for him by finding special objects befitting his personality and hobbies.
Her birthday gift this year, an exquisite cravat pin crafted to match his wedding ensemble, was proof.
Long before reaching Hertfordshire, Darcy had decided to remain silent on the subject.
Aside from his indifference toward observing his birthday, upon further reflection, he concluded Elizabeth was probably long ago aware of his birthdate.
For one, she simply wasn’t the type of person to overlook what most people considered an important detail.
Second, he recalled a dinner conversation which had taken place shortly after their engagement, while dining at Longbourn one evening.
Amid the disorderly and frequently too-loud discourse Darcy found highly irregular and irritating, Kitty had launched into a fretful whine over her early December birthday being forgotten due to wedding aftermath.
Not in the least interested in Elizabeth’s younger sister’s petty concerns, he was grateful for the topic as it provided a sensible opening for him to ask Mrs. Bennet when Elizabeth had been born.
Even he, avowed loather of his own birthday, appreciated that this was of vital importance to females.
Tremendously relieved that he had until the following May to figure out how to properly honor her special day, his much-sooner birthday never crossed his mind.
What Darcy did recall was that he had directed his gaze toward Elizabeth where she sat at the opposite end of the table near her father chatting with Mary.
Seconds later, she had lifted her eyes and smiled at him.
Whether she had overheard his hushed, brief exchange with Mrs. Bennet hadn’t concerned him at the time, but in retrospect, he believed it possible.
She had never asked him directly, but there were any number of people who could have enlightened her, Georgiana or Charles the probable culprits. Therefore, odds were good that she was aware of the date and, worse yet, she might be planning a major celebration.
Standing at the window of his Netherfield bedchamber and staring at the light dusting of snow upon the ground, Darcy had a sudden horrific vision.
In sharp detail, he imagined an elaborate gathering with half the citizens of Hertfordshire hoisting him into the air while toasting his health and singing, “For he’s a jolly good fellow!
” He honestly preferred torture with hot brands than to suffer such a fate.
The joy of Elizabeth’s company was barely enough incentive to keep him from crawling back under the covers and claiming a deathly case of the plague.
Bravely deciding to face the day, Darcy headed toward the main parlor, as he did each morning, to meet Bingley before driving to Longbourn.
The younger man was already there, staring out at the landscape with a happier expression than Darcy had directed at the dreary gray clouds and snow.
Charles appeared quite delighted, in fact, and a suspicious Darcy found this annoying.
Steeled for a boisterous happy birthday hail, he was taken aback when Charles gestured to the scene outside the window and boomed, “Look at it, Darcy! Quite stunning, I daresay. Although a bit more snow to completely cover the ground would have been nicer. Either way, it is colder, and that is excellent. Don’t you think? ”
Bingley’s bright smile was completely at odds with the weather.
What did the sneak mean about the snow and cold being excellent? Moody and on edge, Darcy scanned his friend’s face for any clue that secret birthday plotting was afoot.
“I am fond of the cold and snow,” Darcy admitted, narrowed eyes scrutinizing, “but did hope the temperate weather would hold for a bit longer. Frozen or muddy ground is not promotive for long, solitary walks.”
“Ah, but for a carriage ride snuggled close under blankets and furs, it is perfect! Or have you forgotten my Jane’s suggestion for today?”
He had forgotten, in fact. Apparently, the curse of poor recollection was becoming an epidemic. While at dinner the previous evening, Jane had innocently inquired of her fiancé, “Mr. Bingley, am I mistaken or does the garage at Netherfield house two phaetons?”
“Indeed, it does, Miss Bennet. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I was thinking, if we do have snow tonight, and it isn’t a significant amount, as Papa ensures it will not be, perhaps we could take a drive on the morrow? Nothing is as lovely as freshly fallen snow blanketing the open meadows.”
Elizabeth had immediately added her exclamation of approval, her eyes sparkling so captivatingly in the candlelight that Darcy’s murmured agreement could have been for plans to feed wild lions for all he knew.