Chapter 1
A month had passed since young Bennet Carlton had learnt to think of Pemberley as his home, the chestnut pony in the large stable as his pony, the room that housed the four-poster bed spacious enough for an army of knights as his room, and the man who tucked him in bed each night as his father.
Forever his, as Darcy reminded him each night.
Whatever time Ben spent outside the company of his mother, his aunt Georgiana, and his newfound friend, Samuel Reynolds, the housekeeper’s grandson, he spent with his Da.
On one such day, Ben arrived in Darcy’s study a little earlier than he had been expected, eager to commence his morning riding lesson.
Ben languished about the room waiting for Darcy to finish his estate business and accompany him to the stables.
His attention was garnered by several miniatures suspended over the mantelpiece.
Ben studied the pictures with intent. He thought he might recognise the likeness of at least one amongst the collection.
Try as he might, he did not. With the exception of minor dissimilarities, they all bore a resemblance to his Da.
“Who are these people?”
Darcy came forward and pointed to the picture farthest to his right.
“This is a picture of me, when I was younger.” He noticed the subtle changes in his appearance with time.
He cleared his throat. “Much younger.” Pointing out another miniature, he said, “This ridiculous-looking character is Cousin Richard, Merlin to you.”
“Who is this?”
“George Wickham.”
“Have I met him?”
Heaven forbid. God willing, you never shall. “No. Trust me; you have suffered no great loss.”
Ben looked up at Darcy with that same questioning look that his mother was wont to bestow. “Is he our friend?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Why else would you keep his picture on display? The picture is easily replaced, is it not?”
“I imagine I leave it in place for ... sentimental reasons.”
“So, you considered him a friend once and thus the sentiments.”
“Something along those lines, I suppose.” Truth be told, Darcy no longer cared for the man, for he had proven himself to be quite a scoundrel in the latter years. I know Wickham’s likeness was one of my father’s favourites, but I should speak with Mrs. Reynolds about removing this picture.
The last Darcy had heard of Wickham, he had joined the army. Imagine George Wickham, a lieutenant. Darcy nearly laughed aloud at the irony of it all.
“This reminds me of a matter I wish to discuss with you.” When Darcy failed to reply, Ben tugged Darcy’s shirt sleeve. “Da?”
“Yes, Ben?”
“Samuel says he will be away from Pemberley soon.”
“Yes, I understand he spends half his time at Pemberley with his late father’s parents; the balance of his time, he spends with his late mother’s parents. I am certain he will miss you as much as you will miss him, but he returns in the spring.”
“Yes, he does. I had hoped he would be here to spend Christmas with us. I have never had a friend my own age before now.”
“I understand. Some of my fondest memories of Christmas involve my cousin.”
“Will you share some of your memories with me? I enjoy so few memories of Christmastime. I should like very much to hear yours.”
“My earliest memories of Christmas, you say? Where do I begin?” Darcy gathered Ben into his arms and carried him to the sofa to have a seat in his lap.
“As long ago as I can recall, my family journeyed to Matlock, to my mother’s father’s home for Christmas.
On Christmas Eve, Richard and I often helped decorate the halls with garlands before venturing out with my father and uncle to cut the Yule log.
We stayed up late and took part in festivities; listening to my grandfather spin tales whilst enjoying the fruits of our labour as the burning Yule log provided a big crackling fire.
“Christmas Day mornings would find us wandering the halls singing carols to guests and servants alike.” Darcy smiled in remembrance of their antics. “Later in the day, after church, we were permitted to join our elders for a splendid Christmas dinner.
“But that was some years ago. After my grandparents passed away, Christmastime was no longer spent in Matlock. My uncle tended to frown upon the whole occasion.”
“My Bennet grandparents are still alive, and yet I hardly recollect having ever enjoyed Christmas at Longbourn.”
“Have you any fond memories of Camberworth?”
“I suppose I do, although I do not recall. My mama often reminds me that Grandfather Carlton particularly enjoyed the season. If I recall anything of my past Christmases at Camberworth, it is feelings of sadness.” Ben’s face became wistful, reflecting his attempt to gather the wisps of memories.
“I believe I must have suffered my grandfather’s absence. ”
“I imagine you did indeed. Even though I was a bit older than you when Grandfather and Grandmother Fitzwilliam passed away, I always suffer their absence, especially at Christmastime.”
Ben placed his small hand on Darcy’s cheek. “Do you miss your parents at Christmastime, as well?”
“Indeed, I do.”
The drawn, faraway look in Darcy’s eyes concerned young Ben. “I am sorry, Da.”
“What have you to be sorry about?”
“I did not intend to make you sad.”
“You did not. My memories of my parents are all happy ones.”
“I do not believe I will be as sad as I was last Christmas ever again.”
“Last Christmas, Ben? Why were you saddened? Did you not enjoy your first Christmas at Longbourn?”
“I might have if not for the unpleasant thought that I might never see you again after having only just met you. I never wish to feel that way again.”
“Life offers no such guarantees, Ben. But you need not worry. Remember what I told you when we parted in Kent—you and I will always carry each other in our hearts. We are family, as long as we live. Nothing will separate us.
“I have a feeling this Christmas at Pemberley will be memorable,” Darcy promised.
“With a house the size of Pemberley, I should imagine all our family might be well settled here. Would you like that, Da?”
“Christmas is a time for family.”
“My sentiments, exactly.” Ben climbed down from Darcy’s lap.
“Where are you off to?”
“I am on a mission.”
“You are? Do you care to elaborate on the details?”
“No, it shall be a great surprise!”
“What about your riding lesson?”
“May I be excused from my lesson this morning? My mission is urgent!”
“Perhaps, this once.”
“Oh! Thank you, sir.”
Ben poked his head inside Elizabeth’s sitting room. He found her studying the household ledgers. He stood directly behind her before she became aware of his presence.
“Ben, what are you doing here? Is it not time for your riding lesson?”
“Indeed it is; however, Da gave me permission to forego the lesson this morning. I am on a mission.”
“A mission, you say? Is it a secret mission, or are you at liberty to discuss the details with me?”
“Oh no, I cannot say what is the purpose of my mission. You must trust me.”
“I see, but I imagine it must be important to make you forego your riding lesson, even for a day. You love riding.”
“Indeed, I do. Mama, I was just speaking with Da about some of his favourite memories of Christmas. I was at a loss to share my own. Have I any special memories I may have forgotten?”
“Ben, I am sure you do. Let me see. Do you recall how your Grandfather Carlton and I would bundle you up, and the three of us would ride about the countryside bearing gifts of warm clothing to the less fortunate families in the local villages?”
“Truly, Mama?”
“Indeed. On Christmas Eve, the three of us would deck the halls with boughs of holly and greenery. It was the one evening you were allowed to stay up longer than usual, and we would sit around the fireplace warming ourselves as the Yule log burned on the fire.”
“It sounds wonderful. I wish I could remember.”
“So do I, son. However, I imagine you were too young to maintain those memories. One can hardly blame you. But what of this past Christmas at Longbourn? Have you no memories of spending time with your grandparents? Do you remember how Aunt Mary read to everyone?”
Ben’s greatest memory of his aunt Mary was how she enjoyed reading Fordyce’s sermons. Surely the fact that she did so on Christmas Eve warranted no special consideration on his part. His countenance said as much.
Elizabeth continued recounting the events of the past Christmas. “Who could forget how Aunt Kitty and Aunt Lydia made a mess of the holiday greenery and how they argued over the best placement of the mistletoe? In addition, your young cousins from town were there. Do you not remember any of that?”
“I imagine my greatest recollection was feeling sad about King Arthur’s leave-taking and my fear I might never see him again.”
Elizabeth bit her lower lip. “It could not have helped that I did not believe King Arthur truly existed. Have you forgiven me for not believing in you?”
“Oh! Yes, Mama. My greatest wish was that you, too, would meet King Arthur. I knew you would love him just as much as I. Now look at us.”
“Yes, you and I are truly blessed to have found King Arthur.”
“Indeed, wishes do come true.” The purpose of his visit came to mind. “Mama, if you could have but one wish in this world to spend Christmas with anyone, who would it be?”
“Is this a trick question? My greatest wish is to spend Christmas with you, son. This, in turn, means I should also greatly wish to spend it with Fitzwilliam.” A happy smile lighted her face. “How lucky it is for me that you two seldom part.”
“Then I should say other than Da and me?”
A faraway look in Elizabeth’s eye spoke volumes. “I dearly miss my sister Jane.”
“Aunt Jane, you say. I miss her as well, but you speak as if you might never see her again, Mama. Why is that?”
“I fear the reasons for my sentiments are far too complicated for you to comprehend.”