Chapter 7 #2
Paying no heed to her sister, Elizabeth motioned for Darcy to stand by her side. “As our king’s reign comes to an end, your wise and benevolent former ruler wishes to bestow a final present to his subjects.”
Darcy cleared his throat. Now that everyone was watching him, he felt woefully under-prepared. “They are only a small token of my gratitude. I have never attended a Twelfth Night party before—”
“—and you are unlikely to want to again!” Mr Bennet interjected, his eyes twinkling.
Darcy acknowledged this remark with an awkward incline of the head, and not knowing what more he could add, said, “I only hope they are to your liking.”
“A bottle of Mr Jenk’s finest madeira for you, Mama!” Elizabeth announced, reading the name on the label that Gallagher—thank God for the man’s foresight—had placed upon it.
An emotional shriek sprung forth from Mrs Bennet’s lips. “Mr Darcy, you are too kind! I shall think of you each time I drink it.”
Mr Bennet regarded his wife with some amusement. “An impossible feat, my dear, for all alcoholic beverages in this house will be locked away so you will not be tempted to force them upon any more of your defenceless sons-in-law.”
Fortunately, Elizabeth changed the subject before Mrs Bennet could make her retort. “Look, Papa. Darcy has obtained the most perfect book for you.” She giggled as she handed the volume to her father, who peered down his nose to read the title.
Mr Bennet joined in with her laughter. “A fine joke, Mr Darcy, to give me a copy of Kant’s Perpetual Peace. It is a state of being that I can only dream of.” He tapped the book lightly. “I look forward to perusing its contents.”
Feeling more confident after his father-in-law’s warm response, Darcy passed a bottle of claret and a packet of ginger cake to Bingley and Mrs Bingley, which earned him a small wink of thanks from his friend.
Into Miss Kitty’s and Miss Mary’s hands, Elizabeth put two neatly folded letters.
Miss Kitty gasped when she opened hers. “Credit at Mason’s! So I might buy what I like?”
Darcy shrugged apologetically. “After our conversation this morning, I was resolved to find some purple silk ribbon. When there was none to be had, I thought this to be a suitable alternative.”
“But this is so much better!” Miss Kitty’s eyes were shining. “And far beyond anything I ever expected. You are all kindness, sir.” She glanced back at the note, apparently lost for words.
Feeling acutely uncomfortable at Miss Kitty’s praise, Darcy turned his attention to Miss Mary, who was holding her open letter and regarding him with awe-struck approval.
When at last she spoke, her voice dropped to a reverential whisper.
“Th-thank you, Mr Darcy. I have always wanted to have an account at Mr Bromley’s bookshop. ”
“I thought you might like to select some music from there.” He reddened at her delighted expression and continued hastily, “There are other treats in the basket for everyone to share.”
Miss Mary and Miss Kitty went to Elizabeth’s side and began to examine the remaining presents with exclamations of glee.
Elizabeth lifted a box, too large to fit in the basket, and placed it on the table so she could read the label.
She glanced over at Mrs Wickham then back at him, in a silent offer to dispense it on his behalf.
He shook his head in quiet refusal and took the gift from her hands.
With much trepidation, Darcy approached Mrs Wickham. She eyed him suspiciously. “I suppose I should not expect anything from you. Your involvement in my marriage to Wickham means I am already too much in your debt…”
Her voice died as Darcy awkwardly placed the final present in front of her. He had seen it in the shop earlier, its garish appearance instantly reminding him of his sister-in-law.
“It is beautiful!” Mrs Wickham squealed as she held up an elaborately ornamented bonnet. “I shall be the envy of Newcastle. Just wait until dear Millicent sees the size of that feather. I have never seen one so fine.”
She looked back at Darcy, her cheeks flushed. I wonder whether Wickham has ever treated his wife to a trinket such as this. The thought passed fleetingly through his mind. He suspected not by the sudden film of tears in her eyes.
Blinking rapidly, Mrs Wickham gave a defiant toss of her head as though to convince him that she remained unaffected by his gesture. “It will suit me rather well,” was the closest she came to thanking him.
Yet Darcy did not resent her lack of gratitude or apology, for Elizabeth came beside him and slipped her arm through his. “Thank you,” she whispered as they turned away. “That was far more than she deserved. You are a good and wonderful man.”
He deflected her praise with an embarrassed shrug of the shoulders. “Is Christmas not a time when we should seek peace between our fellow men and women?”
“I am not entirely certain the Scriptures include how best to deal with Lydia.”
His mouth tugged into a smile. “By your praise, am I to presume all my earlier misdemeanours are now forgiven?”
She chuckled under her breath. “On the condition that you listen to me when I tell you to stop drinking.”
“An easy concession, for I do not plan on repeating the same mistake again.”
“Be careful, my love. My mother enjoyed your company so much this evening that she has insisted that next Christmas you spend all of it in Hertfordshire—including Twelfth Night.”
She laughed at his groan of despair and elbowed him playfully in the ribs, then addressing her family, announced she and Darcy were to retire. This was met with a chorus of farewells and expressions of hope for a restful sleep.
Hand in hand, they crept up the stairs, with only the moonlight streaming through the windows to guide them.
“Do I need to ring for your maid?” he asked.
“Shall I be in need of her assistance?” Elizabeth’s voice was low and soft.
Darcy’s pulse quickened at the suggestive tone.
Impulsively, he ran his hand along the smooth silk of her dress, his earlier headache almost completely vanished.
He put his arms about her delicate waist, her hair tickling his nose as he whispered in her ear.
“Can I confess that for a large portion of this evening I have been contemplating quite seriously how long it would take to undo the fastenings on your gown?”
“How glad I am that you have given this worthy task some considerable attention. Pray, what conclusions did your calculations arrive at?”
“That it would be unfair to ask a maid to perform this duty at such a late hour. I suppose I shall have to oblige.”
He pushed the door to the guest room open and was pleased to see the coal still smouldering in the fire.
“I am so grateful to you.” Elizabeth was not far behind him, her hands reaching for the lapel of his coat. “But if we are to make our confessions, then can I reveal I am feeling shockingly neglected? Where was my present amongst all those delights?”
Darcy’s heart sank. How could I have been so stupid as to not include her? He began to apologise, but she stilled his words with a kiss.
“You may make it up to me,” she murmured through her embrace. “For I have fixed upon the very thing I want from you.”
“Oh yes?”
“You promised me a song if you had enough to drink.”
Darcy brought her close to him, tracing his hands over her arms, revelling in the softness of her skin. “Pained as I am to admit it, I cannot claim sobriety this evening.”
“So you will sing me to sleep! What a glorious gift to complete my first Christmastide as your wife.”
With great gentleness, he kissed her, slowly at first but with a rising passion that was almost too delicious to bear. He broke away, his voice laced with innocent mischief. “And how have you come to the conclusion that you will be sleeping tonight?”
Her laughter mixed with his as she returned his embrace with a love equal to his own.
A childhood spent reimagining favorite stories led Ali Scott from studying French and film at Southampton University to discovering Austenesque variations during her first maternity leave—a delightful rabbit hole she’s been happily lost in ever since.