Page 10 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

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H ostages were exchanged at church on Christmas Day. Mr Darcy retrieved his cousin and her companion from Sir William’s carriage and sat with them at the rear of the nave, as far away from both the Lucases and the Bennets as the modest building permitted. To Elizabeth, this was proof of his disdain for both families. Charlotte, who had wasted no time retrieving Elizabeth from her family party, was more inclined to think his intentions good.

“I am sure he means only to spare us all as much inconvenience as possible, Eliza. Mr Darcy was most sincere in his apology to my mother for the trouble they have given us. In truth, I think he was rather embarrassed.”

“Who would not be? Miss de Bourgh has made a nuisance of herself from the very first.” Seeing Charlotte sigh resignedly, Elizabeth checked her tone and added, “I am sure she will not always be so unreasonable. In any case, I expect they will live at Pemberley once they are married, and you will not have to deal with her at all.”

“Perhaps,” replied her friend with a humourless smile. “Though I suspect she may not be so tiresome when she is away from here.”

They were obliged to cease conspiring to join in a hymn. Elizabeth did so with uncommon eagerness, for when she was not singing herself, she could hear Mr Darcy doing so. She could not have said why she preferred not to listen to him, except that it made her lose her place so often.

“It was very good of your mother to invite them both to dine with you today,” Charlotte whispered when they were seated again.

“She only invited Mr Darcy. And only because your mother was not disposed to have him—for which none of us blame her, you understand. Miss de Bourgh is quite enough bother on her own, but he would not come without her.”

“He ought to be applauded for that. It shows an affection for his future wife that is very pleasing.”

“It certainly shows more affection than he has exhibited for her thus far.” Elizabeth stole a sly glance at them, then wrinkled her nose in ambivalence. “If either of them is pleased by it, they are disguising it well.”

Charlotte laughed lightly. “I am sure she is delighted. But their happiness notwithstanding, my mother is exceedingly grateful for the reprieve. Mrs Bennet has demonstrated true Christmas spirit with this generosity.”

“She might have been a good deal less generous had she heard what Miss de Bourgh said about her yesterday.”

“I am sure. It was excessively unkind of her to say all those things.”

There was something in Charlotte’s intonation that made her meaning ambiguous, and her sudden interest in the rector’s oration was telling. Elizabeth decided against questioning it, for it was Christmas, and she had no wish to quarrel with her friend. Yet, Charlotte said no more, either, and her willingness to abandon the subject grew more vexing the longer her silence persisted. By the time the last hymn of the service was sung, Elizabeth could resist commenting no longer.

“You think she was right.”

Her answer came in the colour that tinged her friend’s cheeks. She turned irritably to glare at the pulpit.

“Not for the most part,” Charlotte said gently. “And no matter what her motivation, saying any of it to you was unpardonably ill-mannered. But you and I have ever valued each other’s honesty, and just as I did not blame you for questioning my decision to marry Mr Collins, I hope you will not blame me for saying that there was some truth in what Miss de Bourgh said.”

Elizabeth’s ears rang with indignation. “The part where she said Jane was unworthy of being Mr Bingley’s wife or the part where she accused my mother of being a cause of repugnance?”

“Oh Eliza!” Charlotte reached for her hand and, because it was Christmas, Elizabeth did not pull it away. “When you reflect on this later, I hope you will be sensible enough to acquit me of thinking anything of the sort. I know you are sensible enough to recognise which of her accusations had merit and which are to be ignored entirely.”

Confined as she was to a pew, Elizabeth was unable to act on her most immediate wish to walk anywhere fast until her anger was burnt off. She took a deep breath and forced herself to give Charlotte’s hand a quick answering squeeze before letting it go.

It was a relief when the service was done, and she was able to stand along with the rest of the congregation to file out of the church. It was less of a relief to see Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh just outside the door, speaking to her mother and Jane. Dear Jane, who was yet unaware that the wretch at whom she was smiling so sweetly had been the means of separating her from the man she loved.

Elizabeth checked herself. She had gone over this a thousand times in her mind since the previous day, and in no iteration of events had she been able to come to any conclusion other than Mr Darcy truly had not known Jane was in love. The indifference with which he had spoken of Mr Bingley without embarrassment or concern upon his first return to Longbourn, his confusion when she questioned his motives for dividing them, and that he had asked her father about Jane’s regard, all spoke of his miscalculation there. None of it justified his officious interference or his disdain for the match. But it was enough to exonerate him of the cruelty of detaching Mr Bingley from her sister without any regard to the sentiments of either. It was not enough to make Elizabeth anticipate an entire day in his company.

At that moment, Jane and her mother walked away, and Mr Darcy turned in her direction, but he frowned immediately upon setting eyes on her. What displeased him was of no interest to her. Elizabeth suppressed a sigh, gave him a perfunctory curtsey, and hastened away to wish Mrs Goulding a happy Christmas.

* * *

“Do you always indulge so early?” said Miss de Bourgh with the utmost disdain as she accepted the glass Kitty thrust at her.

“Only at Christmas,” answered Mrs Bennet, accepting hers from Lydia and settling into her usual chair in Longbourn’s parlour.

“It helps get through the rest of the day,” Mr Bennet added. One of the Gardiners’ children squealed and slammed a door at the back of the room, and Mary played the opening chords of a regrettably cheerless tune at a volume that threatened to make further conversation impossible. Mr Bennet raised his voice to add, “I heartily recommend you drink it, madam.”

“I certainly shall not,” Miss de Bourgh replied. “It is most unseemly at this hour, no matter the occasion.”

Mrs Bennet bristled, but her husband only shrugged. “Do not say I did not warn you.”

Miss de Bourgh set her glass aside, then took Mrs Jenkinson’s glass from her, setting that aside also. Elizabeth was diverted to see that Mr Darcy took such a swig as almost drained his dry. He was very quiet, which was hardly out of character, but she did not doubt he was uncomfortable.

Even in the grand halls of Netherfield he had been reserved, fastidiously proper. It would be almost impossible for him to retain the same air of dignity in such a chaotic family setting as Longbourn on Christmas Day. Then, though she had looked upon his coming as an intolerable invasion, Elizabeth began to pity him— a little —for being so far removed from his usual surroundings.

“It is one of our little traditions,” she said to him. He looked startled to have been addressed, and Elizabeth qualified her statement by pointing to his glass. “For as long as I can remember, we have had a glass of punch after church on Christmas Day. We have been doing it for so long I cannot recall how it began.”

“It began the year you were in London, Lizzy,” said her father. “Mr Gordon’s wife had a baby in the early hours of Christmas Day, and he had a tipple before the service to celebrate.”

“A tipple?” said Mrs Bennet. “He could barely stand up in the pulpit.”

“And I said that if it was acceptable for the clergy to enjoy Christmas that well, then so would I. And, of course, we were all missing you, Lizzy, so we had Hill prepare us something to soothe our spirits.”

Mr Darcy looked as though he might speak, but Mary made a mistake at the pianoforte and attempted to disguise it by banging out the correction with even greater energy.

Miss de Bourgh made a great show of being alarmed, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically and grumbling, “Is that really necessary?”

Mr Darcy looked at her sullenly but said nothing. Probably because he agrees , Elizabeth thought bitterly. Then she smiled, for she scarcely dis agreed herself.

“As Christmas traditions go, I like this one better than most,” said Mr Gardiner, raising his glass to the room and taking a sip.

“I like it better than Mary’s playing,” said Lydia, quite as meanly and not so discreetly as Miss de Bourgh.

“You and I have a tradition, Lydia, do we not?” Elizabeth said. She was under no illusion that distracting her sister would constrain her poor manners, but she hoped that distracting Mr Darcy might save him from being mortified by them.

“Yes,” Lydia replied. “I put a pebble in your punch one year in the hope that you would choke on it.”

Mr Darcy almost choked on his punch, somewhat dispelling Elizabeth’s hopes.

“It does not appear to have been a successful gambit,” remarked Miss de Bourgh.

“No, I found it before I choked and thought it was meant as a gift,” Elizabeth replied. “But Lydia had quite forgiven me for whatever I had done by then, so she made it into a necklace for me instead. Now she gives me a new pebble every year.”

“Then there is hope one of them will work eventually.”

Despite not much liking Miss de Bourgh, Elizabeth was nevertheless inclined to laugh at this. The cause of the woman’s animosity was a mystery, but with four sisters, three of whom had on numerous occasions wished her ill, it was an easy enough sentiment to disregard.

Indeed, Lydia did laugh. Mr Darcy did not appear quite so ready to overlook it, but Elizabeth supposed he was ill used to the occasional pettiness of so many women in one place and pitied him even more for being thrust into the thick of it without any practice.

“Do you have any Christmas traditions, Mr Darcy?” Jane asked.

“No, I have not that pleasure,” he replied succinctly.

Elizabeth thought he looked a little saddened by the admission. She felt a little sad for him.

“We keep to the more conventional, refined traditions of the season in our circle, Miss Bennet,” said his cousin.

Mr Darcy closed his eyes very briefly. It could almost have been mistaken for a blink, but Elizabeth fancied he was close to losing his temper with his cousin.

“I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in our circle as any other,” cried Mrs Bennet.

“Sister,” cautioned Mrs Gardiner in a low voice but to no avail. Mrs Bennet persisted.

“We go to church, rejoice, feast well, drink merrily, and sing jolly carols the same as every other person, regardless of in which sphere they were brought up. In fact—Mary, stop playing that song! Lizzy, play that one you were practising this morning. Girls! Come and sing with your sister. Come along! Let us demonstrate that we know perfectly well how to observe traditional Christmas… traditions .”

“There, you see, Mr Darcy,” called Mr Bennet. “You have made a good effort, but my ladies are by far and away sillier than yours.”

Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the pianoforte. As she passed in front of Mr Darcy, she gave him a satirical smile that she hoped was expressive of their mutual mortification. He did not return it, but she was not offended. He looked so miserable now that she was tempted to think of an excuse to have him sent out of the house. Still, since he had accepted the invitation to come of his own volition, he would just have to bear the ignominy.

Elizabeth played and sang several carols before ceding the instrument to Mrs Gardiner. Miss de Bourgh was invited to play, but she refused. She looked rather dismayed to have been asked, her gaze flicking anxiously between her cousin and the pianoforte. Elizabeth recalled too late Mr Collins’s report that she had never learnt and hastily offered her eldest niece a turn. Even Mr Gardiner was prevailed upon to exhibit his skill, proving to vast amusement that his claim to modest talent had not been exaggerated.

“Think you it is time to allow the children their moment, Sister?” he enquired, closing the instrument in defeat. “I believe my performance has marked a low point in proceedings that only something special will salvage.”

“By all means,” Mrs Bennet replied, “if they are ready to indulge us.”

Upon receiving their enthusiastic assurances, Mr Gardiner leapt to his feet and swept his youngest daughter into his arms. With Jane and Mrs Gardiner’s help, he shepherded the other three children from the room.

Mr Bennet stood with a groan. “I hope this year’s performance is less eventful than last year’s. My banyan still has a burn hole in it.”

Seeing their guests look thoroughly confused, Elizabeth said, “My cousins have prepared a little performance to entertain us.”

“Another tradition?” said Miss de Bourgh in a condescending tone.

“It is only the second year they have done it, and they only wished to repeat it this year because last year’s attempt went so very awry. But I sincerely hope it becomes a tradition.”

“You never know, Anne, you might enjoy it,” said Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth looked at him, as did his cousin, but his countenance was a mask of disinterest. “I hope you both will,” she said. “If you would come this way?”

She led them into the morning room, where the furniture had been arranged to give the impression of a stage with seats fanned out in front for an audience. Mrs Bennet had instructed that the best sofa, nearest the door, be left for their distinguished guests, something Elizabeth pointed out to them upon entering. Miss de Bourgh sat on it directly, instructing her ever-faithful companion to do the same.

“I should prefer a better view, if there is space nearer the front,” said Mr Darcy.

“By all means, sir, take my seat!” Mr Bennet replied. Bending down to one of his nephews, he said in a grandfatherly tone that he did not often employ and which Elizabeth suspected bespoke the amount of punch he had consumed, “I shall happily sit farther away where there is less chance of being roasted like Cook’s goose.”

“We are not using real candles this year, Uncle Bennet,” Matthew replied, wide-eyed.

“Best not, lad, though I should like to see Mr Collins’s face if we did manage to burn the place down.”

Elizabeth took her seat, and Mr Darcy took her father’s, next to it. She was not sorry to be seated by him, for she found herself intrigued by his enthusiasm. Nay, enthusiasm was the wrong word, but he was certainly interested, as though he was discovering something that he had not expected to enjoy. She watched him, as slyly as she was able, whilst he watched her cousins begin their very sweet, very stilted version of the Nativity story.

In her opinion, it was impossible that anybody should not enjoy the sight of Joseph—played by dear little Matthew—struggling to haul the old rocking horse to the centre of the room with his brother, Edward, applying the only true forward momentum to the creature’s hindquarters with his shoulder. Mary—her youngest cousin, Lucy, wearing a cushion tied haphazardly about her midriff with a cord—clung desperately to the horse’s neck the entire way, only to slide off upon arriving centre stage.

They all laughed at little Emily who, sporting one of Mrs Bennet’s hair pieces as a beard, repeatedly misspoke the solitary line, “There is no room at the inn,” which gave her innkeeper all the appearance of being foxed on his own ale. Edward’s attempt to simultaneously portray a shepherd and a wise man resulted in a calamitous costume mishap that reduced Emily to insensible giggles. Whatever message her Angel Gabriel had been meant to impart was abridged to several minutes of uncontrollable laughter. By the time Mr Gardiner burst into their midst dressed all in black with a bronze cooking pot for a crown, bellowing for the heads of every baby in the kingdom, Elizabeth was holding her side from laughing overmuch.

The end of the performance was met with hearty applause, at which point it dawned on her that she had entirely forgotten her object of studying Mr Darcy. Elizabeth glanced at him, then looked away again hastily. She may have been too engrossed in the play to attend to anything else, but it seemed he had not been similarly affected. She wondered that she had not noticed him looking, for his gaze was singularly intent. Part of her wished to know what his slight smile signified. A greater part of her was certain she would not like the answer. It was that part which propelled her from her chair to congratulate her cousins.

“Very good, children,” Mr Bennet agreed. “I am heartily diverted—and relieved, for there were no injuries but to Edward’s pride. And you, Miss de Bourgh? Were you amused by the children’s efforts?”

Elizabeth felt a flash of shame, for it was obvious to her if to no one else that her father’s purpose was to ridicule his guest. Miss de Bourgh wore a pinched, unhappy expression and did not appear at all diverted. Indeed, she looked almost bewildered, as though she wished to partake in the fun but knew not why everybody was laughing. This sort of silliness evidently did not appeal to her sensibilities. There was no reason it should, for she had no children of her own and passed her time surrounded by people who had made it the study of their lives to take themselves far too seriously. It was very wrong of Mr Bennet to make sport of her discomfort.

“They did well, did they not?” Elizabeth said, enabling Miss de Bourgh to escape the matter with but a nod of her head and a vague smile.

“Did you em-joy the per-lay, sir?”

Such a darling enquiry could only have come from little Emily. Elizabeth looked around and smiled to see her cousin standing at Mr Darcy’s feet, her neck craned so far back as she peered up at him that it seemed she might topple over. There was no reason to expect him to be unkind in his response, but neither could Elizabeth have anticipated what he did, which was to crouch down and very formally kiss the back of Emily’s hand.

“I thought it a better production than any I have seen in London, Miss Gardiner. It was an honour to be in the audience.”

Emily beamed, curtseyed, then abruptly reverted to being terrified and looked to Elizabeth in silent entreaty.

“Run along, precious,” she told her. “Auntie Bennet will be wanting her beard back.”

Mr Darcy stood up, his curious little smile still in situ.

“That was very kind of you,” Elizabeth remarked.

“Extending kindness to cousins seemed to be the order of the day. Besides, it was true. I enjoyed it very much. Both Miss Gardiners remind me of my sister at that age.”

“Of course! I forget that your sister is so much younger than you.”

His expression altered to a more wistful one. “She has just turned sixteen. This is the first Christmas we have ever spent apart.”

Elizabeth saw him waver towards melancholy and resolved not to allow it on Christmas Day. She smiled broadly instead.

“There is your tradition, sir. And a very fine one it is, too.”