Page 20 of Old Boots (Pride and Prejudice Variations #3)

I herded him towards his duty and hovered over him to assure he wrote something to his family. Mr Bennet dutifully scribbled out a few lines.

“What do you think, Darcy?” he said a little proudly and began to read.

Pemberley is just what I think a great house should be.

The rooms are chilly in winter, and there are draughts in the halls, but all such miserable elegance is overset by the liberal use of warming pans and bed drapes of imported brocades—double hung, no less.

I sleep more like a mouse in a humble nest of down in the barn than the duke down the road who shivers in his palace, and I am striving to be philosophical in my disappointment.

I smiled at him. He really was very droll, and as I had lately begun to understand him better, I could ascertain just how easily his raillery was tolerated by his children.

“Would you rather have a room in the attics, sir? That way you can write home of the rigours of a stay at Pemberley with a little more credibility.”

He chuckled and said he had gotten too old for Spartan living and went back to his letter.

This left me to think of warming pans, and of Longbourn, and how my modest room there had supplied me with such a good night’s rest. I was accustomed to one warming pan at the foot of a bed, but at Mr Bennet’s house they had supplied three.

Even Carsten claimed to have had a warming pan for his bed, an unheard-of amenity below stairs.

I was much struck by the humble luxury of such a thoughtful attention, and when we reached Pemberley, I asked my housekeeper to copy this practice.

She agreed to it, albeit a touch stiffly.

Mrs Reynolds had been housekeeper for such a long time she did not like to be told her business.

But soon enough, even she would see that this additional gesture of hospitality would set us up a peg.

Along those lines, I thought of braving the subject of meals.

Country fare at Longbourn had struck me as so much more hospitable for ordinary dinners with family and friends.

Alas, I did not want to think of Longbourn.

But Richard’s curiosity and Mr Bennet’s presence sometimes made it inevitable that I would, and when I did, I confronted the howling void within that had hatched some months ago and would not die no matter how much I wished it gone.

The sensation was painful— exquisitely so—and it was also deeply, perversely, pleasurable.

Thus, I sat, thinking of stew and of warming pans, of delicious warmth on a cold winter’s night, and of the home my soul had claimed as its own.

I wondered why the lady in my mind’s eye would not look at me the last time I saw her.

I ached to picture her walking across the room to speak to my sister’s companion.

I hoped their stupid dog had not been gored by the bull he loved to chase, that her younger sisters were not troubling to have at home again, and that the ghost of their mother was restful this Christmas.

Our own Christmas progressed just as it always did.

The rituals were well-planned from a long history of doing precisely what was always done .

We went to church, served punch and spiced cake below stairs, and I gave each servant a double wage for the month.

The tenants had a lavish feast in the barn, and my sister gave out treats and toys to the children.

Mr Bennet enjoyed himself immensely, looking upon every one of our traditions with his slightly sardonic eye and storing up anecdotes to embellish the peculiarities of a rich man’s benefice for future retelling, no doubt.

Inevitably, I saw myself through his eyes, and I could not wonder at how I must have looked a veritable prig to his second daughter.

I had been raised as a so-called great man who liberally and impressively handed out largesse but always in a downward motion.

My attention, my gifts, my advice, and my patronage hovered over all in god-like fashion, and I was so much daunted to see the condescension built into the structure of my life, even into my ordinary style of speaking, that I longed to consult my principal critic for advice on how to come down at least a full notch.

“What is Miss Bennet doing for the tenants of Longbourn?” I asked Mr Bennet when we finally had a minute of quiet.

“Sacrificing three hogs, twelve geese and half the chickens. My daughter does not like to see anyone without food in the larder in winter, particularly the cottagers. No doubt you find that both too simple and too extravagant?”

“On the contrary. I think it just and admirable.”

“Well, we were not always so benevolent, but my eldest is a thoughtful soul, and she manages the house accordingly.”

“Do you raise the extra livestock for this sole purpose?”

“Yes. My Jane economises at our own table, as you have seen for yourself. Surely, you were appalled to be served a stew rather than four courses with two removes.”

“I was charmed, truth be told. ”

“Were you now?” He chuckled. “Oh dear. I hope you do not mean to rob me of such elegant fare as I have enjoyed since arriving here.”

I smiled. “I had been thinking of suggesting we have far fewer selections.”

“Your cook would likely set the kitchen afire. Perhaps you should make such a change with a light touch and long after I have gone home.”

“I enjoy your advice on almost every subject, sir, but when you are practicing your wit upon me on the matter of my table, I am disinclined to listen.”

He guffawed and slapped his leg. “You know, Darcy, I believe you are becoming inured to my teasing.”

“Which is not to say I wish you to stop. By all means, mock and disparage me as charmingly as you can.”

We sat at the table with our port after dinner, and Richard, having witnessed this exchange, stared at me.

I did not care one whit what he made of such an impolitic exchange.

I had found in Mr Bennet a devil in disguise, a perfect foil upon which I could sharpen my own devil’s corps-a’-corps .

I did not mean to be such an easy conquest the next time I fenced with his masterful daughter.

“Did you receive a letter from home, sir?” I asked.

“I did,” he said with a dark twinkle in his eyes.

“Since you are forcing me to inquire, how do your daughters fare? ”

“You ask after my daughters, do you?”

I ignored my cousin’s squirming in his chair. “I did so out of mere attention to form. What I really want to know is whether Bandit has yet been shot by your neighbour.”

“Oh, in that case, you may read for yourself news of our dog,” he said, reaching into his coat and handing me his letter. “I ignored that entire portion and could not enlighten you if I wished.”

I now had Richard’s full attention, and I am sure I shocked him when, instead of refusing as I should have, I took the letter and pocketed it.

“Shall we join the ladies?” I asked with the affectation of innocence.

The old devil slanted a glance at me and said he would like that very much.