Monday, December 24, 1811
Memories of the years Elizabeth had spent in this bedroom danced around her like the dust motes that glowed brightly in the early afternoon sunlight.
Had she ever slept this late before? She forgave herself the luxury after catching so little sleep the last two weeks. Even though the second week she had a great deal more help, after her betrothed — such a generous man — had ordered every staff member in his London household who had already suffered through chickenpox to return to Netherfield with his driver, she had earned a good rest.
Satisfaction coursed through her. Every one of her patients had gone home before Christmas. All except Mr. Wickham, who had left Netherfield a few days ago, although nobody seemed to know where he was. She hoped he would never be seen or heard from again.
Her father was still not quite himself. Though he was well on the road to a full recovery, she expected it would take some time. Mr. Jones and Mr. Stanley, the physician Mr. Darcy — or Fitzwilliam, as she was now allowed to call him — had called in from London, both felt confident that Elizabeth and her sisters could care for him at home.
Stretching, she sighed. It was such a pleasure to awaken in her own bed again. Especially since, before long, this bed and this room would no longer be hers.
Three weeks and two days hence, all her dreams would come true. She would marry for the deepest love when she became Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
She smiled at the memory of her family’s reunion upon their arrival at home from London yesterday afternoon. Of course, they all had known of her engagement, but when meeting with Fitzwilliam again in person, her mother could not even speak for a full quarter of an hour, then she fussed over her father’s health for the rest of the evening.
Today was Christmas Eve, the last she would spend here at Longbourn and her first spent with Fitzwilliam, so she knew for certain it would be special.
This afternoon, they would light the yule log for real, with a sliver saved from last year’s log. Mrs. Hill would mix up a bowl of wassail, and she would make treats especially for the carolers who would come from the village. The Christmas candle would be lit at sundown, and it would burn until the family left for Mr. Norwood’s service on Christmas morning. Tomorrow after church, the family would enjoy a feast her mother promised would live on in their memories forever.
Next Christmas would be spent at Pemberley, and even though Fitzwilliam had already invited her entire family to spend it with them, she knew it could never be the same. Still, she looked forward to blending her family’s traditions with those of the Darcys to make them their own.
The sound of horses at the front of the house pulled Elizabeth out of bed. A beautiful coach embossed with the Darcy coat of arms was out front.
Her mother burst into the room in a tizzy, her hands fluttering. “Lizzy! Get up and get dressed — quickly!” She pulled open Elizabeth’s armoire and began tugging gowns from it. “A servant just arrived with a letter for your father. When Mr. Darcy returned to Netherfield last evening, he found that Mr. Bingley had arrived. Mr. Darcy sent word he would come to visit soon. And he will bring Mr. Bingley, too! Oh dear! What shall we do? How can Mr. Bingley fall in love with Jane all over again if she is covered in pox? Oh dear. But most are gone now — Jane only has two visible on her face. Maybe he will not notice?”
“Even with a hundred spots, Jane would still be beautiful, but I am certain if Mr. Bingley notices them, he will forgive two marks since Mr. Darcy will make sure he knows she has been ill, Mama.”
“Yes, he will at that, I am sure. Mr. Darcy is so amiable, so charming.” She selected a gown and laid it out on the bed. “Put this on and come down as soon as can be, Lizzy. You should be in the parlour waiting when Mr. Darcy arrives. Jenny will be in to assist you with your gown the moment she is finished with Jane.”
About to exit, she suddenly turned around. “Oh! And Mr. Darcy also said his sister and their aunt, and uncle — the Earl and Countess of Matlock! — have agreed to attend the wedding. They will come to meet you in two weeks’ time, on their way to London. Can you imagine, an earl and countess taking tea in my parlour? Oh dear!” Even before she stepped into the corridor, her mother was yelling, “Jane, are you almost ready? Lizzy needs Jenny’s help!”
Her mother was a bit excitable, but Elizabeth would miss her dearly.
A few minutes later, Elizabeth sat in the parlour with Jane. Her father was saving his energy for this evening’s activities, and their mother and sisters were suspiciously absent. She was sure she understood her mother’s thinking — Elizabeth would be so preoccupied with Mr. Darcy that Mr. Bingley would be forced to converse with Jane.
When the gentlemen arrived, after greeting Elizabeth, Mr. Bingley immediately crossed the room to sit with Jane. At first, the couple’s conversation seemed strained but within a minute or two, their exchange became more natural, and Elizabeth relaxed enough to turn her attention to her betrothed.
Mr. Darcy smiled so widely, she could not help but emulate it. “What is it?”
“I was just thinking — the second best decision I have ever made in my life was to stop at Netherfield.”
She tilted her head. “Now I am almost forced to ask, what was your best decision?”
Glancing at Jane and Bingley, who were completely engaged by conversation, he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.
There was a teasing tone to his voice. “Perhaps it was more a lack of decision.”
That was not what she expected. “I am all astonishment. When have you ever been impulsive?”
“When I proposed.”
“Then I must say I support your being spontaneous in the future, Fitzwilliam.”
“I am delighted to hear it.” His eyes were sparkling with something she thought she might understand better after they were married. A noise upstairs must have reminded him of their surroundings. He blinked, and it was gone.
He cleared his throat. “I am beginning to read your thoughts in your expression. When we entered, you seemed concerned about your sister, but now all is well.”
Elizabeth lowered her voice so the others could not hear her. “I was worried about Jane, but they seem to have picked up where they left off. I knew Miss Bingley had not been truthful in her letter.”
“She wrote to you?”
“No, she wrote to Jane, a week after you had all gone to London, saying Mr. Bingley was to marry your sister.”
“My sister?”
Elizabeth nodded.
He looked away, nostrils flaring. When he finally returned his gaze to her, he seemed to have better control over his temper. “Bingley is like a brother to me and my sister. He feels the same about her. They would not suit. Besides, she is too young.” He shook his head. “When Roberts went to London, I sent three letters other than the one to the doctor. One to Georgiana, informing her I might not be joining them for Christmas —”
Elizabeth gasped. “Even then, you planned to stay at Netherfield to help?”
He grinned slyly. “I could not leave you caring for so many alone.”
Every day she learned something new about him … another reason to love him. “Who were the other two letters for?”
“The second was to Bingley, under the guise of Baxter writing to Bingley’s valet.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but she could form no words.
He chuckled. “A ploy we began a couple of years ago. It seems the seals on my letters to Bingley are always broken before he has a chance to read them.”
She caught on. “Only when his sister is in residence?”
A conspiratorial twinkle shone from his eyes. “Yes. And amazingly enough, the same never happens to anybody else with whom I correspond.”
“And the third?”
“To my cousin Richard, who is a colonel in the army. He arranged to have Wickham transferred to the regulars. I believe the scoundrel is on his way to the Continent as we speak.”
“Oh, so that is why he disappeared.”
He nodded. “Once I realized how deeply in debt he was, I expected he would abandon his post as soon as he recovered. Assuming Wickham would return to his barracks to retrieve his belongings before bolting, Richard had a man waiting for him there.”
“Papa said his debts were paid.”
“I could not allow the shopkeepers to suffer.” He coloured. “Wickham was given a choice — debtors prison or the regulars.”
“He chose the regular army, and you paid off his debts.” Gratitude swelled in her chest. He was just too good. “And now Mr. Wickham will never bother my sister again.”
His smile faded, and he seemed to brace himself. “Or mine.”
“Your sister?”
He looked down at where their hands were intertwined.
“Poor Miss Darcy.”
The tension in his jaw and around his eyes eased. “You are an amazing lady, Elizabeth Bennet.”
“And you are a remarkable gentleman, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
He bowed his head. “I have a surprise for you. Would you come into the hall with me?”
“But…” She glanced at Jane, uncomfortable leaving her alone with Mr. Bingley.
“Only for a moment — it is just outside the door, and we shall leave it open.”
She could not disappoint him when there was such a plea in his voice. She followed him out into the corridor.
He pulled out a long, red velvet-covered box from his pocket and handed it to her. “I sent to Pemberley for this.”
Inside was a gorgeous emerald necklace with a matching ring. He took the ring from the box and slid it onto the third finger of her left hand.
She could barely see through her tears. “They are beautiful, Fitzwilliam.”
“They were my mother’s. She specifically told me to give these to whomever I chose for a wife as an engagement gift, for a happy marriage filled with love. She insisted they were a good luck charm, given to her by my father. They had been handed down from his grandmother, who had also married the man she had loved with all her heart until the day she died.”
Her tears tumbled over her lashes. “I shall cherish them forever. Thank you.”
He moved closer, cupped her face in his hands, and brushed away a tear with his thumb. “I hope these are happy tears.”
“They could be nothing else.”
Something above his head caught her eye. A familiar-looking kissing bough. “Did you bring that here from Netherfield?”
“It is the very one under which we became engaged, my love.”
A shiver passed up her spine at his new name for her.
“You have a wonderful sense of the romantic.”
He smiled affectionately, displaying his dimples. “You have brought it out in me.”
Her eyes were drawn to his mouth. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, releasing butterflies in her chest.
“I love you, Fitzwilliam.”
“There is no better gift at Christmas than love.” He moved to kiss her again, but giggles erupted from the stairwell to her left. She turned and saw at least two different coloured skirts disappear around the corner of the landing.
She tittered. “Apparently we will have an audience every time we kiss under mistletoe.”
“I have no quarrel with that, as long as we share many other kisses in privacy.” His fingers glided across her cheek to her lips. He kissed her, this time with such passion, it took her breath away.
When he eased back, she paused, savouring the experience. Finally opening her eyes, she looked into his and saw pure adoration.
“I predict this will be the first of many Happy Christmases together, Fitzwilliam.”
“Of that, I have no doubt, my love.”
The End