“I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for the sake of having someone at his disposal. I wonder he does not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her.”
This line from Pride and Prejudice made me wonder what might happen if, during Christmas, Miss Georgiana Darcy had plans of her own, disrupting her brother’s expectations. That question sparked Christmas, Love and Mr. Darcy, a charming story that begins one Christmas and concludes the next, with events in between sure to capture your heart.
Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 1, which sets the stage:
Chapter 1
London, England – December 1811
What has become of the truth universally acknowledged that the holiday season is a special time of year generally spent with one’s family?
“You and I always spend Christmas together.”
Fitzwilliam Darcy hardly knew how to look or how to feel while listening to his sister’s plans for the Christmas season.
He could not help being dismayed. “I have already made arrangements for us to travel to Matlock.”
A serious young man of seven and twenty, he shouldered a weighty burden being the master of a grand estate responsible for hundreds of livelihoods and the co-guardian of his young sister owing to their parents’ deaths.
There they sat having breakfast at the large mahogany dining room table heavily laden with fresh fruit, various meats, and other delectable dishes, which belied its setting for two.
Miss Georgiana Darcy, unable to support the idea of grieving a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, shifted in her chair and put on a strong face. Now that she was growing older, she no doubt looked forward to the prospect of spending time with others who were closer to her in age.
At that moment, she caused him a great deal of consternation. Darcy was not used to having his wishes subjugated by others.
“Does your desire to be apart from me have anything to do with what happened last summer?” he asked, tempering his tone to mask his disappointed hopes.
He was referring to his sister’s near brush with scandal in which a former family acquaintance, a Mr. George Wickham, had followed her to Ramsgate and preyed upon her innocence. Just thinking of that vile man’s intentions toward Georgiana turned Darcy’s stomach. He loathed the man, even though he and Wickham once lived together at Pemberley, Darcy’s estate in Derbyshire. Darcy’s late father had made Wickham his godson, for heaven’s sake. What a harrowing turn of events.
Georgiana was a gentleman’s daughter and the granddaughter of an earl. Wickham was the son of her late father’s former steward. She was but fifteen—Wickham was almost twice her age. Georgiana stood to assume her place among society’s elites when she came of age. Her future was bright. Heaven only knew what was to become of Wickham, but considering the path he had chosen, his prospects were dim. A gamester, a scoundrel, and a deadbeat. Such an alliance bordered on lunacy.
Still, the childhood fondness that she had cherished toward the would-be suitor was enough for her to accept his professions of love and his proposal of marriage.
Georgiana confided the entire elopement scheme to Darcy upon his unexpected yet timely arrival in Ramsgate. Perhaps her confession was a testament to her love for her older brother, whose opinion meant everything to her, or her enthusiasm over marrying a gentleman whom she adored, or some naïve combination of the two that persuaded her to confide in him. Whatever was the reason, it mattered not. Darcy was livid!
A single encounter between him and Wickham in which Darcy declared his former friend turned nemesis would never receive a penny of Georgiana’s fortune was all that it took to send the latter scurrying on his way, empty-handed.
He had yet to explain to her the actual reason he had sent Wickham away. He believed it would be one of the most challenging conversations he could have with his young sister. She had suffered enough shame over what she had almost done. Besides, as an older brother, Darcy meant to protect his sister, not subject her to further anguish.
Despite Georgiana’s ensuing heartbreak, Darcy had not taught himself to regret his actions. He would not hesitate to do it again. He told his sister as much. Concluding his assertion, he said, “I dare not apologize for doing what was right in separating the two of you.”
“Brother, I do not expect you to apologize. However, the fact remains that I was close to getting married, which means I am no longer a child.”
“You are only sixteen.”
“Old enough to get married—with consent, of course. Why some of my friends are planning their coming out balls and presentation at court already.”
“Is that something you are hoping for as well?”
“I know you believe I ought to wait, and I have no objections. I only mentioned it hoping you will quit thinking of me as a child and start regarding me as the young woman I am becoming, one with thoughts and desires of my own,” Georgiana said. “None of that detracts from the fact that I esteem you as an older brother.” She gave Darcy a sidelong glance. “Your friend, Lord Milton, has given his consent for Lady Suzanne to join the party—if that makes any difference to you. I know how much you respect him.”
“Very well,” Darcy half conceded. “So long as there is nothing more to your spending Christmas in Somersetshire, I can have no objections.”
Georgiana drew a quick breath. “So, are you saying you do not believe my intentions are good? Do you think I learned nothing from my experience last summer?” With a petulant air, she plucked up her linen napkin and brushed it against her lips.
“Fine,” Georgiana said before Darcy could respond. “If the two of us spending Christmas together means so much to you that you would question my sincerity, I will not go. I shall linger by your side each and every minute of each and every day. Will that make you happy?”
“No,” said Darcy, shaking his head. “What I mean to say is yes. It would delight me to spend time with you, but I do not mean to force you into doing so. Your happiness is my primary concern. It always has been and always will be.” He hoped this response served its intended purpose of supporting her wishes, even if it meant discouraging his own.
“Pray, travel to Somersetshire with your friends. Do so with my blessings and my most heartfelt wish for your enjoyment.”
His concession brought a smile to Georgiana’s face. “I am certain you shall enjoy the season as well. With so many acquaintances in town at this time of year, I am sure you will not want for diversions.”
“No doubt,” Darcy responded, picking up the daily paper he had set aside upon Georgiana’s joining him for breakfast.
“By the bye, I wonder what Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s plans are for this season.”
Darcy’s heart banged against his chest at the mention of her name. He peered up from his paper. He could not deny he, too, often thought of Elizabeth and what she was doing. With whom did she spend her time? Would he ever see her again? His sister, however, could not possibly know his innermost thoughts. “Of all people, why would you ask about Miss Elizabeth?”
“Oh,” Georgiana said, bringing her porcelain cup to her lips. “I recall your frequently mentioning her in your letters from Hertfordshire.” She took a sip. “I suppose I am a little curious about how she is spending Christmas.”
And so it begins… This conversation causes Darcy to contemplate his future in ways he theretofore had scarcely considered as illustrated in the book’s blurb:
Mr. Darcy is tired of being alone for the holidays, and he is determined to do something about it. Miss Elizabeth Bennet has never desired Mr. Darcy’s good opinion, and yet she arrives in London for the Twelfth Night ball and soon learns he is bestowing it, most ardently. Elizabeth was not looking for love, but what happens when love comes looking for her? Is the proud gentleman from Derbyshire someone with whom she can trust her heart?
Here’s another excerpt from the story. The setting is the Matlocks’ Twelfth Night ball.
Chapter 6 – Excerpt
“I have long thought meanly of all the rest of the world—of others’ sense and worth compared with my own.”
Standing straight and tall, with one hand behind his back, Mr. Darcy continued, “However I have been taught, and however I have been, I stand before you now a man resolved on charting a different path in life. One bent on being a better man—one capable of pleasing a woman worthy of being pleased—a woman such as yourself.”
Mr. Darcy leaned ever so close to Elizabeth and spoke in a manner for her ears only. “And it is for that reason I am professing my intention to woo you, Miss Elizabeth, to make you fall madly in love with me, and to make you my wife.”
Elizabeth, who was taking a sip of champagne, nearly choked on it. Her heart slammed against her chest. Her mouth fell open.
Never in the history of their acquaintance had Mr. Darcy spoken so eloquently and with such passion. How could she not be enthralled when he was speaking to her that way—looking at her that way? As engaged as she was in such riveting intercourse with the gentleman, she had not paid attention to the fact that he had escorted her outside the house into the garden. With just as many party goers wondering about outside as inside, the flaunting of conventions seemed the order of the evening.
“Mr. Darcy, you are very bold. That said, I cannot deny that I am intrigued by your proposal, but how can I be certain it is not the mystique of Twelfth Night causing you to speak this way?”
Smiling a little, he stole a glance into the distance. “Ah, Twelfth Night! A magical night of whimsy and pretense.” He gazed upon Elizabeth once more.
“Indeed,” she said, “a night where reckless behavior is more of a rule rather than the exception, or so I have been led to believe.” Once again, she relied on her love of reading in making such a declaration. “Why should I believe a word you say?”
He had summoned the courage to place his heart on the line, and this was to be her response? How could he fault her? There was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner that made it difficult for him to take offense. Determined to press his suit, Mr. Darcy said, “Believe me when I say that you have bewitched me as no other woman has ever done before.”
Elizabeth’s heartbeat raced. Composing herself, she asked, “Am I to surmise there have been many such bewitching women in your life, sir?”
He shrugged. “I would not say that.”
“What would you say?” Elizabeth asked, smiling at the imposing gentleman standing before her. What a striking contrast to his behavior in Hertfordshire when she was sure he only ever looked at her to find fault.
“I say whether there has been one, two, or even a dozen, I am certain there will never be another woman other than you ever again—which means you absolutely must consider my suit and save me from being a lonely man for the rest of my days.”
Elizabeth’s opinion of Mr. Darcy had been long in the making. It was not likely to be assuaged by well-spoken, honey-coated words, even if she felt her heart melting inside with each passing minute. Refusing to regard his assertions with a measure of seriousness such a discourse otherwise portended, Elizabeth deflected. “In the occasion’s spirit, what say you if I pretend to believe you?”
“I say that as long as we are pretending, we might as well behave as lovers do on an evening such as this,” said Mr. Darcy.
“Oh?” Elizabeth softly exclaimed. “Pray tell me, Mr. Darcy, how should lovers behave on such an evening as this?” she asked, her voice a mixture of playfulness and intrigue.
“I could tell you,” he said, leaning close enough for his warm breath to caress her face. “However, I would much rather show you, Miss Elizabeth.”
He whispered in her ear, “Take my hand.” He seized her gloved hand in his, leaving her no choice but to heed his command. “Walk with me.”
Tucking her hand in the fold of his arm, Mr. Darcy led Elizabeth along a path perfectly suited to his purposes. Not that they were the only couple in the immediate vicinity of a mind for such assignations. It was Twelfth Night, after all. No one knew who anyone was with certainty. No one cared.
“Where are you leading me, sir?”
He placed a finger to his lips and hushed her.
At length, they came upon a cozy little alcove affording an unobstructed view of the night-time sky. The stars shone as brightly as the eyes could see. Elizabeth recognized this place intuitively—yet another consequence of the constant improvement of her mind through extensive reading, of romantic novels especially, in this notable instance.
Here she was with undoubtedly one of the most handsome gentlemen of her acquaintance. Even if he was not her favorite, she had no reason to suppose he might never be. Already, the ill will she felt toward him at the start of the evening was melting like icicle-ladened tree branches under the bright sun on a winter’s day. The ardent avowal of his intentions could only encourage.
Added to that, Mr. Darcy smelled as good as he looked. The essence of sandalwood and spices flooded her senses. What on earth had she ever done to earn this man’s good opinion? Whatever it was, surely it had been most unconsciously done. The very thought of being alone with Mr. Darcy in that instant made Elizabeth tremble. This he must have regarded as her being chilled. He was not entirely wrong.
“It is cold,” she said.
“Of course it is, Miss Elizabeth. What was I thinking in leading you here?” Mr. Darcy removed his coat with haste and placed it about her shoulders. His hands resting on either lapel, he drew them close together. “Does this feel better?”
Their gazes locked.
As if against her will, Elizabeth moistened her lower lip. Her heartbeat thumping in her chest drowned out every thought. She said nothing.
Mr. Darcy leaned closer. He whispered in her ear. “Would you repeat that, Miss Elizabeth? I seem to be hard of hearing.”
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