Alix James's Blog, page 3

Merry Christmas 2020

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Caroline Bingley was sulking, and that was never a good omen.

Darcy had taken up a defensive posture at the writing desk. His declared purpose was to pen a missive to his sister, Georgiana, which he was, in fact, doing. However, his real intent was to avoid being forced to talk to the other people in the room. One of them was Miss Bingley.

Another was Elizabeth Bennet.

Ever since Caroline Bingley���s failure at drawing her brother away from Hertfordshire after the ball at Netherfield, the woman had become insufferable. It seemed that her whole being was focused on proving Jane Bennet���s unsuitability as the future Mrs. Bingley. From subtle means by which she could make Miss Bennet look backward and simple, to blunt insults assaulting her looks and character, nothing had worked yet. Every ploy, every tactic had only brought the lady in question more into their circle of intimates. And with her came her sister.

This afternoon, Bingley had invited the entire Bennet family, father and mother included, to take rides in his new sleigh. However, as the day had dawned warm and wet, that scheme was impossible. The family came anyway, and now they were passing an unbearable afternoon in the drawing-room.

Mr. Bennet, Darcy could tolerate. He had a way of secreting himself in the corner and only dropping sardonic quips when a member of his family said or did something ridiculous. Which was, unfortunately, rather frequent.

Caroline Bingley had begun to pace, but this time, she had thought better of inviting Elizabeth Bennet to join her. She prowled instead behind Darcy���s chair, a weather eye on the second-eldest Bennet sister as she guarded her claim��� him.

���I declare, Mr. Darcy, you do write so often to our dear Miss Darcy. She must be the happiest girl in the world, with such a thoughtful and eloquent brother to send her long letters each day.���

���You mistake me, Miss Bingley,��� he replied evenly, never looking up. ���My letters may be long, but I do not send more than two each week. I await her reply between.���

���Then they must be exquisite, so much time do you expend composing them. Oh! If only Charles were so considerate. Imagine, if you will, receiving a letter of only a page and a half long, barely legible, and that only twice each month! I declare������ here, she turned a serene gaze about the room, but her words were directed toward Miss Bennet. ���Charles is careless, I daresay, and not half so generous to his sisters as Mr. Darcy.���

Darcy flicked an annoyed glance at Miss Bingley and wished that her brother would set her in her place for once. Bingley was blushing, stammering some laughing excuse about how his thoughts tumbled altogether too fast and his tasks were too many to permit the sort of long letters his sister claimed to desire.

Well. Charles Bingley had never been the man to confront his sister, and even less so now with Jane Bennet in attendance. And Darcy was certainly not going to do it. He turned back to his letter.

���Generosity is a fine thing, and not to be mocked in whatever form it may take.���

Darcy blinked, and his spine went rigid. That was Elizabeth Bennet, and no mistake. He would know her sweet tones in��� well, in his dreams, for they had started to wander there well over a month ago. He swallowed and kept writing, but his attention was all on what she would say next.

���Why, naturally!��� Miss Bingley scoffed lightly. ���My dear Eliza, whoever said anything about mocking anyone?���

���Perhaps I misunderstood. You said, I believe, that Mr. Darcy is everything generous and thoughtful in his care for his sister.���

Darcy���s ears grew hot, but he did not dare to look up.

���But of course. Our Mr. Darcy takes the most prodigious care of dear Georgiana. What more proof do you need than his constant attention to his letters for her?���

Darcy���s hand tightened on his pen, and he risked a glance at the chaise, where Elizabeth Bennet was sitting with a neglected cup of tea. She barely took any notice of him, but her eyes did touch his once. Just long enough to inform him that she knew he was listening, and she did not care.

���Truly, Miss Bingley, I cannot deny what you say. It shows a profound generosity of spirit to face a wall all evening and labor with a bit of quill and paper, merely to express devotion to one person who is far distant at the expense of others who are near.���

Caroline Bingley was a second or two in replying. ���Why���do you mean to claim that Mr. Darcy is, in fact, rude in company? Miss Eliza, I hardly know what to say to such a preposterous notion! The very idea that anyone could think our Mr. Darcy ungentlemanly������

���What Miss Elizabeth means,��� Darcy interrupted, for he was unable to restrain himself longer, ���is that there are other, and perhaps better means of expressing this generosity you so enthusiastically ascribe to me alone.���

Elizabeth Bennet tipped her head and permitted a saucy smile���the kind of smile that always preceded some verbal trap. ���That is precisely what I meant. Now, you would praise Mr. Darcy for his fine penmanship and declare it evidence of an equally fine character. I cannot deny your assertions, but I do usually find that more often it is those of open cheer and goodwill���such as Mr. Bingley exhibits���who are truly generous. One gives a few moments of his time and effort, while the other gives his whole self.���

Darcy was momentarily as stung as Miss Bingley. He, however, was quicker with his retort. ���Do you presume to pass judgment on a person on so little evidence as their activities in a drawing-room?���

The corner of her mouth twitched. ���I can only speak as I find. I am hardly able to sketch your character anywhere other than a drawing-room��� or a ballroom,��� she added with a significant widening of that cheeky smile.

As it happened, Darcy would rather not recall his time with her in a ballroom, for it reflected rather poorly on him. ���Then perhaps you would do better not to pronounce your judgment, as you have so little frame of reference������

���Oh, but I have just had the most charming idea!��� Miss Bingley interrupted. She moved between them, her hands waving as if trying to separate armed combatants. ���Why do we not put Mr. Darcy���s true generosity on display?���

A sinking feeling came over his stomach. Was she going to force him to host a party? Dance with every Bennet sister in the county? He would not do it, not even to save face.

���Miss Bingley,��� Elizabeth Bennet laughed, ���I was not aware that Mr. Darcy���s generosity was in question. You have already declared him to be a paragon, and so he must be, even if not all can appreciate his form of generosity. I only claimed that your own brother is equally gracious in his way. We need not make it a competition.���

���Competition?��� piped up a younger voice. It was Lydia Bennet, the hoyden of the clan, and she was already flouncing out of her seat and overturning a saucer to hear better. ���Oh, do Lizzy, let us have a competition! What is it to be? Archery? Cards? You know I am famous at Rummy������

To Elizabeth Bennet���s credit, she never failed to blush on account of her relations. She was red to her brow now, glancing at her father on the far side of the room as if in entreaty. She would get no help there; Mr. Bennet was lost in a book and ignorant of the rest of the room.

���Lydia, we spoke of no such thing,��� she answered at last. ���I had only said that there is no need to compare which person is the most generous.���

The girl pouted at her sister, then frowned between Darcy and Miss Bingley. ���Why ever not? I say the person who gives the best gifts should have the distinction of the most generous person.���

Darcy scoffed and turned his eyes back to his letter. Trust Lydia Bennet to conceive of something so childish.

Elizabeth, to his relief, agreed. ���Lydia!��� she gasped. ���You entirely miss my point! There is no need������

���Oh, but there is, Miss Eliza,��� Caroline Bingley interrupted. ���Why, you persist in misunderstanding a noble man like Mr. Darcy. Why shall we not undertake to correct your assumptions?���

Darcy turned, trying to hide his horror. ���I am quite capable of defending my own reputation, madam.���

���But of course you are! And that is why you cannot fail to appreciate my plan. I think we ought to have an exchange of gifts among our party.���

���Gifts, Miss Bingley?��� Miss Elizabeth echoed. Her eyes narrowed in distress, then flitted briefly to Darcy. ���I am sure that is unnecessary.���

���Oh!��� Miss Bingley cried. ���I had quite forgot! Perhaps the purchasing of gifts would be too much of a burden on some among us.���

Darcy���s gaze wandered to Elizabeth Bennet again, though he remained bent over his letter. It had become an object of fascination for him, watching her courage rise whenever Miss Bingley tried to torment her. How would she respond to this latest affront?

She bristled, and her cheeks flushed handsomely. ���I assure you, Miss Bingley, it is no ���burden,��� as you say. I merely feel it a gratuitous display, vain and irrelevant, as your only point is to prove a thing which I have not denied.���

Miss Bingley smiled sweetly. ���Then, it is settled. We shall limit it to one gift per person, in consideration of��� everyone.��� This, she said with a faint look of disdain, at which Elizabeth Bennet���s eyes darkened. ���Let us draw names, shall we? That way, no one can be accused of choosing favorites. Mr. Darcy, may I trouble you for a pen and some paper?���

By this time, the rest of the room had ceased their conversations to listen. Bingley praised the scheme, while Mrs. Hurst shot her sister a glare that plainly denounced the idea. Mr. Bennet���s expression was something between disgruntled and amused. Mrs. Bennet, however, exulted so loudly that even her daughters��� voices were drowned out.

���There,��� Miss Bingley announced. She came forward with a handful of papers, all folded. ���I will place these in a basket. Each person���s name is written once, and everyone shall draw one piece of paper. Do not reveal whose name you draw! We shall exchange the gifts in one week, and you must not let on to whom you have given the gift.���

���On Christmas Eve!��� cried Lydia Bennet.

Miss Bingley���s lip curled, no doubt because she realized only too late that her idea of a gift exchange meant another evening in company with the Bennet family. ���Ahem. I suppose. Now, I shall mix the names up and come around.���

Darcy watched the woman, for he knew her manner well enough to know that she had some hidden design. She peered carefully into the basket, daintily rearranged one or two pieces of paper, then smilingly started for Darcy���s chair.

That was when Lydia Bennet charged. ���Oh, let me!��� she cried. ���Everyone knows that I am generous, I will draw first!���

Before Caroline Bingley could react, Lydia plunged her hand into the basket, stirred it roughly around two or three times, and grabbed a paper. ���Hah! I got��� oh, I am not supposed to tell. What fun! Oh, I have such a jolly gift in mind!���

The girl waltzed away, the prized name clutched to the lace of her fichu. Miss Bingley was white with anger. Her mouth dropped open as she stared down at the wreckage of what had once been basket full of name slips arranged to her liking. Darcy was only marginally less disturbed���by Lydia Bennet���s reaction, he suspected that his was the name she had drawn.

There was nothing else for it. Trapped now, and with her plan in shambles, Miss Bingley came around to each person in the room with a trembling hand. Mr. Bennet, Bingley, Miss Bennet, Hurst, Miss Elizabeth��� who glanced quickly at her paper then buried it in her lap.

Darcy was next to last. His trepidation great, he chose a paper and left the last name for Caroline. He heard her understated groan as she read her assigned person, and that left only him to discover his fate. Slowly, he unfolded the paper and read the name.

Elizabeth Bennet.

***

 
Elizabeth Bennet. The one woman in all the world who would look upon any effort of his with skepticism, and it was up to him to prove to her that he was��� 

That he was what? A gentleman? That much was indisputable. Amiable? Making himself amiable to Elizabeth Bennet was dangerous. Able to procure a lavish gift to make her the envy of all others? Indeed, none had greater ability, but it was not his wealth in question. He had to prove himself to be generous.

Generous! How did one define such a word? Traditionally, his understanding had been that the giver must be put to some inconvenience, or that their thoughtfulness must be of extravagance, or long duration, or both. None of these would do, for such a display would instigate gossip. And that would be��� inconvenient.

It must be simpler than that. She was not a woman who demanded finery or lavish expenditures, yet surely she had some notion of what constituted a good gift. For two days, Darcy fretted and debated, rejecting every idea to come to mind. He thought of a gold pin for her bonnet, but such vanity would be little appreciated by such a woman. And it was likely to be stolen by her younger sister. 

Then he thought of how she enjoyed reading. That was it! A book of poetry��� No, she had told him once that poetry was the surest means of driving away love.

Not that he meant to tell her he loved her! Why, that was��� that was ridiculous! He��� well, he admired her, certainly. And what was so wrong with that? He had admired at least two other women in his life. His mother and��� Surely there were more. A pity he could not think of them all.

Very well, poetry was not the proper thing, but what of a novel? She had read���unknowingly���one of his own books last October when she stayed at Netherfield. Perhaps that meant they had similar taste. So reasoning, Darcy set himself an errand at the Meryton book shop for the following afternoon.

The shop was almost empty when he arrived���so much the better, for he could wander the shelves more freely without others speculating what he was purchasing, and for whom. Historical books��� no, far too dry. His gift to her must strike just the right tone. 

Though he was prohibited by the rules to reveal who had given the gift, Elizabeth Bennet was no fool. She would discover him, and he had to convey��� what, precisely? That he wished to know her better? That he admired the clever turn of her mind, the way she teased so lightly and yet never failed to hit her mark? That he dreamed of her each night, but was mortified that she might learn of it?

What sort of a book did a man give to a woman who made him ache in ways he had never ached before?

Science��� no, that would not do. Philosophy��� he paused. Perhaps���if he wished for a debate partner. Fetching as that notion was, it did not feel quite right. He moved to another aisle.

Ah, there was the newest from Byron. Darcy pulled it from the shelf and thumbed it open. The heated lines caused the sweat to bead his brow at once. Another stanza and his eyes were popping out, and he felt warm in ways that made him yearn for her. His heart standing in his throat and his breath coming fast, he read a little more.

And this, the stuff that Elizabeth Bennet declared would kill love stone dead? Far from it! But what was that she had said? ���A slight, thin sort of inclination��� would shy away, but ���a fine, stout, healthy love��� could withstand it���perhaps even be nourished by it. Yes, that was the sort of passion required between lovers before he could gift a book like this.  Not feeling half so daring, he took a cleansing breath and pushed Byron back onto the shelf.

That left only one more aisle in the small bookstore. Feeling less hopeful than desperate, Darcy turned the corner and stumbled directly into Mr. Bennet.

���Ah, Mr. Darcy,��� the gentleman greeted him.

���Fancy meeting you here. I understand you appreciate a good book, sir.���

���I do,��� he answered, a bit more stiffly than was warranted.

Mr. Bennet wetted his finger and turned a page in the green-bound book he held, his eyes scarcely straying from it. ���Well, then, very good. I would let you examine this book, but I believe I shall be purchasing it myself. Are you seeking something in particular? I may be able to help you find it.���

���Thank you, sir, but I am as yet uncertain what I seek.��� Darcy turned to the shelves and scanned them in silence. Nothing caught his eye���or that which did was promptly rejected as being too silly or too dull. Hope was beginning to fade as he turned to look at the opposite row.

���May I ask, sir,��� Mr. Bennet spoke after a long silence, ���whether you seek a book for yourself or another?���

Darcy was slow to answer. ���Another,��� he said reluctantly.

���Perhaps you would like to see the gothic novels. There are a few just there. I believe many of the young ladies enjoy them.���

Darcy shot Mr. Bennet a curious glare. The older gentleman���s mouth was twitching, but he blinked innocently and looked back at his book.

Oh, hang it all. Even if he thought a gothic read would be just right for Elizabeth, he could not very well select such a book with her father watching him. For one thing, he wanted to savor the choosing of it, enjoying a few lines himself to make sure he could hear her voice in his ear, reading that same book aloud. And for another, he could not bear for Mr. Bennet to know his secret.

���I thank you for your help,��� he said at last. ���But I believe I will have to look elsewhere.���

Mr. Bennet looked up with a grand smile and nodded. ���Suit yourself, Mr. Darcy. Oh, I understand there has been a new shipment of ribbons and French lace next door at the milliner���s. I believe some of my daughters were eager to examine the selections.���

That sealed it. Darcy was on his horse less than a minute later, his proverbial tail between his legs.

And he still had no idea what to give Elizabeth.

***

The trouble of a fitting gift for Elizabeth Bennet so dominated his thoughts that her face was constantly in his mind. Pleasant, yes, but also exceedingly tortuous. And there was a particular dissonance when he walked about the house, thinking of Elizabeth, while Caroline Bingley persisted in following him. So, he went for an afternoon ride. It was refreshing, galloping over the rise, breathing in the crisp air, overlooking the view���

And stumbling upon the very object of his musings.

She was facing away from him, wrapped in a thick woolen cloak and standing alone by a tree. Her arms were folded before her, and her head tipped back as if she were drinking in the day. She turned when she heard him.

Darcy lifted his hat. ���Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.���

���Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy. All alone today, I see?���

���The better to clear my head. Do you not find a bit of solitude refreshing now and again?���

A hint of laughter warmed her face. ���Mr. Darcy, I have four sisters. What do you think?���

���Far be it from me to declare the company of your sisters undesirable. I believe it would be safer, rather, for me to observe that you are walking alone, and surely had some reason for it.���

She bobbed her head graciously. ���Just so.���

He searched for something else to say, and foundered. Just as he did every time he looked at her, he became lost. It was something in those remarkable eyes, some light of life that never failed to lure his senses until his tongue was a wreck and his mind a jumble. He wished he could simply stay there, worshipping her presence as his heart beat ever thicker in his chest and his vision blurred to all but her.

But that would never do. He blinked until the fog lifted from his head, and tugged at his rein. ���Well, as you claimed to be seeking solitude, I shall not impose������

���I never claimed any such thing.���

He stilled. ���I beg your pardon?���

���Solitude. I never said I came expressly for that reason. The assumption was yours, sir.���

Darcy dropped his hand and studied her. ���Very well. What reason did you have for coming out alone today, if not specifically to be alone?���

A joyous smile livened her face, and she spread her arms. ���Why, all of this. Look about you! Do you not see?���

He squinted against the silvery winter sunlight, and his eyes scanned the horizon. ���I see gentle hills, old oak trees, fields which presently lie fallow, dry irrigation beds, a handful of promising coveys������

���Precisely!��� she cried. ���The world lies before you, Mr. Darcy���or, at least, a modest corner of it.���

He leaned forward in the saddle. ���And that is why you walk out? To enjoy the view?���

She shrugged. ���To admire nature in all its bounty, no matter the season. To feel a part of the world, rather than a hapless passenger as it turns about. To clear my head of the clutter and busyness of daily life and to think through the things I do not have time to consider anywhere else. Yes, that is why I walk out.���

���And you do not need to be alone for such an outing?���

She tilted her head, pursing her lips and regarding him carefully. ���Sometimes. But what a gift would it be, to pass such a time in the company of a kindred spirit? Nay, sir, that would be far better than walking alone, if a look or a gesture could serve to connect like minds and draw their feelings along similar paths. What could be a pleasanter way to pass an afternoon than in the company of one who possesses the rare gift of understanding?���

���Miss Elizabeth,��� he agreed huskily, ���that would, indeed, be something, to find someone with whom one could be so utterly at home. But, as you say, it is rare. I take it you have not such a person in your own household?���

���Jane occasionally, but less of late. Charlotte Lucas, although I have lost her to wedding plans, and shall lose her to Kent in a few more days.��� She sighed, and a sadness shadowed her expression for a moment���a look Darcy felt deep in his bones, for it seemed the very essence of how he felt much of the time.

Darcy said nothing. He only watched her fall into a brief reverie���watched the tender play of feeling over her lips and cheeks, the way her lashes fluttered, just before she banished that flash of melancholy and put on a smile once more.

���Yes, Mr. Darcy,��� she finished, ���you find me walking by myself today because, in the absence of a true friend of the spirit, I still wish to go out. Even if I must be alone.���

Must be lonely, you mean��� but he did not say that.

He shifted his riding crop, bunched the rein in his left hand, and was preparing to dismount and walk with her, but she straightened. ���I should be going, Mr. Darcy. My mother is expecting me. I will wish you a good day, sir.��� She curtseyed and turned to walk away before he could speak another word.

Darcy remained there a long while, just watching Elizabeth Bennet making her way down the slope, her hips sashaying intoxicatingly and her figure looking very small and alone.

And suddenly, he knew just what to give her for Christmas.

***

The appointed day arrived, and the Bennet family came to dine on Christmas Eve in a bevy of feminine lace and chatter. Mr. Bennet brought up the tail of his brood, a satisfied look on his face. Not even his wife���s exuberance could rattle his calm, and Darcy, for one, envied such equanimity.

It was arranged that the gifts would be stacked anonymously in the drawing-room while they adjourned to dinner. Naturally, Miss Bingley was in charge of the seating, and Darcy had an uncomfortable hour to face as she tried to monopolize his attention. However, he was not alone, for at the opposite end of the table, he caught an occasional glimpse of Elizabeth, her cheeks burning in humiliation for whatever came out of her younger sisters��� mouths.

At long last, the meal was over. Bingley offered Miss Bennet his arm in an informal display that made even Hurst grunt in surprise. Blushing and smiling, Jane Bennet accepted his escort, and they led the procession into the drawing-room.
Or, they started to, until Lydia Bennet raced ahead. ���I cannot wait to see what I���that is, what everyone got!��� she cried. ���Oh, I do hope it is a good surprise. Kitty, do you think anyone will guess which gift I gave?���

Darcy hung back and noted that Elizabeth was doing the same. She looked around in dismay as if hoping his attention might have been elsewhere for Lydia Bennet���s latest impropriety, and then colored when he caught her eye. She cleared her throat and glanced away, but Darcy came to her side.

���May I escort you, Miss Elizabeth?���

Her eyes narrowed faintly, but she drew a breath and let her hand rest on his arm. ���It is very exciting,��� she observed in a strained voice. ���The exchange, I mean. It ought to be fun trying to guess.���

He nodded gravely. ���I expect it will. I hope everyone receives something to their liking.���

Deep, sparkling eyes turned up to him. ���I hope so.���

When they arrived in the room, Lydia and Kitty Bennet were already looking at name tags and passing out gifts. However, as the last parcels were distributed, it became obvious that they were one short. Everyone looked around, and it was Jane Bennet who stood without a gift.

Pink embarrassment rose on her fair cheeks, and she took a step back. ���Oh, it is no matter,��� she claimed. ���Some mistake or other. Truly���I do not mind. Please, go ahead without me.���

Caroline Bingley looked��� Darcy could not quite decide. Angry, perhaps. Thunderous and threatening seemed to fit. Whatever it was, there was no time to decipher it, for Charles Bingley stepped forward.

���There was no mistake. Miss Bennet, I drew your name, but the gift I wished to give you, I could not wrap. I hope you will do me the honor of accepting it.��� And then, he went down on one knee before her.

The room erupted. Jane Bennet could no sooner nod her tearful ���Yes,��� than her mother embraced her, her sisters chorused their glee, and Bingley��� sister���s dropped, dumbfounded, into opposite chairs. Hurst, who was already snoring on the settee, awoke with a disgruntled, ���Ho, there! Silly way to spend an evening.���

Darcy was still standing beside Elizabeth, admiring the way her eyes swam with unshed happiness and her dainty fingers covered her mouth. He leaned close and whispered, ���Are you pleased, Miss Elizabeth?���

She sniffed and swallowed. ���Oh! Who could not be? Dear Jane���I know she makes little fuss about her feelings, but she is violently in love with him, and I know she will be exceedingly happy.���

���But I did not ask about her. What about you? You will be losing another of your walking companions for good.���

She blinked up at him and offered a watery smile. ���Then I shall have to look for another.���

At length, the room quieted. Bingley secured a seat beside his beloved, and the tearing and shredding of wrapping ensued. Miss Bingley held up an uneven bonnet with a wan expression, and Darcy heard Elizabeth gasp.

���What is it?��� he asked.

���That used to be my bonnet! I wondered where it went. And what has she done to it?���

���What has who done to it?���

���Lydia, of course. Who else? She is forever stealing my bonnets, and I suppose she thought��� oh, I should not laugh at poor Miss Bingley, but it is terribly funny, after all!���

Miss Bingley apparently did not think it very funny. Nor did she appear amused when Mrs. Bennet unwrapped a white bit of porcelain and did not seem to know what to do with it.

���Why, it is such a plain, tiny thing,��� the woman huffed. ���Nothing decorative about it.���

���It is a thimble from the finest bone china available on Bond Street!��� Miss Bingley cried. ���How can you possibly not know what it is? What, did you expect some garish flowers painted on it?���

���Well,��� Elizabeth muttered, ���I suppose that mystery is solved.���

Darcy chuckled and looked at the others. Hurst was holding up a copy of Fordyce���s Sermons and scratching his head. Mrs. Hurst unwrapped a new deck of cards, glared at her husband, and set them aside. Bingley was loudly admiring a new handkerchief with crisp blue embroidery worked into the corner.

���Jane,��� Elizabeth whispered to him, as if noting where his gaze had landed.

���That was fortuitous,��� he observed.

She nodded, then looked at her father. He was nearly hidden in a corner, grinning broadly and beginning to tap out his pipe. Across his lap lay a new book with green binding.

���Papa!��� she hissed under her breath.

���Did he draw his own name?��� Darcy asked.

Elizabeth���s lips were thinned, and she shook her head in mock disapproval

Mr. Bennet must have heard them, for he looked up with a sly twinkle in his eye, then returned to his book.

���I suppose that leaves only us, Mr. Darcy. After you?���

���I cannot. Please, Miss Elizabeth, ladies first.���

She offered a conspiratorial grin. ���On the count of three, then.��� They counted and ripped into their gifts together. And both fell silent.

���Ah. We both have gloves,��� she said, her voice faltering. ���Fancy that.���

Darcy blinked, glancing back and forth at their respective gifts. Her gift, he could account for. In fact, he had thought it clever and original, until���

���Mr. Darcy,��� she coughed, ���I wonder how we could have received the same thing. I know for a certainty that the same person did not give both gifts.���

���As do I, and moreover, I can ascertain that no one could have known to spill the secret.���

Her gaze settled over him, those wondrous eyes speaking more than words. ���Are you saying what I think you are saying, sir?���

���That depends. Are you?���

She tilted her head, a glimmer of mischief returning to her smile. ���I might be.���

���Then, perhaps you should try them on,��� he urged.

She picked up the right glove and slipped her slender fingers inside, then stopped. ���There is something in there.���

Darcy tipped his chin close to her ear. ���That is because the gloves are not actually the gift.���

Her brow arched, and she tugged the object free. ���A man���s pocket watch?���

Darcy shook his head. ���Time. You said that the most generous person gives of themselves. Whoever gave you this appears to wish to give you his time.���

Elizabeth���s eyes filled once more, and she clasped the watch to her heart. ���I shall treasure it���every minute of it. But you have not tried on your gloves.���

Trying on gloves was the last thing he cared to do. He would greatly prefer to stare down into her face, pouring all his pent-up longing and hope into that one single gaze, but he broke the look and obeyed.

As he slid his hand inside, his fingers crunched into the sharp edge of a piece of paper. Elizabeth���s mouth was puckering now, but she was trying to look nonchalant as he drew the paper out and read it.

���Tomorrow morning, Oakham Mount.
You will need these gloves, as it will be a long walk.���

Darcy tucked the note into his breast pocket, patting down his own hammering heart and trying not to shout to the heavens. She had chosen him as her companion and soul-mate, and that was more priceless to him than gold or diamonds.

���Miss Elizabeth,��� he asked in a voice all too eager and trembling, ���how do you feel about poetry?���

���I had always considered poetry to be the food of love,��� she answered promptly. ���Specifically, the words of Byron.���

���Then, tomorrow, I shall read some for you.��� And kiss you, and hold you to my heart, and whisper in your ear, and beg you to be mine.

���It sounds like a very long walk, Mr. Darcy.���

���I hope it shall last forever, Miss Elizabeth.���

She glanced down at their hands, then her gloved fingers slipped into his. ���That would be the most generous gift of all.���



More to Read

Wishing you and yours a peaceful Christmas, and love for the new year.

Nicole

The post Merry Christmas 2020 appeared first on Alix James.

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to Jane Austen!

Jane Austen was born on this day in 1775 in Hampshire, England. As someone who has enjoyed her contributions to literature (and, let’s be honest, my own romantic imagination), I wanted to wish her a happy birthday in a creative way. This story was shared over at Austen Variations, and if you skip over there and leave a comment before December 19, 2020, you’ll be entered in a giveaway for my new Alix James Short Story Collection. However, I’m re-posting the story here for my subscribers. I hope you enjoy it!

Elizabeth Bennet buried her face in the covers against the cool air of her room. One minute longer��� But it was not to be, for Jane flopped over her, ticking her through the blankets. ���Happy birthday, Lizzy!���

Elizabeth grumbled and tried to hide.

���Come, now, you will miss all the fun!��� Jane cried. ���Everyone is waiting for you.���

���As if anyone but you even remembered,��� Elizabeth shot back. ���You may as well let me sleep, Jane. Do not forget that whatever torment you employ today, I will return on Wednesday when it is your birthday.���

���Well, someone has to remember,��� Jane sighed. ���If we do not make a fuss among ourselves, nothing will come of it at all.���

Elizabeth finally pulled the covers down and squinted at her sister. ���I begin to feel that Mama intentionally planned our births close to Christmas so that it would all be done at once and her nerves needn���t withstand the additional celebrations.���

Jane snickered. ���Really? I thought it was Papa who would have wanted to reduce the to-do���s!���

���You may be right.���

Elizabeth sat up and saw the tea tray her sister had brought to her room. This had been their tradition since the year Jane turned ten and Elizabeth was eight���they brought each other breakfast in bed, so there would be some acknowledgement, at least, of their special day.

���Well, let us have our little party. Thank you, Jane.���

���Good morning, Papa.���

Elizabeth put her head into the door of her father���s study and found him, as she usually did, with his pipe shouldering by his side and a book in his hand. He looked up and blinked to adjust his eyes. ���Oh, good morning, Elizabeth. Come to bring me my morning tea?���

He adjusted his spectacles and tilted his book for a better view of the page. ���Very kind of you, my girl. Just there, on the desk until it cools a bit.���

���I have not brought you any tea, Papa.��� She fidgeted with her fingers, glanced uncomfortably at the shelves, and cleared her throat. ���Should be a lovely day today.���

���Hmm? Oh! Yes, ���tis, ���tis.  I believe your aunt and uncle are coming this afternoon, is that right?���

���Indeed, they are. Aunt wished to arrive in time to celebrate Jane���s birthday and mine.��� She waited, hoping her father might catch the hint, but he only nodded.

���Very good. Well, I suppose I am to lose any peace and quiet until they go home after Twelfth Night, eh? I might as well take advantage of every moment. If you are going walking, Lizzy, will you send Hill in with my tea? There���s a good girl.���

Elizabeth sighed in discouragement. Usually, her father could be brought to remember, but this morning it was as if she scarcely existed, but to bring him his little comforts. Twenty years of age today, and not one hint that the rest of her family took note of it.

Truly, she must be being silly about it all. She was no longer a child to be petted and f��ted. She was a woman, fully capable of mature and rational thought.

But she also wanted to feel special now and again.

She went to the hall and started bundling up for a walk. A good sulk out of doors would be just the thing to return her to her usual spirits. Until her mother found her.

���Lizzy, where on earth are you going? Your cousins are arriving soon!���

���I am going walking, Mama. I will be sure to return������

���Impossible!��� Mrs Bennet protested. ���I need you to look over the decorations with Hill for Twelfth Night.���

���I thought Jane was doing that. Really, Mama, may I not take half an hour for a walk on my birth������

���Some other time, Lizzy. I am counting on you and Jane to make this year the best we have ever seen! One never knows but that Mr. Bingley may see fit to come back from London, and I will not have anything less than our finest year ever.���

Mrs. Bennet hurried away, no doubt setting after Jane next. Elizabeth closed her eyes and fought for a moment of equanimity. Everyone knew that Mr. Bingley was not coming back. Why did their mother persist in tormenting Jane over a hope that was sure to disappoint?

Pouting and feeling a bit like a disappointed five-year-old, despite her twenty years, she hung her bonnet back on the hook. She unwound her thick scarf to hang beside it, and walked glumly back to the kitchen. This birthday looked as if it was going to be the same as all the others. Forgotten.

The arrival of the Gardiner party brought more than merry greetings and cheer. It also brought extra duties for the eldest Bennet daughters. Mrs. Gardiner had been unwell on the journey, as some ladies in particular conditions may be, and she required a good long lie-down upon her arrival. The care of their three children, therefore, fell to Jane and Elizabeth, who were the only ones both kind enough and conscientious enough to be tasked with the care of the little ones.

Elizabeth did love her young cousins. Eight-year-old Abigail was the picture of grace and patience���a model child, much like Jane had been. At three, Sarah Anne was bearing a striking resemblance to Elizabeth, but in form only. In character, she was much like her mother���ready to smile and offer affection, and generally an amiable and peaceful child.

But Elizabeth���s favorite was Samuel. Five years old and full of gunpowder, the lad was forever into mischief, but no one could not adore him for it. She delighted in the way his cheeks would dimple and his eyes would sparkle when he put his chubby hand on hers and begged to tell her a secret.

Invariably, it was some infamously puerile thing, like blowing raspberries in her ear. But, he never failed to hug her afterward, looking up with those dancing blue eyes, half again too large for his little face, and say, ���I love you, Lizzy.��� How could she not lose her heart to such a gentleman?

It seemed that Samuel���s attentions were to be the limit of Elizabeth���s celebration that afternoon. Uncle Gardiner had wished her a somewhat harried, ���Happy birthday, Lizzy,��� when he arrived, but soon after, he had accompanied his wife upstairs. And after that, he had joined her father for a drink in his study.

It was not that she needed her birthday to be a large event. Some little recognition would have been nice, though. She had still one year before her majority, and it would be pleasant to think next year might be noteworthy to her father. He had exerted himself to toast Jane the year before when she turned one and twenty, had he not? They were some of the most poetic words she had ever heard from her father, too���most of them.

���May her star burn ever fairer, may she continue to grow in grace of form and character, and may she ever remain a bright spot in my own life���until someone else carries her away, with or without five thousand pounds to her name.���

But that had not happened in the last year, had it? Jane had blossomed into everything perfect and wonderful, and it was still not good enough to tempt Mr. Bingley���a man who had been so obviously besotted with her that the snub was felt all through the neighborhood when he left.

It was with a very disheartened attitude that Elizabeth gave in to Samuel���s request to walk about the garden that afternoon. She had long since given over the hope of her own long trek over the hills and through the trees, and this little stumble through the slushy, muddy garden just before dark was small consolation. However, her young cousin���s enthusiasm for the freshly falling snow soon made up for the discomfort of the cold. She laughed as he rolled and tumbled about, and pelted him with whatever clean snow she could scoop into a ball when he decided to make sport of her.

She was about to call an end to it when he rose up with one last snowball. Unfortunately for her, he was less careful about the assembly of his missile than she had been, and had included a fair bit of mud when he gathered up his snow. She held up her hands, but it was too late.

���Got you, Lizzy!���

Indeed, he had. Mud was running down her face, over her eyes, and even down into her mouth. ���Samuel! You are a dirty rascal!���

He came near, his little round face repentant. ���I���m sorry, Lizzy.���

���Oh, it is no matter. It is not as if anyone will be troubled by a bit of mud on my face,��� she sighed, with just a hint of petulance. ���Come, let us������

She stopped and turned, for a carriage had just pulled round the hedge into the drive. The Philipses were not to come until the morrow and they were not expecting anyone else, so who could it���

���Bully!��� Samuel cried. ���Look at them bays!���

������Those,������ Elizabeth corrected him distractedly. ���You should not be talking like that, Samuel.���

���But look at those horses, Lizzy! My papa would������

���Oh, dear heavens,��� Elizabeth whispered. The carriage had turned on the drive just enough for her to make out the crest on the side, and the face looking through the glass. It was Mr. Bingley, and he was riding in Mr. Darcy���s carriage.

���Quickly, Samuel! Into the house, go!���

The lad obeyed, for once in his life, and Elizabeth was close on his heels when she heard Mr. Bingley���s voice calling her back.

���Miss Elizabeth? I say, good afternoon!���

She stopped, her hands clutched at her side, and slowly turned. The gentleman was getting down from the coach, and he was not alone. Elizabeth curtsied to Mr. Bingley, but it was the brooding countenance of Mr. Darcy that drew her eye.

���Good afternoon,��� she greeted them, as properly as a girl could when she had mud running down her face. ���We are pleased to see you both well.���

Mr. Bingley was investigating her with a tilted head and a bemused smile. ���Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I was hoping to see your��� your family. Are they all within?���

She gulped and snapped to attention. ���Yes! Indeed, sir. All my sisters are within.���

He smiled again, tilted his head once the other way, and bowed. ���Shall I escort you in, Miss Elizabeth?���

���Oh, no, thank you, sir. I think I would prefer to make a less conspicuous entrance. I was playing with my cousin, you see, and������

It was doubtful that Mr. Bingley heard anything after the word ���no.��� He had never been a rude man, but he was burning with a peculiar sort of energy this afternoon. He bowed once more and raced off. He was halfway to the door before Elizabeth stopped talking, and she was left alone with Mr. Darcy.

Oh, if only she could sink into the earth! Of all the people to see her with mud on her face, it had to be him! She clenched her teeth and made a miserable attempt at a curtsey. ���Mr. Darcy.���

He stepped forward, his hand slipping into his breast pocket. ���Miss Elizabeth. You are looking very well today.���

���I might have expected a bit of mockery in my present state,��� she snapped, her ears growing hot, ���but you needn���t be so ungallant about it.���

���I am not mocking you. I meant every word.��� He withdrew his hand and extended a handkerchief. ���For your convenience, madam.���

She took it dubiously, keeping one eye on him as she unfolded the exquisite silk. ���Oh, I cannot, sir. I will spoil it.���

���You are welcome to keep it. I would far rather deface a bit of silk than to see you uncomfortable.���

She narrowed her eyes. What manner of bewitchment had overcome the sour, disapproving Fitzwilliam Darcy? ���Ah��� thank you. Sir.���

She turned away and dabbed at her face the best she could. When she felt decent again, she looked back at the gentleman. ���Well, ah��� shall we?���

His lips were twitching and he stepped even closer to her. He lifted his hand, first pointing vaguely to his own face, then gesturing toward her.

���Oh! Did I miss something?��� She hurriedly swiped at her cheek, her chin, her forehead, and when she felt satisfied, looked up.

Mr. Darcy shook his head and gently took the handkerchief from her hand. ���Here.��� With a tenderness that she never could have dreamed him to possess, he dashed away the last of the mud from her cheeks and the tip of her nose. And then he simply stood there, staring down at her, with the handkerchief cupped under her chin.

���Am I presentable now?��� she whispered, for her voice seemed to have failed.

He nodded, still apparently trapped in some reverie. ���Miss Elizabeth, you are at your most charming when you have been out of doors.���

She could not help the way her breath quickened and her lashes began fluttering. It matched the skittery, buzzing feeling in her stomach. Like a little fool, she was still gazing up at him, no doubt starry-eyed and looking like the veriest countryfied simpleton. Not knowing what else to do, she coughed and looked away.

���Ahem��� we are surprised to see you, sir.���

His eyes drifted over her head, to the door of the house. ���Bingley was in a great hurry to return.���

Her brow creased. ���We heard that he did not mean to return at all���that he would be in London through the season and had no plans to come back to Netherfield.���

���And I imagine your source was Miss Bingley?���

���Naturally.���

���There was your first mistake, Miss Elizabeth. Miss Bingley is not the most credible source.���

Elizabeth���s heart lifted, only to tumble once more into the cold reality. ���But he has been away a month���a month today, to be exact. We have heard nothing������

���That was ill-judged of him. Miss Elizabeth, it is time I was perfectly honest. I did my part to encourage Bingley to remain in London because I wished him to be sure of his sentiments. I could foresee��� complications, if he chose your most excellent sister, and I hoped to permit him a time to think clearly, to be sure of himself.���

Elizabeth put her hand at her hip and glared at him. ���Complications? What sort of���oh, why do I bother standing here and arguing with you?���

���Because you have an insatiable desire for the truth, and you deserve no less.���

She crossed her arms and her look grew���she imagined���frostier. It did not help when Mr. Darcy���s smile widened. ���I would like to know what objections you posited against my sister. How can there be any complaint in her person, her manners, or her address?���

���Rather than answer, I shall ask you a more telling question. Was your sister very much disappointed when he went away?���

���Disappointed! She was humiliated!���

���Because of her own sentiments, or because the general expectations of the neighborhood made her uncomfortable?���

Elizabeth looked down. ���Her heart was broken, Mr. Darcy. I do not expect you to care about such a thing, but there it is. She was taken in by Mr. Bingley, and excessively fond of him. How could you let your friend do such a thing to an honorable lady, exposing her to the world���s derision and shattering her expectations?���

He drew a deep sigh and nodded. ���It is as I hoped, then, but I could not be certain. She is very modest, is your sister. Then her attraction was not, as might be feared, a mercenary one. I am very glad to hear it.���

���Mercenary! How could you accuse her of such? Is that why you kept Mr. Bingley from her?���

���I only wished happiness for them both, and I am pleased that the attachment seems genuine on both sides. The truth, Miss Elizabeth, is that I had counseled only a week���s absence, or a fortnight at most, and I never advised that he should not give word of his intentions. Bingley���s family found reasons of their own to delay him���an aging aunt in Bedford, an urgent need to be of some assistance to Hurst in a contract negotiation. In short, a dozen different excuses were waged, but not one of them held the power to keep him away from her today.���

She puckered her lips. ���Why today, of all days, should he choose to come charging back to Hertfordshire?���

Mr. Darcy offered a sheepish smile. ���Because he recalled that she had a birthday, and he wished to be at hand to pay his respects.���

Elizabeth huffed a short laugh. ���That is��� sir, that is commendable, but Jane���s birthday is not until the day after tomorrow.���

He inclined his head and slipped his hand back into his breast pocket. ���Bingley is thoughtful, but not known for a clear memory. He knew there was a birthday today but could not remember which it was. Therefore, it must be yours. Happy birthday, Miss Elizabeth.���

He extended his hand and proffered a slim volume. Her suspicions aroused, she accepted it with a surprised murmur of gratitude. Then, she simply stared at it, her fingers brushing hesitantly over the hard cover.

Mr. Darcy deliberately turned her hand over so that she could read the words on the spine. Byron.

���You told me once,��� he said softly, ���that poetry has either the power to drive away love entirely, or to feed it.���

She blinked, her breath faltering. ���I did say that. But what������

���The difference, I believe, was what sort of inclination existed in the first place,��� he continued. ���I must confess, that was a question to which I had not an answer a month ago. But I have now.���

She was staring up at him again and felt her mouth slightly agape like a silly schoolgirl. She closed it and swallowed. ���H-have you?���

How had she never noticed how rich and dark his eyes were? And when he looked at her that way, there was so much sincerity in his voice and expression. Perhaps��� perhaps she ought to reassess her earlier judgments of the man. The simple fact that he had been one of the few to note her birthday was an easy step into her good graces, but there was more than that. There was affection and interest, tenderness and eager hope in his tone when he answered her.

���I am not a man to easily entrust myself to another. I try to be judicious���prudent in all my ways, with the interests of my family and those dependent upon me coming before my own concerns. I had counseled myself that any attachment I formed must be agreeable to all connected with me. But I have since��� reconsidered.���

She shook her head. ���I do not understand, sir.���

���Miss Elizabeth, have you ever felt that another person���s happiness must and should be more vital to you than your own? Of course, you have, because you speak of your sister in that way.���

���But what has that to do with this?��� Elizabeth turned the poetry over in her hand and reverently traced the title.

���I found that my greatest hope was to see you happy, Miss Elizabeth. To bring you joy, in whatever way I could. And whenever my thoughts drift to you, my heart echoes the immortal words written by the great ones to profess their feelings. You could say that my affections amount to a ���fine, stout, healthy love,��� such as I hope you may one day return.���

���I������ She bit her lip and looked up to him with brimming eyes. ���I know not what to say. I feel I must scarcely know you, that you could surprise me so!���

���The fault of that is my own, for working so hard against my own feelings. I hope you will permit me the chance to remedy that. But if you cannot give me so much���I deserve far less!���at least allow me to wish you a happy birthday.���

She sniffed and dashed a tear from her eye. ���Do you know, Mr. Darcy, I have heard those words from you twice already, while my own family has done no more! I am not so vain that I demand an entire day devoted to me, but������

���I will do better than a day,��� he offered quickly. ���I shall devote a lifetime to you. If you will have it.��� He extended his hand, palm up, and held her gaze with deep brown eyes filled with love.

What else was she to do? It was not enough merely to give him her dirty, snowball-crusted glove. She tugged it off and caught his fingers. His touch was warm, his grasp immediate, and in less than a heartbeat, Elizabeth could see her future. Her home would be with Fitzwilliam Darcy, her heart wholly given over to him, and all her yesterdays and tomorrows bound up in the life they would build together.

His smile when she took his hand was so becoming, so painfully beautiful to witness, that she could hardly stop herself from drawing closer to see it better. He pulled her to his heart, under his chin, with their entwined hands filling the space between them.

���I suppose, sir, that if this is truly your intention, we should speak with my father.���

���We will have to wait until Bingley has had his say. Perhaps we can find some way of amusing ourselves for five more minutes?��� he teased.

���Oh! Then I shall employ myself in learning all there is to know about you. For instance, you know that today is my birthday, but I have yet to learn yours.���

���You wish to know now?���

���It is preferable to waiting until the very day of to tell me, is it not?���

He frowned playfully and nodded. ���Very well. My birthday is tomorrow.���

Elizabeth cried in protest. ���You are merciless, sir! Tell me, are you in earnest, or merely making sport of me?���

���I would never. I speak the utter truth, my dear.���

She lifted her shoulders. ���Well, then, there is nothing else for it. I will have to find a gift for you, but on such short notice, where am I to find anything?���

���This������ he squeezed her hand������this is more than enough.���

���Not by half,��� she declared. ���But I have just thought of something. Close your eyes, Mr. Darcy.���

He complied at once. Elizabeth stood on her toes and admired him, just for an instant���trusting, vulnerable, and entirely wonderful. Then, she tugged her hand free from his and threaded her bare fingers through his hair. He never resisted or hesitated when she pulled him down to her, and the sweet play of his lips when they met hers was enough to make her blush the rest of her days.

That was, until Mrs. Bennet bounced out of the front door. ���Lizzy, you will never guess what Mr. Bingley��� why, Lord bless us! What is that hateful man doing here? Lizzy! Are you embracing him?���

Elizabeth pressed on more kiss to her Mr. Darcy���s lips, gave him an apologetic smile as he chuckled in reply, and turned at last.

���Mr. Darcy was only wishing me a happy birthday, Mama.���

The post Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to Jane Austen! appeared first on Alix James.

Unintended is Live on Amazon!

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Here’s what readers are already saying:

“Consider this a novel well written enough to tempt you – into enjoying a bit of fine writing and silliness that will keep a smile on your face!” –Amazon Review by Msynergy

“It’s imaginative, fun and, as it’s a novella, nicely fast-paced.” Goodreads Review by Debbie Brown

“A very delightful short read!”–Goodreads Review by Joan

Get your copy today and start smiling!

The post Unintended is Live on Amazon! appeared first on Alix James.

The 2020 Austen Variations Summer Sale is On!

Check out great prices on some of your favorites!
Enjoy novels by Jack Caldwell, Nicole Clarkston, Monica Fairview, Maria Grace, Abigail Reynolds, Joana Starnes, and Shannon Winslow!
Sale runs June 26-29, 2020

The post The 2020 Austen Variations Summer Sale is On! appeared first on Alix James.

Follow Tempted at Austen Variations

Check out this week���s post over at the AV blog. Two chapters are up today!

Tempted Chapters Four and Five

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The post Follow Tempted at Austen Variations appeared first on Alix James.

The Austen Variations Semi-Annual Sale is on!

Books by Elizabeth Adams, Jennifer Altman, Jack Caldwell, Nicole Clarkson, L.L. Diamond, Maria Grace, Kara Louise, Abigail Reynolds, Melanie Stanford, Joana Starnes, and Shannon Winslow!

Also featured is the magnificent group work ��� Persuasion: Behind the Scenes!
Sale runs May 31 ��� June 2, 2019

The post The Austen Variations Semi-Annual Sale is on! appeared first on Alix James.

A Gift for Mother���s Day!

Here in the US, we are celebrating Mother’s Day this Sunday. I am wildly blessed to be able to say that both my mom and my mom-in-love are amazing women, and I look up to them with mad respect.
Mother’s Day around our house is easy. My mom picked out her gift on Amazon two months ago. My mother-in-law always asks for a hanging flower basket for her patio, but this year, she found one she liked on her own, and just asked me to mail her the cheque! I’ll be laughing about that one for weeks. As for me, my only request of my family was, “Please don’t make me go clothes shopping again this year.” Really.
How about you? Any fun ideas or plans? And what about those for whom Mother’s Day is actually sad or stressful? My heart goes out to you.
I hope I have something fun for everyone. Nefarious is in the homestretch, so watch the Austen Variations blog this week for more updates. Today, though, I’m posting the very next scene after Unlucky Thirteen, the chapter that left you hanging. Darcy has been kicked to the curb by his bestest bud, and now it’s time to bring in the big guns. That’s right, our favorite Colonel gets his share in the conversation.
Happy Mother’s Day and happy reading!

London
Two Weeks Later
���Darcy, is this where you have been hiding out? In the name of all that is decent, man, put on some candles.���
I did not bother turning round when Richard invaded my library, but I did wonder precisely how he had bribed Hodges to let him in. Had I not told my butler I was not at home to anyone? I slowly sipped again from my brandy, ignoring my cousin���s muttered oaths and imprecations when he stumbled over the pile of books I had been attempting to read.
���Buggar,��� Richard breathed when he reached my chair. ���On second thought, forget the candles until you have seen your valet.���
���Leave off, Richard.���
���Perhaps an apothecary, too. What the devil are you doing here? And what is this��� where are all the maids?���
���Leaving me be, which is precisely where I wish you were.��� I raised my snifter again, and Richard whisked it deftly from my fingers. ���What is the meaning of this?��� I snapped.
���Someone must do it, before you make a bigger ass of yourself,��� he reasoned, and finished the drink himself before I could reclaim it. ���From what I hear, the only company you see all day is that stack of books and a bottle.���
���A glass of brandy in the afternoon does not make a man a drunkard. I am not in my cups, and I have not been.���
���Aye, if an afternoon glass is all you have consumed, but I challenge you to prove you were not intoxicated by some other means.���
I snatched my glass away from him before he could accidentally swipe my head with it���the fool was gesticulating at me just as his father had always done to both of us whenever the impetuousness of youth brought down the earl���s wrath���and banged it down on the side table. ���Since when is a man to be condemned for improv������
���Improving your mind through extensive reading? If a man���s mind could be improved so much, you would have built a flying machine by now, or composed a volume of poetry, or perhaps even discovered a way to defeat Boney. You, sir, are a man with a demon, and I have come to cast it out.���
I snorted. ���If, by ���demon,��� you mean a snarl of business frustrations and social obligations, I wish you would get on with it.���
Richard took the snifter back and poured a measure of brandy for himself. ���Business frustrations? How so?���
I sighed, and contemplated ejecting him from the house, but relented. ���Last spring, I changed solicitors. I changed my bank, too, and also sold off certain shares to buy other investments.���
Richard lowered himself to the chair opposite me. ���I remember that. You were trying to make a clean break of things.���
���Five days ago, I received a letter of resignation from Daniels, my present solicitor. The day after that, a letter came from the board at my bank, ���offering��� me the opportunity to sell some of my holdings with them and pursue other investments.���
���Indeed! Curious. Any notion of why?���
���A notion, of course, but nothing I can prove.���
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ���You think Benedict���s rumour campaign is truly influencing matters?���
I frowned, and traced the glass of the brandy bottle with the edge of my index finger. ���I think it must be more than rumours. How many personal scandals have been suffered without so much as a ripple in a man���s financial interests?���
���You know how it is, though, Darcy. A fellow discovers that his friend is at odds with such and such other fellow, and they sever ties. It is likely for the best���you would not want some coterie loyal to a man who hates you to have their fingers in all your interests.���
���So I have reasoned, but it is damned puzzling.���
���I imagine it must be. Well, what have you done about it?���
���What could I do? I am withdrawing my assets from the bank and transferring my business, and I am seeking another solicitor. I wrote to Gerald Smythe���I suppose you remember him? He enquired after Georgiana and our winter plans, and when I replied, I asked if he could give a good character on his own man.���
���A reasonable notion. What of Georgiana?���
���What do you mean?���
Richard gestured with the now-empty glass. ���You bring her to London with nary a word of your expected arrival, then leave her with Mother and scarcely call to visit her.���
���The countess asked her to stay! It only made sense, for your mother was the better one to supervise a new wardrobe and morning calls. You know how quickly Georgiana tires with too much coming and going, so we all deemed it wiser for her to stay in one place.���
Richard scoffed. ���And when was the last time you called?���
I sighed and rubbed the corner of my eye, which had begun to sting for some odd reason. ���Three or four days ago. The earl and Lady Catherine did not welcome me when last I was there, and I chose not to trouble Geor������
���Bollocks! You, Fitzwilliam Darcy, are in hiding. What the devil for? I have never in my life seen you back down from either my father or our aunt, and I cannot think why you would start now.���
���Can you not? What good would I do Georgiana to bring constant strife to the house whenever I am in company there? Besides, as you have said yourself, perhaps it is best to let your father and Lady Catherine believe that I intentionally crushed Anne���s marital hopes, that I purposefully sought out and then executed the most insulting reversal of faith in our long family history. Let them believe I am a blackguard and a reprobate who dashed old alliances and family interest on a whim. No doubt the earl thinks me a libertine as well, such a slave to base desires that I sold off my good sense for a pittance. I would disabuse him of those misconceptions if I could, but we both know why I cannot.���
���But that is in the past!��� Richard objected. ���Why, it is what��� over a year and a half ago now!���
���And I am yet again a free man who has no intentions of satisfying their wishes. Once, I could have couched my refusal to marry Anne in a reasonable, respectful declaration of my preferences, without blasting my uncle���s political ambitions. But not after all that has occurred, and the reprehensible manner of my ���betrayal,��� as they consider it. Nothing short of a full capitulation will restore me to their good graces. As I have no intention of rendering it, I must remain at odds with them.���
���To what end? You need a wife, Anne needs a husband. You are not holding out for some sentimental notion, are you? Pure folly, I say. No man remains infatuated with his wife after twenty years of marriage, so why limit your choices to start with? Besides, I cannot think of a woman in all creation who would think tenderly on you at this moment. Good heavens, Darcy, when was the last time you made yourself presentable?���
���Two weeks ago,��� I retorted, and reached to reclaim the brandy snifter. ���Much good it did me,��� I muttered.
���What was that?���
I poured myself another finger full and reclined again in my chair. ���Nothing. Pray, continue with your lecture.���
���Well, as I was saying, at least with Anne, you know where her interests lie. And she is not an objectionable woman, after all���save for her teeth, I suppose.���
���Not objectionable! What a sterling recommendation for a man to consider her as his wife! No, Richard, I married once where the bride was not of my choosing. I will not do it a second time. If that means Georgiana and her children will inherit Pemberley, so be it.���
���Darcy! You would not leave that to her! Lose Pemberley to her husband���s family? Be reasonable. No one said you must marry right away, or even that you must marry my father���s choice, but there must be some decent way to go about it. Surely, you can find someone who will suit��� if you trouble yourself to leave the house now and again.���
I heaved myself from my chair and paced away. Someone who would suit��� that was precisely the problem. Whom or what was this mythical creature to suit? Myself, or my expectations? And what a mockery if the last woman in the world was the very one who could satisfy both!
���What if you look beyond the ton?��� Richard asked. ���Some well-dowered tradesman���s daughter, or perhaps even an American with a fortune of her own. Egad, how the cats at Almack���s would put back their heads and howl!���
I cast an oblique glance over my shoulder. ���I said I do not care for their opinions. I did not say that I meant to instigate a feud at St James���s.���
���Pity. That would have been worth seeing. But I say, you are so bloody choosy, you may as well broaden your search���particularly since, as you said, you married connections once. How many gentlemen take a pretty face rather than a long pedigree for their second bride? What of it? Did you meet no one promising during your whole two months in Hertfordshire?���
���No!��� I clenched my fists, my shoulders tight as I squeezed my eyes, then released the breath I had caught. I shook my head. ���Forgive me, but seeking a wife is the last of my present concerns.���
Richard was whistling low when I turned round, his eyes wide and brow raised. ���Well��� I suppose it is no business of mine, after all. But Georgiana is, and the poor girl is nearly inconsolable whenever I see her.���
���Inconsolable?��� I crossed the room urgently. ���What is this? Has she been unhappy? Why have I not been told?���
���Because no one else sees it. She hides it, just as well as someone else I know. But yes, since you ask, something is troubling her. Mother thinks it is only a product of encroaching maturity and credits her with a bit of seasonal melancholy, but I have read her letters for years. The girl I see in my mother���s drawing room is diminished somehow. Low spirits, call it what you will, but something is wrong.���
I frowned in thought. ���You are saying she misses my company?���
���Perhaps.��� Richard sank down into his seat again and observed me carefully. ���But when I asked her about Hertfordshire and the new friends she had made, it seemed only to make her the more despondent.���
I looked away. ���You have some opinion on the matter, naturally.���
���Of course I do, but with only patchy information, I shall not divulge what I have, with my humble abilities, pieced together. I do not care to be laughed at. No, I believe I shall pluck at a thread, and see what unravels.���
I snorted. ���Only one thread?���
He smiled. ���It is rather a long one, and I expect the answer may require a couple more bottles of brandy. Have some Scotch sent up, too.���
���Shall I also ring for dinner in here? You must think there is a great deal to tell.���
���Oh������ he nodded, ���I am sure of it. What happened in Hertfordshire?���

That’s all for now, folks, but more is coming soon!
-Nicole

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