A Yuletide Dream

by Julie Cooper

she pushed her way into his bedchamber, dragging behind her what looked to be the chimney-piece from Rosings’ finest drawing room.

She turned back to him, taking a few steps closer. Or rather, she attempted to. Along with the chimney-piece, she appeared to be dragging a pianoforte, a set of elbow chairs, stacks of Sèvres porcelain, an ornately ostentatious jewel cabinet, and a massive, hideously gilded chamber pot.

“Forgive me, my lady, but why are you chained to your furnishings?”

he had been too young when his mother died; she ever remained the lovely, elegant figure perched upon the pedestal of old memory, and he had never learnt to be easy with her.

Could it be…could his conscience be responding to some overlooked flaw or consequence of behaviour? Had he failed to perceive something—something important, something regrettable? Had he wronged someone and failed to notice…or care?

Darcy closed his eyes. The deranged dream had degenerated into a night terror.

“If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended, that you have but slumber’d here, while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream.” Puck, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

your slightest preference, henceforth, shall be my command. If ever there is anything I might do to increase your happiness, you must only say so. Anything at all.”

“I remember what you said, you know—of the efficacy of poetry in driving love away. If I am too mawkish, you must remind me. I fear I lose all sense with you beside me, battling the sonnets that do so constantly beset me whilst in your presence.”