A Merry Darcy Christmas

“There’s Jane and Mr. Bingley,” she said. “I’m so pleased they’re together. I was afraid that . . .”

“I am sorry about that,” said Darcy. “I misjudged your sister. I had only intended to protect Bingley, you must understand.”

“From making so unsuitable a match, you mean?”

“More than that. Bingley was infatuated with Jane, but I sensed that she was indifferent to him and that any interest she might have in his advances would be inspired by his fortune rather than his person.”

“Oh, not Jane! She is reserved and does not display her feelings, but she was most fond of Mr. Bingley,” protested Elizabeth. “She was brokenhearted when he failed to call upon her in London.”

“I know that now. But at the time I felt I was being prudent in discouraging their relationship,” Darcy said, his tone was solemn. “In that, I was mistaken.”

“Mr. Bingley managed to overcome any reticence he had towards Jane,” Elizabeth said. “He approached her the instant he saw her upon his arrival here.”

“I spoke to him in London before we came, and I admitted my error. I told him how wrong I had been, and that he ought to endeavor to correct my mistake before it was too late.”

“Well, he has certainly done that,” said Elizabeth. She was amused by how easily Darcy was able to influence his friend both to quit his suit, and then resume it.

“Fortunately,” said Darcy. “I was able to also correct a very grievous error.”

“Yet the worst error was mine!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “It was I who believed Wickham’s lies. It was I who refused your proposal. And it was I who refused to take your letter. Surely the blame must fall on me.

“You must have hated me,” she said softly.

“Hated you? Hated myself perhaps, but never you.”

“But I turned you down so rudely when you proposed to me at Hunsford. It pains me even to think of that day.”

“No, Lizzy, it was I who was rude. It was I who was proud, and had the hubris to think that you would accept my proposal because of my station.

“You taught me, Lizzy, that I was wrong. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”

Elizabeth looked up at him and into his dark eyes which confirmed the truth to her of what he said, hard though that may have been for her to believe. She smiled and placed her hand upon the lapel of his coat.

Then, looking past him she saw a small figure with the shock of red hair, and another beside him with blonde flowing locks.

“Mr. Pettigrew and Georgiana!” She said. “Even from up here they make a splendid couple.”

“They do,” Darcy said. “From the very first, they brought out the best in one another, although I was slow to realize the importance of that. Mr. Pettigrew brings Georgiana out of herself. She is so shy with people, but seems somehow to draw his strength.”

“Mr. Pettigrew is a whirlwind of energy,” Elizabeth said agreeing. “I can see how Georgiana could get swept up in it.”

“I felt that the match wasn’t suitable due to his family connections, and his connections to trade,” said Darcy ruefully. “But then I recollected that I’ve been wrong in this regard before. Family pride has its place, but so does love.”

Elizabeth leaned against his chest. She could not agree more.

“You would not consider a triple wedding then?” she said softly. “I’m sure that Jane and Mr. Bingley would agree to that. Indeed, I think Mr. Bingley would agree to anything you said if the past is any guide. And for her part, Jane is incapable of being anything other than obliging.”

Darcy laughed. “Georgiana has been very adamant on that point. ‘You first,’ were her exact words.”

Uncharacteristic directness for Georgiana, Elizabeth thought, but nevertheless an understandable sentiment. She should naturally wish her older brother to marry before her.

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“Is that Anne out in this weather?” Elizabeth asked. “It is, and Lord Northover too. Look, he’s giving her his blanket.”

Elizabeth saw a slender gentleman solicitously wrapping a tartan blanket around Anne’s shoulders. They were near to the bonfire, but still, apparently, suffering from the cold.

“They are neither of them well,” said Darcy. “Northover has always been delicate, and Anne was sickly even as a child. Though they seem to be a tonic for one another. I can’t recall seeing Anne out of doors, except on a journey, and certainly not in winter.