A Merry Darcy Christmas

Mr. Collins soon satisfied her on that point, for he went on to say, “It is, of course, a great honor to be invited on such an occasion—for there will be many distinguished persons present to attend at Christmas time. And Lady Catherine is holding a Twelfth Night ball

, which will be the highlight of the season! The opportunity presented in broadening your social circle to include the finest members, and most eligible, of society, cannot escape you.”

But Elizabeth’s first thought was not of the social opportunity afforded by the unexpected invitation, but rather that a person whom she had no desire to ever see again would certainly be at Rosings: Fitzwilliam Darcy. For Mr. Darcy would surely be required to visit his aunt at Christmas.

Her mind raced with thoughts of Mr. Darcy. Though the master of a grand estate, and having ten thousand pounds a year, Elizabeth knew he was also arrogant, proud, and, in a word, insufferable.

Mr. Darcy had insulted her with a marriage proposal that made the one she had received from Mr. Collins seem charming and genteel. And Mr. Darcy had slandered—after having robbed him of the living to which he had been entitled—Mr. Wickham, Mr. Wickham who was now her brother-in-law.

But worst of all—and truly she could say this was the worst thing—Mr. Darcy had deprived her sister Jane of her chance at happiness with the man she loved.

For, by now, it was apparent to all that Jane had been, and was still in love with Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy had driven a wedge between them, had poisoned Mr. Bingley’s mind, such that the two—although destined to be together by Heaven itself—were now to be forever apart. Eager suitors, drawn as always to Jane’s beauty, found her distant and aloof, and they could not know—although the more perceptive among them very likely guessed—that her heart belonged to another, another whom she could never hope to possess.

Elizabeth’s mind flashed back once again to Mr. Darcy, to when he had cornered her on one of Rosings pretty paths where he knew she liked to walk, and attempted to press upon her a letter which he begged her to read, saying that it would explain all.

Such impertinence. Intolerable man!

Propriety would not permit him—he a single man, and she an unmarried woman—to mail her such a missive, or even to recruit a conspirator to hand-deliver it, so he, in his arrogance and pride, attempted to deliver it himself and make her complicit in his scheme.

She had refused to take the letter, of course, as she had refused his proposal of marriage. He was not so high, nor she so low, as to require her to be at the mercy of his whim. She was a gentleman’s daughter, and in every way his equal.

It is true that she had thought, in the months that had passed since their meeting in the park, about the letter and what it might have contained. It could be nothing that would exonerate him, of this she was sure, but she was nevertheless curious as to its contents. Had she to do it over, she might . . .

No.

She had been right to refuse the letter, as she had been right to refuse his hand. To be mistress of Pemberley might indeed be a fine thing. She often recalled her visit there with her aunt and uncle, the previous summer when its master had been away on business (for she would not have gone otherwise). The grounds were delightful, and she had never seen a house so fortunately situated. Derbyshire was beautiful, and Pemberley was its jewel. But Elizabeth did not envy the woman who would become its mistress.

She did not wish to tell Mr. Collins of her dislike of Mr. Darcy. That she should hold a poor opinion of the nephew of his benefactress would no doubt astonish him. Indeed, it might be entirely beyond his capacity to imagine. How could Elizabeth be contemptuous of so eligible a gentleman, when she had neither dowry nor inheritance of any consequence, and even Longbourn entailed away? She decided to take a more circumspect tack.

“It is impossible that I should attend for Christmas at Rosings Park,” she said, trying her best to ensure her voice conveyed regret. “For we always have Christmas here at Longbourn. The Gardiners are coming, and friends will visit too. And Christmas dinner for our tenant farmers, and gift boxes for the poor—I could not leave my family at Christmas time.”

To her surprise, Mr. Collins looked as though he had anticipated her objection. Instead of being dismayed, he smiled broadly and bobbed his head. “Your family is invited too. Lady Catherine is most desirous of meeting your mother, and sisters. She wished the invitation personally addressed to you, in the form of my private communication, as it is you she knows already, and of whom she is so fond.”

Elizabeth could not recall sensing any fondness in Lady Catherine towards herself, or indeed any particular favor. In fact, it seemed to her that, if anything, she rubbed the great lady the wrong way and that any desire she had for Elizabeth’s company was born out of boredom, and perhaps a desire to correct her.

But to invite her whole family! Surely, if Mr. Darcy had found them so contemptible as to be an embarrassment to him, and an impediment to Elizabeth’s suitability as a marriage partner, Lady Catherine must hold a similarly severe view. What could possess her to wish to have them in attendance at Christmas time?

Mr. Collins seemed to apprehend her bewilderment. “You are doubtless surprised by her condescension towards not only you but your family. That Lady Catherine should deign to have you all as her guests is an act of solicitude which beggars belief.

“But rest assured that your good fortune is real. Lady Catherine is, I assure you, most sincere in desiring your entire family, and yourself, to stay with her for the Christmas season. She has impressed upon me that I am not to come back with anything other than your acceptance of her singular beneficence.”

Elizabeth could not believe her ears, but Mr. Collin’s expression was one of absolute sincerity. In his eyes she saw—for in them was an admixture of determination and pleading—that he would be unable to return to his home at Hunsford were he to fail in his task.

Still, it was impossible. She could not stand the thought of seeing Mr. Darcy. Having Mr. Collins move in with them at Longbourn if he could not return to Hunsford and face the wrath of Lady Catherine was preferable to that.

“Lady Catherine’s kindness is without equal,” Elizabeth said. A log exploded in the fire, causing Mr. Collins to jump, but he turned immediately back to face her, nodding his agreement. “And I am truly honored, as indeed will be my family once they learn of the invitation. But we have an obligation, to our friends and relations, and more particularly to our tenants, to hold Christmas here at Longbourn. We could not fail in this, no matter how much we would rather favor her Ladyship.”

For some reason, Mr. Collins was still smiling. Elizabeth felt her blood chill.

“I have already had the briefest tête-à-tête with Mrs. Bennet, and she instantly saw the advantage which would accrue to you and your sisters by attending at Rosings where so many very eligible young gentlemen will be present.”

Elizabeth’s heart sank. The prospect of throwing her daughters into the path of rich men would delight her mother.

Mr. Collins prattled on about how Mr. Bennet could host the usual Christmas festivities for their tenant farmers, while Elizabeth and her mother and sisters could attend Rosings at the start of the Christmas season. The young ladies could thus make the most of the enhanced social opportunities presented—opportunities which would otherwise never come their way, and which they could not hope to attain again.

Elizabeth understood why her mother had acquiesced to the plan so eagerly. Mrs. Bennet had four daughters left to marry off—her youngest daughter Lydia’s marriage to Mr. Wickham had been a welcome if unexpected event—and suitable local suitors were few. There would be no gainsaying her. Elizabeth and her sisters would be spending Christmas at Rosings Park, although the reason for Lady Catherine’s invitation was still opaque to Elizabeth.

This meant that she would very soon be seeing, to her dismay, Mr. Darcy and that she would have to endure his contumely once more. That this should occur at Christmas was more galling still, for Christmas was the time for peace, and joy, and meant to be punctuated by merriment, not sullied by hauteur, or muted by high-handed pride.