A Merry Darcy Christmas

Darcy glared at her. He had intended to give it to her on New Year’s Day when he had followed her outdoors. “You do not know my intentions.”

“I know that it has been months that you’ve carried it about, and that you’d been here for days, and that you still had not given it to her.

“I do not blame you, or doubt your courage in any other thing, but I do not believe that you would have given it to her, or if you had tried to that she would’ve taken it.” Anne settled back into her chair and let out a long sigh. “The two of you have been at cross purposes. You are both of you filled with pride.”

“And what concern is that of yours?” asked Darcy. His rage had subsided to be replaced by indignation. “Do you think our relationship gives you a free hand to interfere in my life as you see fit?”

“I do when your life affects my own.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Fitzwilliam, that you are not the only person who is in love.” Anne looked away from him and stared at the fire. “I too am in love, and I too am constrained by my mother’s will.”

It had never occurred to Darcy that Anne could be as reluctant to enter into a marriage with him as he was to enter into it with her. He knew that she did not wish to marry him, they had always known that they were friends, not lovers. But it had never occurred to him that she should not wish to marry him because of her feelings for another. He had always seen how his aunt’s desire for him to marry Anne had compromised his freedom, but had never seen, or realized, that this compromised Anne’s freedom too.

But who was it that she loved?

She turned back to him from the fire, and he realized in an instant who it was that had captured her heart.

“Northover. It is him that you love.”

Anne did not reply, but instead look back into the fire.

“I’m sorry, Anne, that I did not think of you, but only of myself,” Darcy said. Of course, she was a woman and would have a woman’s feelings; the fact that they were childhood friends, and that he did not think of her that way, had no bearing on the matter.

“But how does it assist you to promote my relationship with Miss Bennet? The fact that I was to marry her would not mean that your mother would grant you permission to marry Northover. Indeed, she might thwart your desire out of spite and disappointment.”

Lady Catherine had contrived to arrange for Northover to court and marry Elizabeth Bennet. She could hardly be expected to approve of him marrying her daughter.

“You are correct, so far as that goes. If you were to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet, it would mean only that I could not marry you, not that I could marry Lord Northover.

“But I have a plan whereby we may both receive my mother’s blessing and marry whom we please. Are you prepared to hear it?”

Darcy knew that he needed more than Lady Catherine’s blessing were he to be able to marry Elizabeth Bennet. He would need her to accept his proposal, and she’d already turned him down once.

“Are you trying to help me, or help yourself, Anne? You

know that your mother is not the only bar to my marrying Elizabeth Bennet. The lady has turned me down once already.”

“Yes, she turned you down. But that was because she was prejudiced against you by Mr. Wickham’s lies, and blinded by her pride in her discernment. She is no longer deceived by either.”

How could that be? Unless . . .

“I have spoken to Miss Bennet, and I’ve explained to her all you have done for her and her family in the matter of Mr. Wickham and her sister, Lydia. You realize that she now sees you in a very different—in a true light, Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy felt his head spin. His wildest imaginings could not have prepared him for this eventuality.

Not only had Elizabeth received the letter so long resident in his breast pocket, but she knew about his actions in arranging the marriage between Wickham and her sister, and thus preserving her family’s reputation, and more importantly, from his standpoint, her own.

“Did she believe you? I’m certain that, had I told her myself, she would not,” Darcy asked.

“Not only did she believe me,” Anne replied, “but she has the wit to appreciate both why you acted as you did, and what that action cost you, and by cost, I do not mean only the monetary expense.”

Yes, Darcy reflected. The money was nothing—paying Wickham’s debts, buying the commission in the regulars, and funding him in his new life. The real cost to Darcy was in helping a man who had wronged him so profoundly. The real difficulty for him had been in overcoming his own nature.

“Elizabeth realizes how difficult it was for you to do what you did, and what that means. She can see how wrong she was about you, and is able to correct her error.

“I believe that she returns your affection, Fitzwilliam, and indeed that she always has, though she has been too blind to see it herself.”