A Very Meryton Christmas Read online

  A Very Meryton Christmas

  Olivia Kane

  A Very Meryton Christmas

  Olivia Kane

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  First edition, December 1, 2018

  Copyright © 2018 Olivia Kane

  Written by Olivia Kane

  Chapter One

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, at home with his friends and family at Christmastime, must be in want of a fruitcake.

  “Lizzy, Jane, go now while it is still warm,” Mrs. Bennet insisted.

  “But Mamma, it’s snowing!” Elizabeth protested. “I hardly think now is the proper time to …”

  “Just a light dusting that will melt by midday,” Mrs. Bennet assured them, peering out the window and then letting the curtain drop. “Christmas is all about being charitable; it pleases our Lord when we share with our neighbors. Now go!”

  She pushed a round bundle wrapped in crinkly brown paper and tied with twine, a sprig of dark green ivy secured inside the knot, into Elizabeth’s empty hands, while Hill shuffled into the Longbourn hall weighed down with capes and scarves. Elizabeth quickly saw through her mother’s altruism, as she could not remember gifting cakes to any of their neighbors in the past—only this one, who happened to be handsome, rich, and in need of a wife.

  “But Pappa has just left with the carriage and it’s a three-mile walk,” she argued.

  “Bundle up. The cold will behoove you to hurry and your figures will benefit from the exercise,” her mother said. Elizabeth sighed. She saw the determined set of her mother’s lips and knew there was no winning an argument with her. She and Jane would be forced to deliver the fruitcake or endure a torturous morning listening to their mother’s complaints.

  “Very well, Mamma,” Jane acquiesced, letting Hill assist her in her putting on her cloak, a bit of pink color pooling in the center of her cheeks and a merriment in her eyes that betrayed the excitement she tried to conceal.

  Jane was delighted to be ordered to Netherfield. After all, Charles Bingley’s affection for her was undeniable and her appearance at his front door would generate cries of joy from him. But a trip to Netherfield was very likely to expose Elizabeth to the dreadful Mr. Darcy, a man who hung onto Bingley like a bad cold. The two men were practically inseparable and Darcy’s recent insult to her at the Meryton assembly was still fresh in her mind. She had never before heard a man, and not just a man but a supposed gentleman of rank and distinction, comment on her appearance in such a mortifying manner.

  Tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him were his words.

  She laughed off his insult and repeated it liberally, framing it as a humorous incident but, inwardly, Elizabeth fumed. What type of man came into a new community and made such comments? Meryton was her home and its villagers her extended family. He was the interloper, the guest.

  He may have possessed ten thousand pounds a year, but his character was bankrupt.

  “Next time I would not surprise him to hit even lower, perhaps an observation that my breath smells like spoilt cheese?” Elizabeth said to Jane afterward, only partly in jest. “And I will not be able to help myself. I will say something just as horrible in return.”

  Offending Mr. Darcy would not bother Elizabeth one bit, but she did not want to offend Mr. Bingley by doing so and thereby hurt her sister Jane’s chances at a desirable match. The predicament irked; for Jane’s sake, she could not cut off access to Bingley.

  But how was she to avoid his awful friend?

  Elizabeth lifted the curtain to look out the window. The snow was sifting down in large soft flakes. Walking to Netherfield would take the whole morning, but the sky was a bright blue and the sun was out. The snow didn’t seem to be wet or slushy, and Elizabeth calculated that together, she and Jane might find something to laugh about in such an outing.

  But she wouldn’t call on the party as her mother expected.

  No.

  No matter how disappointed Jane would be to miss a half-hour’s worth of flirting with Bingley, she would insist that they deliver the fruitcake to the kitchen door and then turn around for home. Her mother might be vexed to learn that no social call ensued, but her mother was not walking three miles there and back. The plan cemented, Elizabeth smiled sweetly at her mother.

  “Yes, Mamma, we’ll take the fruitcake to Netherfield and deliver it with your compliments.”

  Mrs. Bennet beamed in delight, with visions of Bingley getting down on one knee by the end of Christmastide. Perhaps a Christmas Eve engagement, she fantasized, announced at Sir William Lucas’s party? She hadn’t overspent on Jane’s new cloak—a stylish, sapphire-blue wool, trimmed in black velvet—just to impress the locals. It had taken some cunning to convince Mr. Bennet that the coat was an investment in Jane’s future and he had simmered down after his initial shock at its bill.

  Mrs. Bennet opened the front door of Longbourn and practically shoved her eldest daughters out into the cold.

  “Walk quickly my dears but do not feel inclined to hurry back!” she instructed as she gaily waved them off.

  “Goodbye, Mamma!” Jane waved, sprinting away. Elizabeth sighed and followed her sister with resignation. Her rumpled old grey cloak paled in comparison to Jane’s. Elizabeth was promised a new cloak that winter too but that was long before Bingley let Netherfield.

  She caught up to Jane.

  “I have no intention of announcing ourselves properly. We will drop the cake off at the back and be done with it. I know Mamma is pretending to be a model of charity but this is a thin disguise for you to meet up with Mr. Bingley. I acknowledge that you might want to see him, but that mean Mr. Darcy is there too, and I cannot abide subjecting myself to his searing eyes again.”

  Jane’s smile faded at the realization that Elizabeth did not want to formally call on the party.

  “Oh Elizabeth, in my own excitement to see Mr. Bingley I forgot about Mr. Darcy. You are right. You must not be forced to see him.”

  She squeezed Elizabeth’s gloved hand in solidarity.

  “In fact, after you told me of Mr. Darcy’s insults, I began to wonder whether I should be more cautious with Bingley. After all, he is a new acquaintance and as yet the full extent of his character is unknown. I have always believed one can reliably judge others by the company they keep, and it troubles me to know that he is so tight with this unpleasant Mr. Darcy. What weakness of character does Mr. Bingley possess that he does not correct his friend? The whole incident has given me pause.”

  Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s hand back. It buoyed her spirits to know that Jane understood and was willing to sacrifice the social call. Besides, Mr. Bingley was clearly besotted with Jane and would pursue her whether they showed up with the fruitcake or not.

  “Bingley sees the good in everyone, just like you do. He is probably incapable of finding fault in Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s take the footpath that crosses the stream so we can arrive at the back entrance of Netherfield and avoid appearing on the main drive. Oh Jane, look around us! It’s beautiful …”

  The Hertfordshire countryside was a vision in white, the deep green hedges and stone fences frosted with a layer of snow that glittered in the daylight. The crisp air brushed their soft cheeks, leaving behind a pinkish brilliance. They followed the footpath as it sloped downward, their boots slipping slightly on the newly fallen snow. They clung to each other and the precious fruitcake and laughed merrily as they made their way. By the time they crossed the field, hopped over a small rivulet of water and set foot on Netherfield’s grounds, Elizabeth’s feet were only starting to feel the cold.

 
Up ahead was the kitchen door.

  Elizabeth scanned the landscape ... not a soul was about on the wintry morn.

  She gathered her courage and whispered to Jane, “Let us walk gracefully across the grounds to the door. Hopefully, we will only have to talk to the maids and we are not spotted from the upstairs windows.” She glanced nervously at Netherfield’s back windows where all the curtains were neatly pulled back. Jane nodded and they stepped forward, reaching the threshold without incident. Jane found the bell and pulled. After a short wait that felt long, the door creaked opened and a young, red-faced kitchen maid peeked out in surprise.

  Elizabeth was ready.

  “For Mr. Bingley, with compliments from the Bennets of Longbourn,” Elizabeth announced, presenting the fruitcake. Her heart pounding, Elizabeth could hardly endure the five seconds it took the servant girl to respond. The maid accepted the proffered gift with indifference as if everyone in the county was ingratiating themselves by sending gifts to Netherfield’s newest resident.

  “I will tell the master you called,” she said with a nod of her head.

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth smiled and began to back away.

  The maid thanked them and closed the door. Elizabeth turned to Jane and whispered, “Let’s go.”

  They turned and stepped back from the door but stopped suddenly when the rush of an oncoming pair of horses’ hooves could clearly be heard approaching across the gravel drive. Elizabeth’s heart sunk to her stomach and she grabbed onto Jane’s arm. She held her breath as the horses rounded the corner of the house with dangerous, thundering speed.

  “Whoa,” shouted a strong male voice as the horses stopped short in front of the two women. Mr. Bingley exclaimed from atop his saddle, “Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Two of my favorite new neighbors!”

  Elizabeth’s heart rolled into her throat as her gaze went from Mr. Bingley to his riding companion. Mr. Darcy was staring down at her with a bemused look of what Elizabeth quickly interpreted to be disdain.

  Her humiliation felt complete.

  Jane, however, felt no such distress. Her eyes and Bingley’s were locked.

  Bingley was off his horse quickly and handing over the reins to the oncoming stableman. He approached Jane with two long strides and made a slight bow. Flakes of snow clung to his light hair and dusted the shoulders of his topcoat. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed pink from the cold.

  “Whatever are you doing here at the kitchen door?” Bingley inquired.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, with a slight nod of her head. “We were just delivering a fruitcake from my mother.”

  “A fruitcake? I adore fruitcake,” Bingley declared with exuberance, looking from Jane to Elizabeth with obvious glee.

  Mr. Darcy remained frozen on his horse, in shock or horror, it was hard to tell which, at the unexpected encounter with the Bennet sisters. His gaze was fixed on Elizabeth. Boldly she stared back at him, examining his features in the bright daylight. He was handsome, to be sure, but not to the degree that would afford him the right to criticize her looks, she concluded.

  Aware of Elizabeth’s studied gaze, Mr. Darcy tipped his hat to her. She nodded and turned quickly away, annoyed at how her plan had backfired. It was almost as if fate conspired to throw him in her path, she thought.

  “Did you walk all the way from Longbourn in this weather?” Bingley asked.

  “Yes, we did,” Jane nodded.

  “What sport! Then I can’t let you go without offering you something warm to drink and a hot brick to carry back. You must come in and we will all have some fruitcake together,” Bingley urged.

  Jane smiled at Bingley, naturally delighted at the invitation then glanced at her sister, whose face was ashen. Remembering Mr. Darcy’s rude comments, Jane declined.

  “You are very kind, Mr. Bingley, but we cannot stay.”

  But Bingley was already holding the door open, expecting them to follow.

  “Oh no, I insist!” he cried out, seeming genuinely distressed at their refusal.

  For an awkward moment Jane hesitated, and Elizabeth wished with all her might that they could turn and run, but there was no way to refuse Mr. Bingley now without seeming as rude as Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth sighed in defeat and summoned a smile.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bingley. We are happy to stay and join you,” Elizabeth lied, and she nodded to Jane, whose face lit up. Jane flashed a brilliant smile at Bingley and slipped eagerly through the back door. Elizabeth followed unhappily. Mr. Darcy, however, remained on his steed and without another word turned his horse around and rode slowly toward the stable.

  Chapter Two

  “My dear sisters, we have guests,” Bingley announced as he pushed open the door to the Netherfield drawing room. He held the door as Jane and Elizabeth walked in. Seated inside were Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.

  “Good morning, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst,” Jane said agreeably. Both women responded immediately and welcomed Jane with warmth.

  “Miss Bennet, a pleasure to see you again,” Caroline said, rising. She looked at Elizabeth with less affection. “Good morning.”

  Elizabeth made a quick nod. “Good morning, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst.”

  “This is most unexpected,” Caroline said. “Did you arrive by carriage? I have been seated here for the past half an hour and did not see one approach.”

  “No,” Elizabeth answered. “We walked.”

  Caroline raised her delicately arched eyebrow. “In this weather?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said decidedly.

  “That would explain the red faces,” Mrs. Hurst said.

  “Please, Jane, you must be chilled. Sit here closest to the fire,” Mr. Bingley motioned her to a seat in close proximity to the hearth.

  Jane sat down as instructed, leaving Elizabeth standing. Realizing no special seat near the fire would be offered to her, she quickly sat herself down on the sofa across from Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst and began to observe her surroundings.

  The Netherfield drawing room was a pleasant place, its walls papered in a wandering floral pattern of faded greens, blues and apricots, its chairs and sofas upholstered in a washed-out yellow, and its drapes and pelmets a soft, duck-egg blue. The wide windows let in ample sunlight, and the large hearth was sufficient to heat the room.

  After a few minutes of observation, Elizabeth determined that the room lacked books and the odd pieces of sentimental value that made a home. Recently leased, the Netherfield drawing room offered no glimpse into the Bingley family’s history or personal taste. As the furnishings left little to examine, Elizabeth turned her gaze to the view, which did not disappoint. Easily glimpsed through the large bow window was a long park with a blanket of snow that glistened diamond-like in the sunlight.

  Ten minutes into their visit, Elizabeth noted that Mr. Darcy had not followed Bingley into the drawing room.

  I hope he is preoccupied with other matters until we are able to make our excuses and leave, Elizabeth thought.

  As if reading her mind, Caroline said, “Where is Mr. Darcy?”

  “Earlier today he told me he would have to spend the morning writing his letters,” Bingley explained.

  Jane looked at Elizabeth knowingly, and both their spirits lifted immediately upon hearing the news. Still, feeling some acknowledgment of Darcy’s absence should be made, Jane said, “I am sorry to miss him.”

  Elizabeth remained silent.

  “He is a man of extreme discipline. Once an intention is announced, I have never known him to change his mind,” Bingley said, clearly proud of his friend’s self-control.

  “I imagine he would not be so busy were Miss Warwick not out this morning as well,” Caroline said, looking over at Mrs. Hurst and chuckling.

  The name was not that of a local woman.

  “Pray, who is Miss Warwick? Have we met?” Elizabeth inquired.

  Caroline raised her chin as she replied.

  “I doubt it, as s
he is the daughter of Sir Oswald Warwick, our dear friend from up north.”

  “Miss Warwick is extremely accomplished as well as sharply intelligent,” Mrs. Hurst added.

  “Proficient in French, Spanish, and Latin,” Caroline added. “I think I have never before met a woman with such a profound understanding of mathematics and politics.”

  “Indeed,” Elizabeth responded.

  “Mr. Darcy is quite impressed with her if we must say,” Caroline went on. “Mr. Darcy is not the most sociable among strangers, on that I think we can all agree, but I’ve never seen him light up so quickly as he does in her company.”

  “Does he light up? I’ve never noticed,” said Bingley.

  Caroline looked at her brother with resignation. “Men rarely are conscious of their own emotions, much less those of their companions.”

  Bingley absorbed her correction good-naturedly.

  “Sadly for Mr. Darcy, she is out this morning to call on an acquaintance who is passing through Meryton. Otherwise, you would have been sure to meet her.”

  “She sounds lovely,” Elizabeth lied. And deadly dull. But perfect for Mr. Darcy, she thought.

  Just then the door opened and two housemaids entered and began to set up the tea service on a table near the window. Included in the presentation was the Longbourn fruitcake, which Elizabeth noted was freshly plated.

  “Ah, there is the holiday fruitcake!” Bingley said. “I cannot wait to taste it. Miss Bennet, what can you tell me about this fruitcake? Is it a family recipe?”

  “Yes, it’s Hill’s recipe. I may be partial, but I do believe Mrs. Hill’s recipe is unsurpassed,” Jane replied.

  “I myself prefer a plum pudding,” Mrs. Hurst stated with authority. “Our cook’s won a prize at the Yorkshire fair.”

  “That is a delicious recipe, too,” Bingley acknowledged.

  The maid indicated that the table was ready and Caroline Bingley stood up.

  “Shall we?” she said, and she led the way and then graciously poured tea while Mr. Bingley made a little ceremony out of slicing into the fruitcake, solicitously asking both Jane and Elizabeth if they wanted thin or thick slices. The cake had been re-warmed in the kitchen and its spicy aroma permeated the little scene.