The meal progressed in such merriment after, that the gentlemen eschewed their brandy and tobacco in favor of the ladies and the entertainment that had been promised. Georgiana rose and went to her aunt, who still much affected by the rapprochement of her sons, took her arm in such a gay manner that the younger lady let fall some of her hard-gained years and executed a skipping step as she led her aunt down the hall.
Darcy watched in some amusement and no little relief his sister’s reversion to girlhood as she and their aunt proceeded to the music room. But rather than follow them or D’Arcy out of the room, he elected to await the pleasure of his uncle. Turning then to inquire of His Lordship’s readiness, he found the peer and his younger son in earnest dialogue, their hands joined in a firm clasp. Quietly leaving the room, Darcy awaited them in the hall, a knot of longing tying up his vitals and leaving him gulping for air. It was still no good. The ache of his father’s loss, five years gone, still would catch him and deliver him such a blow that tears would follow if he did not take himself immediately and forcefully in hand.
Straightening his shoulders, Darcy started for the music room. Returning to Pemberley’s rich Christmas traditions had been both balm and woe to his equanimity. The few times he was not reminded in some way of his past sorrows and his present responsibilities were when the joy of the season caught him up or when he allowed himself to drift into the more immediate past of his disturbing verbal engagements with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had relived the moments of their dance at the Netherfield ball dozens of times, pressing himself to recall her every word and nuance of manner. Of course, the feel of her hand clasped within his and the sweetness of her lithesome form passing back and forth around him in the patterns of the dance were not forgotten either. Nor was the inexplicable sensation of intimacy caused by a shared prayer book and voices joined in psalms.
These pleasurable and disturbing memories he had found insufficient. It was true, as his sister had surmised, that he had taken to imagining Elizabeth at his side here. Would she enjoy his uncle and aunt? The gardens and park of Pemberley were universally admired, but would Elizabeth find them pleasing? He had even found himself in minute examination of a piece of silverware, wondering if she would find its heavy ornamentation to her taste. And what would she think about this incomprehensible development in his sister? He was sore in need of another’s comfort, he admitted finally, as his fancy brought Elizabeth again beside him, her hand resting upon his arm. He looked down and saw her, her brow cocked at him, a teasing smile upon her lips. Yes, she could cozen him out of this heaviness of spirit. Where would he ever find her like again?
The sounds of feminine laughter and a masculine chuckle broke through his thoughts, and bidding fancy away for the moment, Darcy rounded the corner of the door and joined his relatives. D’Arcy was whispering something in Georgiana’s ear that sent her into renewed giggles, while Lady Matlock looked on in approbation.
“No! You cannot be telling the absolute truth, Alex!”
“Ask my father if you doubt me, Cousin,” D’Arcy replied with a knowing smile, “for your brother will never admit to it.”
“Admit to what, Alex?” Darcy poured himself a glass of wine.
“To running off one Christmas Eve to join the Derbyshire Mummers just before their performance in Lambton.” Darcy winced. “You were ten, I believe, and we were all at St. Lawrence’s for the service when you turned up missing.”
“Brother, it cannot be true!” Georgiana looked at him in wonder.
Darcy nodded slowly as the wine gently awoke his palate. “It is true, but I was only ten; and you may believe that our father impressed upon me the indecorum of such an adventure.”
“But our uncle…?”
“Oh, your father was forced to call upon mine to help extricate your brother from an altercation with some of the younger mummers in which he was rather outnumbered,” D’Arcy supplied happily.
“Alex!” Darcy frowned at his cousin. “This is hardly fit conversation…”
“But it is very interesting!” came Fitzwilliam’s voice from the doorway. “I remember the occasion quite well and cheering you on from the carriage window. Oh, it was a lovely brawl, sir, a lovely brawl!” He raised his glass to Darcy, D’Arcy and His Lordship following suit. “Never let it be said you were not pluck to the bone, Fitz! One against three, wasn’t it?”
Darcy inclined his head. “It was four — and I admit it only for the sake of accuracy.” He turned to Georgiana. “It was an exceedingly foolish thing to do, and I was proud of it only for a very few minutes before Father caused me to see reason.”
“Caused his backside to see reason!” crowed Fitzwilliam. “I distinctly remember you standing for Christmas dinner that year and being devoutly thankful I wasn’t you.”
“Shall we have some music?” Darcy took the opportunity of the lull in the conversation occasioned by all the young men present remembering similar exchanges with their own fathers to change the subject. For the next half hour Darcy and his sister delighted their relatives with the duets they had prepared. Lady Matlock then arranged herself behind the grand harp and played upon the harp strings as well as the heartstrings of her dear relations as she rendered compositions that reminded them of Christmases past and loved ones no longer with them.
When she was done, Fitzwilliam led her from the instrument to her seat and then turned to the rest of his family. “I do not claim any musical talent, nor to have practiced in preparation, but here it is…and join in if you remember the words.” He sat down at the pianoforte and struck a chord.
Smiles all around attended Fitzwilliam’s contribution to the evening, and his brother, father, and cousin were drawn into it, joining him at the instrument.