The snowflakes drifted slowly downward. They were
enormous flakes and floating so delicately on the air that, even in the inky
darkness behind the thick glass with only the faint glow of lamplight
reflecting, Fitzwilliam Darcy could visualize the minute crystals and unique
geometry of each flake. It was mesmerizing and oddly calming to his tumultuous
thoughts. He sipped the cocoa that was now lukewarm, watched the snow fall and
gather into piles on the panes, and struggled to stir up the Christmas cheer one
was supposed to enjoy on Christmas Eve.
It was not
working.
He couldn’t
readily recall the last Christmas that was truly joyous. Surely it was before
his mother died, but the memories were faded and supplanted by so many years of
forced gaiety. Oh, they exchanged presents and decorated the house and went to
church and delighted in a lavish feast. Often they visited Rivallain for the
day, the estate of his uncle and aunt, the Earl and Marchioness of Matlock, and
once or twice they had dwelt at Darcy House in London for the holiday
activities there. But like all festivities since his mother’s passing, and now
his father’s, the celebratory atmosphere was muted.
Of course
he strived to celebrate the day for his sister Georgiana’s sake, understanding
that a child needed the merrymaking. And lauding the birth of their Savior was
indeed a commemoration he took very seriously. Yet personally, he often felt
that the entire season could easily pass by without him noticing or caring.
Darcy had
grown so accustomed to the attitude that it hardly registered any longer. Even
while plotting and planning for Georgiana and purchasing gifts—that a delight
he truly did enjoy—his internal zeal for Christmas was dim. He did not dread
the holiday nor was he particularly gloomy over it; he just did not care all
that much.
So why was
this year so different? Why did he feel a melancholy blanketing his soul? And
why did the dreams continue to invade his sleep? Why was she persistent in
burrowing into his mind and hea…? No! He refused to even think it! This
Christmas of 1815 was no different than the previous twenty-seven.
He sighed
unconsciously and continued with his rapt contemplation of the falling snow and
abstracted sipping of the cooling cocoa.
* ~
* ~ *
A pile of
presents surrounded Alexander Darcy, the heir to Pemberley, who accepted the
ridiculousness with his typical stoicism and intense concentration. He did not
quite seem able to grasp that something special lurked inside the package. He
was perfectly content to look at, play with, or chew upon the ribbons,
wrapping, or box itself. The adult assistants allowed this for about two
seconds before impatiently “helping” him open the gift to reveal the treasure
within. Alexander tolerated the interruption to his play with extreme
forbearance, continually amazed when a new toy was miraculously revealed. Then
he would squeal with glee, bouncing and waving his arms in the air, and
joyfully clutch the prize to his chubby chest.
It was a
lengthy process, mainly because Alexander had just recently learned how to walk
proficiently. His stumbling early steps and need to hold on to a solid
foundation were gone in the wake of new maturity. He was quite proud of his
skill and also well aware of just how much more of the world he could explore
on two legs that functioned fairly well most of the time. Suddenly sitting on
his bottom confined to a small space was wholly untenable! Alexander was an
oddly complacent child, but even he grew cranky and annoyed at being compelled
to stay put. Luckily he was easily distracted, as most infants were, and
readily calmed when a new sparkling bauble was thrust under his nose.
The loving
adults thought it was the greatest fun ever.
“Here,
Alexander,” Dr. George Darcy said as he loosened the ties holding the maroon
and yellow cloth concealing the spongy item inside. “Jharna’s son, Nimesh, had
this made for me. It is a hoolock gibbon, my favorite of all the primates in
India.” George, younger brother to Darcy’s deceased father, freed the
exquisitely crafted stuffed animal from its wrappings, grandly plopping it onto
the toddler’s lap.
“Uncle! He
is remarkable.” Darcy leaned forward from his cross-legged perch behind his son
to finger the soft brownish-black fur. “This is incredible taxidermy. Are you
sure you want Alexander to drool and chew on such a masterpiece?”
George
waved his hand dismissively. “It is well preserved. Allow him to play with it
for a while, then perhaps it can be put aside temporarily to extend its life.
But I wanted it for a toy. See how the long arms wrap around you, Alexander. He
is bigger than you so will be great for cuddling.”
Alexander
was mesmerized. He pressed the black bead eyes, ruffled the thick white fur
rings around the eye sockets, pried open the toothless mouth to peer inside,
squeezed the thin arms, and wiggled the long toes. He looked up at his father,
smiled widely, and released a string of nonsense intermingled with “papa” and a
smattering of intelligible words as he proudly showed off his newest animal.
Darcy
smiled, pulling his son onto his lap for a tight hug. “You are assuredly the
only child in Derbyshire with a stuffed gibbon, my sweet.”
“Papa, see?
M’key? Mine, Unc Goj?”
“Yes, he is
yours and ‘monkey’ will do, I suppose. Your Uncle George spoils you.”
George
snorted. “Somebody has to. Poor baby would have no toys to play with if not for
his favorite uncle.”
Georgiana
laughed. “Yes indeed. Nothing to play with! Poor Alexander. Now, open this one
from your favorite auntie, my precious.”
* ~
* ~ *
Darcy
grunted. “Be that as it may, what I am curious about is how you two seem to be
catching so many clandestine kissers under mistletoe. Wandering the halls
freely after escaping your nannies?”
“Yep!” They
declared simultaneously with nary a hint of remorse. “We saw Aunt Mary kissing
Uncle Joshua. Caleb kissing Miss Cassie. Aunt Giana kissing…”
“Very
well,” Darcy dryly interrupted the flood, “I believe we get the idea.”
“And Uncle
George showed us the hidden passageway behind the King Arthur tapestry!”
“Oh did he
now?” Darcy growled, Lizzy bursting into laughter.
“Be calm,
dearest. It only leads to the music room so no harm can be done. I have never
understood what the purpose of that secret route could be.”
“Mysteries
of Pemberley aside, you two are hereby forbidden to evade your caretakers and
wander the halls, understood?”
“Yes,
Papa,” they quickly agreed, heads nodding in unison.
Lizzy
chuckled under her breath and Darcy briefly closed his eyes, both knowing the
admonishment would be as ignored as the promise. Prim Alexander sat on his
father’s lap through the whole commentary with his lips pressed tightly
together and brows knitted. Lizzy ruffled his curls, leaned for a kiss, and
whispered for his ears only, “Occasional misbehaving is healthy, Alexander. You
should give it a try now and again.” But he truly looked aghast at the idea,
Lizzy only laughing harder and pulling her firstborn onto her lap for a snug
embrace.
“Can we go
now? Please!” Michael and Noella pleaded, bouncing on their knees, for once not
irritating each other in their agreement over Christmas entertainments.
“I am
hungry.”
“And I have
Christmas presents and birthday presents and cake!”
“It’s not
fair that she gets more presents,” Michael grumbled, the truce obviously over
as he glared at his sister.
“It’s my
birthday!” Noella smugly declared, smirking as she added, “Christmas is my
special day, not yours.”
“Christmas
is everybody’s special day. It’s Jesus’ day, not yours, silly!”
“Today is
God’s day first,” Lizzy interrupted what promised to be full-scale war. “But we
will manage to celebrate both special events. Just as Alexander’s birthday
falls on mine and your papa’s anniversary and we always celebrate both.”
“But…”
“No ‘buts’
young man,” Darcy caressed the thick brown locks so like his. “Look at it this
way, son: You have a birthday all your own. A day not shared with any other
holiday or person.”
“So can we
open presents now?” Noella asked, ignoring Michael’s cheery expression and
protruding tongue.
“Your
birthday will be celebrated later today, after church and Christmas.”
“But I am
three!” she wailed, tears instantly forming.
“Technically
you will not be three until late this afternoon, Noella, because that is when
you were born.”
“But, Papa!
That is silly. Today is my birthday and today happened at midnight!”
“You cannot
argue with that logic,” Lizzy murmured with a smile.
