them fawn over her. I wanted to wring their scrawny, lily-white necks!” He clenched his fists, then coughed and gathered his wits, finally shrugging again and relaxing, although his voice remained strained. “He wanted me to wait until she was eighteen. I didn’t want to hear it, but he was correct. Plus, it gave me time to prepare and establish myself. Father has helped with that, so by the time we marry I will have a proper home for her.”
“So…” Michael scratched his temple, “Does that mean you are going to propose today then? Last night was a diversion?”
“Nope!” And the arrogant grin was back. “At the Cole’s Twelfth Night Masque!”
Both Nathaniel and Michael stared, more confused than ever. Hugh threw back his head and laughed. Then he clapped them on the shoulder. “Just wait and see. I have it all planned, with the help of Aunt Elizabeth and my mother. What is grander than a spectacular proposal at the preeminent ball of the holiday with all of Derbyshire’s elite witnessing? It shall be epic. Miss Darcy will be the shining star, envied and honored, stealing the limelight from everyone, the crowning glory of the evening. And I will be the luckiest man in England when she says yes.”
“If she doesn’t kill you between now and then. I think it may be the longest twelve days of your life, my friend.”
Hugh’s dreamy expression and broad smile were assured and slightly lewd. “Trust me. I know how to handle Noella Darcy. I am probably the only man on earth who can. By the time we return from church, she will have forgiven me and will be expressing her adoration fervently.”
Nathaniel muttered something about that being disgusting while Michael renewed his threat to pummel Hugh black-and-blue if he touched his sister. Hugh merely laughed as he bravely exited the sheltered alcove.
Noella’s glare may well have burned Hugh’s skin with its intensity—her choler not aided by the gleaming smile he flashed in her direction—but the nonverbal exchange was quickly interrupted by the appearance of Audrey. The dainty girl was dwarfed between the towering Dr. Darcy and his burly apprentice, Dr. Vaughan, yet all eyes instantly fixed upon her face. Tranquility radiated from her core, a glamour of peace and innocence that none could resist when she was near, or even in the same room. Her ethereal beauty was breathtaking and wholly untarnished by the slight sag to her left eye and mouth. She was mesmerizing, in a multitude of ways, and none escaped the spell she cast.
“Michael, we have a poultice of arnica, comfrey, and parsley for you to place onto your eye. It will reduce the swelling and diminish the bruising.”
“Audrey prepared it herself,” Dr. Darcy interjected, the aged but spry physician gazing at his niece with overwhelming pride. “Excellent work by the best assistant I have ever had. No offense, Dr. Vaughan.”
“None taken, sir. And I agree with your assessment. Miss Darcy’s apothecary skills and knowledge of herbals exceed any I have seen, even those at college.”
Audrey pinked under the praise and penetrating look from the young doctor. But her voice was firm and clinical as she instructed her brother. “You must apply this as a compress as often as possible. If you keep it fresh and in place, your eye will be almost normal by evening.”
“Why would I want to do that? I won the fight fair and square, and wear my only wound with honor. Received a purse of twenty sovereigns for the win and plenty from private betting.” He winked at his uncle, “I told you not to bet against me, Uncle George.”
George winced, glancing nervously at Audrey, who smiled sweetly at her uncle. “Fear not, Uncle George. I won’t tell Mama or Papa. But Michael, your wound distresses Mama and we cannot allow that.”
Her tone remained dulcet and nonjudgmental, but Michael cringed, glancing guiltily toward his mother. “Oh, very well,” he grumbled, “give it here. Probably smells foul and stings to boot.” He yanked the bowl out of her tiny hands and slapped the wet cloth against his left eye. “Making a mountain out of a molehill if you ask me. It’s just a stupid bruise. I hardly feel it. Now I look the fool and everyone will be laughing.”
“No one will laugh, and if they do, you have my permission to punch them. I have plenty more where this came from, after all.” She patted his cheek, her angelic face sunny. Then she turned to Hugh, her countenance and voice compassionate, “Cousin, I will arrange a place for you next to Noella in church so you can atone for your mischievousness. Try not to frustrate her beyond measure. She truly does love you deeply.”
Hugh hung his head, shame drenching him as he stole a glance Noella’s direction. She looked up as if sensing his regard. Her flinty eyes engaged his repentant ones for a moment, flickered to Audrey, and then back to Hugh. Even from across the room he could see their chocolate depths melting, the sparkle brightening their darkness to warm umber. He sighed, lost and lovesick as he had been for two years now.
“Nathaniel, Grandmama has apparently forgotten that Thomas is no longer three. Help me rescue him before he dies of embarrassment?” And then she glided away, her elfin form supported by a polished wood crutch that in no way diminished her grace. Dr. Vaughan sighed, for one unguarded moment his mien showing the rawness of his affection before settling into a mask of neutrality.
The modest chapel in the village burst at the seams with the number of Pemberley guests attending this year. The dusting of snow from five days ago was largely melted and the weather fair enough to permit most of the visitors to walk, a fact the estate’s groomsmen and coachmen were fervently thankful for. Of course the number of conveyances driving into the spacious avenue after the service were considerable, but as always the efficient Pemberley staff rose to the challenge.
Sofas, chairs, chaises, and settees were scavenged from every room to accommodate the army flooding into the mammoth ballroom. A cluster of thickly cushioned couches arranged for optimal tree viewing was reserved for the oldest guests, Lady Catherine choosing the middle armchair and imperiously draping her voluminous skirts as a queen. That she was then flanked by the loquacious Mrs. Bennet and outspoken Mrs. Gardiner—both now widows —on one side and the ornery George Darcy on the other added amusement to an already entertaining afternoon.
For once the children were not in a frenzy to open their presents. Rather, the exuberance was centered on the tree. Footmen hauled dozens of boxes and trays into the room, setting the precious ornaments onto waiting tables. The women took charge, doling out the decorations to the children in an age appropriate manner and assisting in the hanging. The men supported the ladders needed to reach the higher branches and assumed the responsibility of wisely placing the tiny candles that would be lit that evening. It was a production to be sure, but one filled with merriment. Background music was provided by those talented with instruments and singing. Snacks and drinks were replenished steadily, and gradually the tagged gifts were distributed and opened. Surprisingly there were no mishaps beyond a few broken cookie ornaments.
The only interruption to the flow was the delivery of an enormous painting. The family gathered close and everything halted when Darcy opened the crating and the masterpiece was unveiled.
The nearly five-foot square canvas, painted in brilliant colors, showed the front façade of Pemberley with Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth standing regally on the topmost step of the columned portico. They were turned slightly sideways with Elizabeth in front of her husband in a semi-embrace. Alexander, equally noble and the image of his sire except for his coiled brown curls, was positioned one step below with Fiona by his side, her flaming red hair tumbling over one shoulder. Michael, dark and brawny, stood with one arm flung over raven-haired Noella’s shoulders, their devilish grins identical. The younger Darcy siblings were spaced evenly in between.
The painter had resided all summer at Pemberley, dwelling with the Darcys in order to properly capture their personalities on canvas. The result was amazingly accurate and awe-inspiring.
Lizzy slipped away from the boisterous crowd some minutes after Darcy excused himself to ensure the painting’s safe delivery to his office. She quietly opened the door to discover him gazing at the framed canvas propped on a sofa. He did not turn from his serene contemplation of their family, but she knew he was aware of her entry—they always sensed the presence of the other—and sidled up to him, arms naturally embracing.
“I plan to hang it there,” he nodded toward the wall above the settee. “As much as I love Gainsborough’s landscape, I would prefer to have you and our children watching over me as I work. Someday it can join the others in the Portrait Gallery, but not yet.”
“I concur. We look wonderful here. It is an amazing portrait, arriving at a perfect time.”
“How true. It induced me to reflect on Christmases past. All of them have been wonderful since you came into my life.” He looked at her then, blue eyes tender and inundated with love.
“All of them?” she repeated, memories flashing through her mind and her tone only partially teasing, but her eyes were full of the same deep love when they locked with his.
“Even those Christmases that were sad or difficult were special, my heart. My life is complete since we married and I would change nothing. This Christmas is the most recent in a very long line of incredible
