Page 93 of A Different Impression

“They are so small and delicate,” Mary observed from beside Lydia. “It is remarkable that two such tiny creatures can command an entire room.”

Lydia touched one of William’s fingers and laughed when his hand closed around hers. “May I hold him, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth took her son from the nursemaid and placed him carefully in Lydia’s arms. Her sister’s usual exuberance immediately softened as she gazed down at him.

Mary watched them for a moment before approaching Elizabeth. “May I—may I hold Roseanna?”

“Of course.”

Elizabeth settled her daughter in Mary’s arms. Tears gathered in Mary’s eyes as she studied the infant’s face, and her hesitant smile became radiant.

“Oh, my little darling,” she whispered. “You are simply perfect. Welcome to our family.”

Conversation around them gradually faded. Watching her reserved sister cradle Roseanna with such open tenderness brought a sudden tightness to Elizabeth’s throat.

Jane and Kitty soon drew nearer, offering Lydia contradictory advice about how to support little William’s head whilst Mary appeared scarcely able to look away from Roseanna. Their laughter rose around the twins, and Elizabeth stood quietly amid it, her heart full. Her family remained imperfect and wounded, but all four of her sisters were together beneath her roof. For that afternoon, it was enough.

Two days later, on the twenty-first of December, the last of their guests arrived. Elizabeth stood beside William as they welcomed Richard and Charlotte to Pemberley. With their arrival, the gathering was complete, and the sight of so many loved ones beneath her roof filled Elizabeth with gratitude.

During the days preceding Christmas, Pemberley seemed alive with conversation and laughter. The twins joined the family for short intervals after being fed and rested, and Elizabeth delighted in seeing them welcomed into so many loving arms.

Charades quickly became a favourite diversion in the evenings. At first, Lady Matlock declined to participate, but after observing several rounds, she finally accepted a role and performed it with such dignity that Elizabeth struggled not to laugh. Lord Matlock appeared more at ease during the debates held beside the fire, although the animation with which he defended his opinions suggested that he enjoyed himself every bit as much.

Fresh snow drew the party outdoors one morning. Elizabeth delighted in the beauty of Pemberley’s gardens beneath their glittering white covering, although she found the snowball battle that followed considerably more entertaining. William’s customary dignity deserted him entirely once Richard struck him squarely upon the shoulder. He retaliated without mercy, pursuing his cousin across the lawn whilst Elizabeth laughed until her sides ached. Away from the commotion, Jane and Bingley wandered along the quieter paths, their linked hands and private smiles requiring no explanation.

On Christmas Eve, the party gathered in the drawing room for several traditional games. Snapdragon came first. A servant placed a shallow dish of raisins upon the table, poured brandy over them, and lowered the lamps as everyone gathered closer.

Elizabeth watched as William touched a taper to the brandy. Blue flames rose from the dish, and one guest after another darted forward to snatch a raisin. The game ended with several smarting fingertips, a great deal of laughter, and even more boasting.

As the flames died, William stepped back with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “An impressive display of courage and nimble fingers. I trust no one has been seriously singed?”

“I must admit, Darcy, it was quite a sight,” Charles said. “Everyone descended upon the dish like a pack of hungry wolves, but we emerged victorious.”

“Some displayed rather more enthusiasm than sense,” Elizabeth teased. “Perhaps spillikins will prove less hazardous.”

A servant scattered the carved wooden sticks upon another table, and several guests gathered around it.

Lord Matlock carefully removed one from the pile. “I played this often when I was younger. It requires a steady hand and a keen eye.”

“Then let us see whether your hand remains as steady as you remember,” Richard replied, reaching for a stick whilst nudging his father’s elbow.

Lord Matlock directed a severe look at his son, and Elizabeth pressed her lips together to contain her laughter.

When Charlotte’s turn came, Lydia leant towards her and whispered loudly, “Careful! One wrong move, and the entire pile will fall. Do not let a collection of sticks defeat you.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes in mock seriousness. “I shall not be defeated. Watch and learn.”

The pile promptly shifted beneath her fingers. Elizabeth joined the laughter that followed, enjoying Charlotte’s rueful expression almost as much as Lydia’s triumph.

As the clock approached eleven, Elizabeth noticed more than one guest attempting to conceal a yawn. William evidently observed it as well, for he rose and called for everyone’s attention.

“I believe we have tested our courage and dexterity sufficiently for one evening,” he said to the room at large. “We must all rise in good time for the Christmas service at Kympton.”

The party gradually dispersed, although not before plans were confirmed for the following morning. Elizabeth retired with a contented heart, grateful that their first Christmas gathering at Pemberley had begun so happily.

After taking a light refreshment on Christmas morning, the family wrapped themselves warmly and travelled to Kympton in the estate sleighs, with a closed carriage provided for those who preferred greater shelter from the cold. Elizabeth left the twins in the warmth of the nursery under the watchful care of their nurses, though doing so required more reluctance than she wished to confess.

As their sleigh travelled through the snow, she turned to Mary. “I hope you will enjoy the service. There is something particularly moving about worshipping at Kympton on Christmas morning.”