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BOOK TWO

THE MISSION: HE TAUGHT ME TO HOPE CHRISTMAS VIGNETTE

CHAPTER 1

A month had passed since young Bennet Carlton had learnt to think of Pemberley as his home, the chestnut pony in the large stable as his pony, the room that housed the four-poster bed spacious enough for an army of knights as his room, and the man who tucked him in bed each night as his father. Forever his, as Darcy reminded him each night.

Whatever time Ben spent outside the company of his mother, his aunt Georgiana, and his newfound friend, Samuel Reynolds, the housekeeper’s grandson, he spent with his Da. On one such day, Ben arrived in Darcy’s study a little earlier than he had been expected, eager to commence his morning riding lesson.

Ben languished about the room waiting for Darcy to finish his estate business and accompany him to the stables. His attention was garnered by several miniatures suspended over the mantelpiece. Ben studied the pictures with intent. He thought he might recognise the likeness of at least one amongst the collection. Try as he might, he did not. With the exception of minor dissimilarities, they all bore a resemblance to his Da.

“Who are these people?”

Darcy came forward and pointed to the picture farthest to his right. “This is a picture of me, when I was younger.” He noticed the subtle changes in his appearance with time. He cleared his throat. “Much younger.” Pointing out another miniature, he said, “This ridiculous-looking character is Cousin Richard, Merlin to you.”

“Who is this?”

“George Wickham.”

“Have I met him?”

Heaven forbid. God willing, you never shall. “No. Trust me; you have suffered no great loss.”

Ben looked up at Darcy with that same questioning look that his mother was wont to bestow. “Is he our friend?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Why else would you keep his picture on display? The picture is easily replaced, is it not?”

“I imagine I leave it in place for ... sentimental reasons.”

“So, you considered him a friend once and thus the sentiments.”

“Something along those lines, I suppose.” Truth be told, Darcy no longer cared for the man, for he had proven himself to be quite a scoundrel in the latter years. I know Wickham’s likeness was one of my father’s favourites, but I should speak with Mrs. Reynolds about removing this picture.

The last Darcy had heard of Wickham, he had joined the army. Imagine George Wickham, a lieutenant. Darcy nearly laughed aloud at the irony of it all.

“This reminds me of a matter I wish to discuss with you.” When Darcy failed to reply, Ben tugged Darcy’s shirt sleeve. “Da?”

“Yes, Ben?”

“Samuel says he will be away from Pemberley soon.”

“Yes, I understand he spends half his time at Pemberley with his late father’s parents; the balance of his time, he spends with his late mother’s parents. I am certain he will miss you as much as you will miss him, but he returns in the spring.”

“Yes, he does. I had hoped he would be here to spend Christmas with us. I have never had a friend my own age before now.”

“I understand. Some of my fondest memories of Christmas involve my cousin.”

“Will you share some of your memories with me? I enjoy so few memories of Christmastime. I should like very much to hear yours.”

“My earliest memories of Christmas, you say? Where do I begin?” Darcy gathered Ben into his arms and carried him to the sofa to have a seat in his lap. “As long ago as I can recall, my family journeyed to Matlock, to my mother’s father’s home for Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Richard and I often helped decorate the halls with garlands before venturing out with my father and uncle to cut the Yule log. We stayed up late and took part in festivities; listening to my grandfather spin tales whilst enjoying the fruits of our labour as the burning Yule log provided a big crackling fire.

“Christmas Day mornings would find us wandering the halls singing carols to guests and servants alike.” Darcy smiled in remembrance of their antics. “Later in the day, after church, we were permitted to join our elders for a splendid Christmas dinner.

“But that was some years ago. After my grandparents passed away, Christmastime was no longer spent in Matlock. My uncle tended to frown upon the whole occasion.”

“My Bennet grandparents are still alive, and yet I hardly recollect having ever enjoyed Christmas at Longbourn.”