I intend this to be a low angst tale (by my standards, which might count as moderate for some of you) based loosely around the central idea of It's a Wonderful Life.It's short, about 10K words, and I'll probably post in three parts. Thanks to Lisa for encouraging this random flight of fancy brought on by watching a Muppet spoof of the classic Christmas movie. No one has checked my grammar, so all mistakes, especially comma abuse, are mine!

I hope that you all have a happy holiday season, whatever holiday you celebrate.

Without Darcy: A Christmas Story

Chapter1

The Yule log sat in the fireplace ready to be lit, Darcy house was festooned with holly and hung with other festive decorations, and Georgiana was playing a joyful carol on the pianoforte, but Fitzwilliam Darcy could not find any joy in his heart this Christmas Eve. He had imagined that this year he would be spending Christmas together with his wife, Elizabeth Darcy née Bennet, and he could not resign himself to the knowledge that the vision he had so treasured would never come to pass. No, Elizabeth would never forgive him for failing to warn the neighborhood about Wickham's perfidy and thus allowing her youngest sister to become his victim. He did not blame Elizabeth for this, for he could not forgive himself.

What was worse was the recognition that he had also wronged Miss Bennet and Charles by failing to confess his actions in separating them. He should have convinced Charles to return to Hertfordshire, and once he was certain he would not be giving his friend false hope, he should have confessed that he was mistaken in declaring Miss Bennet indifferent. Only to have done so would have required facing Elizabeth, and Darcy did not think he could withstand being rebuffed by her again. So he had held his peace in the face of his friend's still subdued spirits.

Without realizing what he was doing, Darcy had extracted a bit of dried lavender from the bowl of potpourri next to his chair. In so doing he crushed some of the blooms, releasing their fragrance and alerting him to his actions. The scent reminded him of Elizabeth, and he felt a pang of sadness. Abruptly, Darcy found he could not bear maintaining a pleasant façade in company, and he excused himself from the room, shoving the partially crushed flower into his fob pocket as he went. He did not even call for his greatcoat or gloves but walked outside in his dinner attire. It had snowed earlier that day, but the snow was not deep and the paths around the small garden had already been cleared. Driven by self-reproach, he strode through the barren garden heedless of both the dark and the cold.

In the past two years, he had managed to fail a startling number of those closest to him. He had not been diligent enough in checking Mrs. Younge's references before he hired her. That made it ultimately his fault that Wickham had enough access to Georgiana to convince her to elope with him. Then, he had allowed his desire to flee the bewitching presence of Elizabeth Bennet to bias his judgment about the state of Miss Bennet's feelings. Yes, Miss Bennet was very reserved, but had he not been so desperate to flee the county he might have been inclined to merely urge Bingley to proceed with caution rather than declaring that Miss Bennet did not return his love.

Finally, there was Elizabeth. He had failed Elizabeth twice. The first time was with his insulting proposal. He could not have truly loved her then, or he should never have been able to insult her so thoroughly while at the same time assuming she would accept him. Then, even after he knew that Wickham had been spreading his usual lies and was believed by the neighborhood, he had not taken action to protect the neighborhood. Some might say that it was not his duty, but he knew that had he spoken out, Elizabeth's younger sister would have been saved from her fate as Wickham's wife.

Brooding over his failings had darkened Darcy's mood even further and he expressed himself by aiming a kick at a small stone lying in the path. Instead of hearing the thud of its landing, however, he heard an oomph followed by a groan.

"Hello? Who is there? Are you injured?" Hitting unknown people with stones, one more crime to add to my name,Darcy thought as he walked toward the noise.

An older man stepped out onto the path from among shrubbery. He was dressed in serviceable work clothes, the kind worn by most of Darcy's tenants at Pemberley as well as by those of his servants both at Pemberley and in London who were employed to perform tasks outside the house. Given his previous location, Darcy presumed he was a gardener.

"Forgive me, I did not expect anyone to be out here at this hour. I hope you are not hurt."

"Tis nothing, sir. Like as not, it will barely bruise. 'Twasn't a big stone." The man rubbed his thigh with one hand and while proffering the offending rock to Darcy with the other. Darcy took it automatically. At least the rock had not contacted the man's head.

"If it is an impediment in performing your duties, do not hesitate to come forward. I would not have you exacerbate an injury I caused." The man nodded and thanked Darcy, who had just realized that he did not know the man's name. He normally prided himself on knowing the names of all his servants. Hoping the man would not be offended, Darcy inquired as to his name.

"My name's Clarence," the man answered Darcy without sign of resentment at being forgotten.

"Why are you in the gardens at this time of night, Clarence? I cannot imagine that there is anything urgent to accomplish here, certainly not in this weather."

"No, sir. It's just, well, my wife and I had a disagreement. I always think better in the gardens, and I figured it would do no harm for me to do some work while I thought on how to mend matters between us. I meant no harm, sir."

Darcy assured Clarence that he would not be punished for being in the gardens when he technically should not have been. "If only my problems could be solved by a walk and an hour of work," Darcy mused. He normally did not air his troubles in front of the servants, but for some reason he felt inclined him to speak more freely than usual. "But all of the problems are of my own making, and I doubt I have the skill to right the wrongs I have inflicted on others. Likely I would only make matters worse."

"I am sure it is not as bad as all that. You have seen your people through difficult times before, you will manage this as well."

Darcy sighed heavily. "I doubt it. My actions have brought pain to many who did not deserve it. It would have been better for those I love that I had never been born."

"I doubt that, sir," Clarence said reasonably, but Darcy had latched onto that thought with unusual fervor.

"I do not. They would be better off without me meddling in their affairs, and still better had I never been born."

Now it was Clarence's turn to sigh. "I do hate this part of the job," he said under his breath.

"What?"

"Mr. Darcy, as your guardian angel I was sent out here tonight to comfort you."

"Guardian angel? My guardian angel is a gardener?"

"No, your guardian angel is dressed as a gardener for the purpose of this conversation." There was a flash of white light and the gardener's garb vanished and was replaced by an outfit not unlike Darcy's but entirely in white. "Seeing as you seem determined not to be comforted, I shall now grant your stated desire."

Darcy answered this statement with a confused look, and Clarence continued, "You wish you had never been born." He snapped his fingers and there was another, brighter flash of light that encompassed not just Clarence but the entire garden and beyond. "Very well, you have now never been born. None of your family or acquaintances will know you. You are nobody. Go, observe, and tell me if you think the world is a better place without you." And so saying, Clarence vanished. His voice, however continued, "If you have need of me, you have only to call. I shall be near."

Bewildered, Darcy stood rooted to the spot for several minutes. Had he drunk too much tonight? Or perhaps it was all a dream? He looked down at the rock he still held in his hand. It wasn't a dream! He dropped the rock back to the path as though it was at fault for his current predicament. But it could not be true; it was not possible to completely erase a human being from existence like that.

Darcy entered the manor still pondering the meaning of his encounter with Clarence. He stopped short two steps into the house, stunned by the change that had been effected in the span of a few minutes. Gone were all the decorations and in there place was the black of mourning. What had happened? Who had died?

Thinking to rejoin his sister, he walked toward the music room all the while noting the other changes that had taken place. Not only was the house hung with black, but most of the furnishings had been changed. He had never cared much for wasting money to follow the latest whims of the ton, but he had made certain that his furniture was elegant and functional. The halls he strode down now, however, were devoid of decoration, and the furnishings were worn and woefully out of date. In the music room, the piano he had bought for Georgiana several years ago was absent and in its place was one he remembered from much younger days. But that piano had been replaced nearly twenty years ago, he recalled. The furniture, likewise consisted of pieces he recollected from before his mother's passing, with the exception of several items that believed had been stored in the attics even before his birth. Everything he saw spoke of an estate in financial ruin.

"Ho there! What do you think you are doing?"

Darcy turned to face a burly footman in shabby livery standing slightly in front of his butler Mr. Hobbs. He did not recognize the footman, but the real surprise was that neither the footman nor the butler seemed to recognize him. "I am looking for Miss Darcy," he answered with all the authority his confusion would allow him to muster.

The faces of both men darkened, but it was Mr. Hobbs who answered "You will make no friends here with poor jokes like that. I don't know how you got into the house, but you are leaving now. I'll not have any man disgracing the memory of Mrs. Wickham."

Darcy felt the blood drain from his face. "Mrs. Wickham? She married that cad?"

At a gesture from Mr. Hobbs, the footman stepped forward and grabbed Darcy's arm. Again it was Hobbs that spoke. "That cad, as you call him, was her guardian and is now the master of this house. You had best watch your tongue."

"Let me speak to her. This is a misunderstanding, I must speak with my sister," but Darcy was already being dragged toward the front doors.

"Mrs. Wickham had no brother, more's the pity. And she will never speak to anyone ever again," Hobbs indicated the black drapings."

"Mr. Wickham, then." Darcy realized he was desperate if he was begging to speak to Mr. Wickham, but he had to know what was happening. Georgiana was dead and Wickham was master of Pemberley? Unthinkable.

They had reached the foyer where several footmen had gathered to gawp at the sight of an intruder to the house. "Mrs. Simon!" Darcy called to his housekeeper when he saw her face in the small crowd. "Surely you remember me? Please, you must tell me what has happened here." He tried to approach her, but was pulled back sharply by the footman. Instead of answering him, Mrs. Simons took a step back, apparently frightened by his address.

Someone had opened the door and Darcy felt himself being shoved roughly out through the portal. He stumbled on the stairs and tumbled down the last two, landing painfully on his side. Mr. Hobbs called after him, "If I see you again, your removal from this house won't be nearly as pleasant." With that the door slammed, shutting him out of his own home.

I did say low angst for me didn't I? Oh, dear. Darcy is outside on the streets of London on Christmas Eve without a jacket, and no one will recognize him because he's never been born. I think I'd invite him into my place to stay warm. How about you? Review and let me know