Chapter 1 pt 2

"Why ever not?" Caroline protested. "The more I think upon it, the more I find the idea enchanting. Tell me, Eliza, what droll things comprise a 'country Christmas'? I am most intrigued."

That there was as much ridicule as curiosity in the question was not lost on Elizabeth, who could only laugh and reply, "Why, quite more than I think you would suspect. The festivities begin long before the actual holiday with a series of parties and celebrations. Christmas in Meryton is filled with a such gaiety that one can scarcely breathe from the sheer busyness of it all. Not very unlike a Christmas in London, I am certain."

"I cannot see how one can even begin to compare the two," Mrs. Hurst said with a sniff, bending over her tatting with a look of rather fierce concentration.

"Nor why one would want to," came the laconic remark from over the pages of his book. Mr. Darcy never so much as raised his head as he spoke.

Bingley laughed at this. "I highly suspect that should we continue upon this vein, we will be counting Darcy out of the festivities altogether. Unless I miss my guess, I suspect he would rather engage himself with nearly anything else, rather than face a ball at Christmas."

Elizabeth barely kept herself from wondering out loud just how much of a loss that might be, considering his negative attitude towards socializing in general. Her eyes slid from her knitting in her lap to his face, which she could only just see from beneath her lashes. She was surprised to see that he sat stiffly, holding his book up from his lap almost as though it were a shield between himself and the room at large, keeping both Bingley's gentle teasing and probably the very idea of a Christmas ball at bay.

I wonder what he thinks is so terrible about a dance at Christmas that he would rather hide from it like a little boy, Elizabeth mused. Perhaps a ladylove slighted him at such a gathering in London, or, more likely, he constantly has to flee the enterprising mamas of London's high society, each intent on their own daughters capturing him like a stuffed goose for dinner. Ten thousand a year is a grand prize in any circle, and no season is more romantic than Christmas. If one believes in that sort of thing, which I highly doubt Mr. Darcy does.

He had been a puzzle to her since she arrived at Netherfield Park several days prior. One moment cold and aloof, Mr. Darcy was the epitome of a proud landowner looking down his nose at those beneath him, just as he had done when they first made their acquaintance at the Meryton assembly, and the next, he could be a completely different man. He had actually attempted to engage Elizabeth in conversation on more than one occasion, singling her out with small comments and inquiries that went far beyond polite discourse, venturing even into warmer subjects such as her favorite memories of her family, and her sisters in particular. He had even with a humorous tale about his younger sister, Georgiana, that left Elizabeth wondering how aloof he truly was.

It was all very confusing.

Now, though, he had withdrawn from the room completely, barely paying attention to the room's other occupants, aside from a telltale tightening of his expression as he stared at the pages of his book.

He is not reading, Elizabeth realized with a start. It was true, his eyes were still, as though he was looking straight through the page, instead of at it, leaving Elizabeth unable to even guess at the subject of his thoughts.

Around her the conversation continued, Mr. Bingley plying Jane with questions about past Christmas seasons in Meryton, and Jane answered with a quiet contentment, for she had always loved Christmas in particular. There was simply something about it, the chill weather, roaring fires and hot peppermint tea, surrounded by evergreen decorations that lifted her spirits. This excitement shone upon her face, making her more lovely than ever, and Bingley could not hope to hide that he was enraptured by this side of Jane, hanging upon her every word.

But Jane was too recently ill to continue much longer, and she was already growing tired. Elizabeth took pity on her sister and began to take over the conversation, answering Bingley's questions about the festivities of Meryton and the Bennet family traditions when Jane grew quiet. But even as she spoke, Elizabeth kept a keen eye upon Darcy, noting that not only had he grown more silent, his entire posture had changed to one of defeat. His shoulders slumped and he leaned back in his chair, lowering his book again to his lap.

This talk of the holiday had left him very melancholy, if she were any judge, and that concerned her for reasons she did not wish to examine too closely. She was certain that Jane would simply put it down to Elizabeth's intolerance for ill humors of any sort, for she dearly loved to laugh, and melancholy was the opposite of such spontaneous outbursts of happiness.

"Perhaps we had best change the subject, for I see this one has brought too much excitement for poor Jane to bear. Indeed, perhaps it is time to take her back upstairs. What do you say, Jane? Are we making you too weary to continue?" Elizabeth asked at last. The topic had done much to animate the eldest Bennet sister, but Elizabeth feared that she had spent too long downstairs already. However, she could not help but smile when her suggestion was rebuked.

"Of course not, Lizzy! I am having a grand time, and could not bear to go back to my room just yet. Pray, Mr. Bingley, tell me of your family's Christmas time traditions."

And so it was the discussion continued, eventually accompanied by Miss Bingley playing upon the pianoforte. Elizabeth settled back to her knitting, but her mind was troubled as she bent to untangle her yarn, for it bothered her that anyone should feel saddened by her favorite time of year. And it was quite clear that Darcy was not only troubled, but positively haunted by the holiday, given his pale countenance and the way his hands shook as he turned the pages of his book.