Author's Notes

You know you're probably way too into Pride and Prejudice when you sketch out detailed timelines as reference for your fanfictions.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

"But I am not sleepy yet."

"No, of course not," Jane replied in a soothing voice, the gentle upturn at the corner of her mouth the only tell of her amusement as Charlie forced his drooping eyelids open again. She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. "But you want to be rested to celebrate Christmas with your cousins tomorrow, do you not?"

"Yes," he admitted around a pouting lower lip.

With a press of her lips to his cheek, Jane whispered, "It won't be long until morning. Good night, darling."

"Good night, Mama," he mumbled back, eyes already closed.

Silent as a shadow, Jane slipped out into the passage and crossed to the room opposite of Charlie's.

All was quiet and still in the nursery as she leaned over the cradle where her eldest daughter slept. Diana's hair fell in soft, dark waves across her pillow. Her third birthday was fast approaching, and too soon for Jane's liking, she would be too much grown to sleep here.

In the bassinet, nearly swallowed by her blanket, was the youngest Bingley. Hardly a month old, it was even now clear that Sophia's coloring would be contrariwise to her sister's. Her head was crowned with golden fuzz, and while Diana had inherited her own hazel eyes, Jane was certain that Sophia's would not change from their present shade of deep brown.

Three little ones in the space of five years. She would have never predicted such happiness for herself.

Already so near, she wandered through the guest wing of the house to ensure that all was well. Elizabeth's own brood was fast asleep, as was Alexander, Mary's two-year-old son, and Kitty's eight-month-old daughter, Penelope. Jane smiled as she caught sight of Benjamin with his thumb firmly tucked into his mouth. Able to account for the tranquility of all the children, if only for the moment, she returned to the parlour room.

Though the hour was not so late, Mr and Mrs Bennet had retired for the night, weary from their journey from Longbourn to Verburry. Mary, Kitty, their husbands, her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and Georgiana were still awake and engaged in some spirited discourse or other before the fire.

It did Jane's tender heart well to see so many of those she loved together and thriving.

There were, however, those who were missing from their merry party.

It was a glad reason which kept the Fitzwilliams away, for Richard and his wife had welcomed their second son into the world only days ago. As they could not travel from home, the Colonel's parents and his brother and his family had gone to celebrate with them and to meet the newest of their number.

Caroline had no such justification to excuse her own family's absence. The only explanation she had offered in her carelessly penned and unforgivably short missive to her brother, received just yesterday, was that she and her husband preferred to spend the holiday in town preparing for the Season. Had Jane a different nature, some of her thoughts on the matter, and really on her sister-in-law as a rule, might have been deemed unkind, especially when she saw how it pained Charles. Her husband had not seen his nephew for above half a year, and it grieved her to see his sorrow over missing so much of John's infancy.

It was a pain she well understood. Though it distressed Jane to think it of her own sister, an invitation to spend Christmas at Verburry had not been extended to Lydia at all. The association between the Wickhams and the rest of the family had grown worse, not better, with time. The latest scandal was that Wickham had been caught in several compromising situations with other women throughout London. What was almost worse, the indifference that had long taken root in and choked the Wickhams' marriage like so many weeds meant that Lydia did not seem to care about his unfaithfulness in the least. As was made clear in her infrequent letters to all her sisters, her wild behavior was as it ever was, and she continued carousing with her usual dubious acquaintances without any concern for her reputation.

It was an embarrassment, if not a shock, made that much worse by the fact that there were the Wickham children to consider. Lydia had not quite proven herself an unfit mother to Leah and George yet, but Elizabeth and Mary had been prepared to sweep in before it ever came to pass. Though Jane's own confidence in Lydia dwindled with every thoughtless letter, only her petition on Lydia's behalf that she would never harm or neglect her children stayed their sisters' hands. As muddled as circumstances were, however much she and her sisters—most particularly Kitty— might wish to see their niece and nephew, it was impossible.

But Jane had not meant for her thoughts to stray into such gloomy waters, and she scolded herself for allowing it while she was surrounded by so much goodness.

Charles's laughter drew her attention to where he was partially concealed in the alcove on the far side of the room, and she joined him there.

Beaming, he said to her, "Come see. I do believe your sister must have tired of seeing Darcy brooding upon his dislike of all things snow and winter."

She had wondered where Elizabeth and Darcy had disappeared to. Jane glanced out the window where he had gestured and instantly understood her husband's near boyish glee. In the dim torchlight, she could just make out the snow stuck to the back of Darcy's hair and his hat where lay on the ground, clearly knocked straight off his head. His back was to the house, so she could not see his countenance, but she could just make out Elizabeth's. A fine layer of snow caked her gloves, and she was speaking with a devilish smirk playing on her lips.

If Jane had not seen what happened next with her own eyes, she may not have believed it. One moment, Darcy was brushing the snow from his hair, and the next he was stooping to gather a fresh handful of it and running towards Elizabeth in one fluid motion. Her sister's muffled shriek of surprise could be heard through the frosted windowpane, but all else was without sound as she watched him give chase around the grounds, the pair of them obviously laughing, and eventually he caught her up in his arms. Then, Darcy cupped Elizabeth's face in his hands and kissed her.

Jane looked away; they deserved to share this moment in privacy. She had hardly turned when she felt fingers tipping up her chin and a pair of warm lips suddenly against her own.

Charles's grin was wider than ever when he broke away, and she knew her own expression must have mirrored his as he murmured to her, "Happy Christmas, sweetheart."

End Author's Notes

A Christmas story written during actual Christmastime? I don't even know who I am anymore.