Section I, Section II, Section III, Next Section

Chapter Twenty - Men of Consequence

Posted on Saturday, 13 April 2002

When Victoria and Bernadette called on Abigail the next day, she promptly led them both to the small parlor, her eyes brimming with excitement. She hurriedly offered them seats on the settee, while she made herself comfortable in an armchair close to it. Making sure that no one else was listening, she leaned conspiratorially toward the two ladies.

"I have news for both of you," whispered Abigail, and her two friends instinctively drew closer to her. "Actually for you, Bernadette, for I am sure Victoria already knows."

"Well?" said Bernadette impatiently, "what is it?"

"It is official," said Abigail, "Cousin Henry is coming to the Christmas celebration!"

"Henry!" exclaimed Bernadette, turning red. "Here at Pemberley? I cannot believe it!"

"Shhhh!" hushed Abigail, putting a finger to her lips. "Be quiet, Anthony might hear you."

Victoria nodded. "It is true. I mean, Christopher told me in his letters that Henry Wickham was indeed staying with his family, but he did not tell me for how long."

"Apparently, Aunt Jane wrote to Mama two months ago that Henry was staying with her and Uncle Bingley for the whole winter, but Anthony and I did not learn about it until this morning, when Aunt Jane sent another letter telling us how much she and her whole family, including Henry, were looking forward to spending the holidays here," explained Abigail.

Bernadette leaned back a little on the settee, her face still flushed. "Henry here at Pemberley," she said disbelievingly, "I can hardly believe it. It has been ages since I last saw him."

"Well, believe it," said Victoria. "I wonder what he looks like now."

"Hopefully nothing like Uncle Wickham," remarked Abigail, giggling.

Bernadette looked at her sternly. "He could never look like your uncle even if he tried. Why, I have never seen two people so unlike each other in looks."

"Now how can you possibly know that?" asked Victoria. "You have never seen Mr. Wickham in person. All you have seen is a miniature of him. Besides, the last time you saw Henry was three years ago. Looks can change drastically in three years."

Abigail saw Bernadette's offended look, and relented. "Well, I have seen Uncle Wickham twice, and I think Henry takes after Aunt Lydia." She hastily added, "Not that he acts like her, of course."

"It would be so nice to see him after all these years," said Bernadette with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Abigail frowned. "I think you will find that Anthony would disagree with you on that score."

"Why? Does he not like Henry?" asked Bernadette. "I cannot see how he could not like him."

Victoria rolled her eyes, and said impatiently, "It is not because Anthony dislikes Henry, it is because he likes you."

Bernadette turned a deeper shade of red, but did not say anything.

"You should have seen the look on his face an hour ago, at breakfast, when Mama read the letter aloud," said Abigail. "But tell me honestly, Bernadette, are you still in love with Henry?"

"Of course not!" Bernadette looked appalled at the idea. "I have not even heard from him in all these years."

Abigail was relieved. "Perhaps you should tell Anthony that. He seems to believe that there was, er, an attachment between you and Henry."

"No, indeed! I will admit I was fond of him then, but there was nothing more than that between us."

"Well, Henry was very fond of you, too," teased Victoria. "For a while there we thought..."

"He was kind to me, is all," countered Bernadette, "especially when Anthony was such a terrible tease, as you are now, Victoria."

Victoria chuckled. "Of course, Henry was kind to you; he liked you! Though Anthony did have a different way of showing his affections then. But you can have no doubt about his feelings for you now."

Bernadette looked embarrassed. "Anthony has changed a great deal."

"Poor Henry," continued Victoria, "For all we know, he may still be in love with you."

"Victoria!" protested Bernadette. She loved teasing others, but she hated being the object of other people's amusement.

"Well, just remember what I told you, Bernadette. Leave Anthony in no doubt of your feelings for him," said Abigail. "I would much rather have you as a sister than a cousin."

Victoria leaned back more comfortably. "Now that we have that settled, let us see if we can find a man of consequence for poor Abigail."

"That is a brilliant idea!" exclaimed Bernadette, eager to shift the attention away from her.

Abigail scowled. "May I remind you that we were talking about Henry."

"We were," said Bernadette, "but now, we are talking about you."

"What say you to the master of Ambercombie, Abigail? Do you not think him a man of consequence?" Victoria looked slyly at Bernadette.

Like Bernadette, Abigail blushed deeply. "As I have said before, nothing but the deepest love..."

"...can ever induce you to marry," finished Bernadette. "We know, Abigail. But do you not like him at all?"

Before Abigail could answer, Anthony walked into the room. All three ladies exchanged guilty looks, with Bernadette blushing as red as her hair.

"Now what are you ladies up to?" asked Anthony suspiciously, but when he saw Bernadette looking up at him, his expression softened.

Abigail answered innocently, "Oh, we were only, uh, discussing various topics of no consequence."

"I see," Anthony said, looking at the others. "In any case, I was looking for you, Abigail. I wanted to warn you that Mr. Borden is here..."

"Mr. Borden!" cried Abigail, quite disgusted. "What can he possibly want?"

"...to see Father." Anthony completed his sentence. "He seemed a little out of spirits. I thought you might want to know, that is all. I do not know how long he plans to stay, but you are probably safer if you stay here." Anthony bid them farewell, and giving Bernadette a smile, left the room.

"My morning has been ruined," groaned Abigail. "Of all the people to come today!"

"Would you rather it were Mr. St. Vincent?" asked Bernadette mischievously.

"Anybody would be better than Mr. Borden," snapped Abigail.

Victoria declared, "He is what you would call a man of inconsequence."

Abigail giggled in spite of herself, and Bernadette and Victoria joined her. After they had regained their composure, Abigail steered the conversation away from Mr. Borden and Jonathan to Victoria's wedding, which was going to be held in two months.

In the study, Darcy sat across Mr. Borden, whose tanned face was a mixture of indignation and sorrow. Mr. Borden had lost some weight, making his neck seem longer and his eyes bigger. He appeared disturbed, and his agitation increased with each passing second.

Darcy cleared his throat. "Mr. Borden, it has been a while since I last saw you. What can I do for you?"

"Yes, well," said Mr. Borden, pulling on his cravat, "I have been to South America on an insect expedition for the past three months. But I did not come here to discuss insects, though I must admit it is my favorite topic. I came here to talk to you about your daughter."

Darcy was not quite sure if he liked the idea of insects outranking his daughter in Mr. Borden's choice of favorite topics, but he let it pass and remained silent and impassive.

"As you may already know," continued Mr. Borden with what Darcy thought was undue confidence, "I have asked your daughter to be my wife, and she has refused. I understand that her reluctance may be due in part to her youth and the impetuosity that comes with it, and I am willing to overlook such an ill-judged decision. As her father, you, I am sure, have her long-term happiness at heart. I must implore you, therefore, to convince your daughter that an alliance with me will ensure just that."

"I do have Abigail's happiness at heart, Mr. Borden, and this is why I must refuse your entreaty," said Darcy firmly. "Young as she is, I believe my daughter to be perfectly capable of choosing a husband, and if she has refused you, there is nothing I can do."

"B-but you are her father!" exclaimed Mr. Borden, vexed and astonished. "Surely you have power over your daughter. Why, she will regret her decision the rest of her life! She cannot have a better alternative than I for a husband."

Darcy shook his head at Mr. Borden's pompous confidence. If he had any doubts at all as to the wisdom of her daughter's decision, they vanished completely with Mr. Borden's statement. "I cannot force her to marry you, sir. If years from now, she regrets her decision not to marry you," he said, though he knew Abigail never would, "then she has only herself to blame."

Mr. Borden jumped up from his chair. "Your daughter's happiness is at stake, Mr. Darcy! I am shocked to see that you care nothing for her future. She needs guidance, sir, and you, as her father, are obliged to provide it."

If Mr. Borden meant to convince Darcy to his side, he was definitely going about it the wrong way. Darcy's placid countenance transformed into a scowl as the younger man impressed upon him his duties as a father, as if he were ignorant of them. Darcy was on the verge of throwing Mr. Borden out, but decency prevented him from doing so. Instead, he glared at the spurned suitor with no small degree of annoyance.

"Mr. Borden, if you wish to convince Abigail, you may do so at your own peril. I will not help you in any way. I must warn you, however, that I take my duty of protecting my daughter seriously, and if you do anything at all to force her decision you will incur the full force of my wrath." Darcy leaned back in his chair to watch the effect of his statement on the gentleman.

At first Mr. Borden looked flustered, but then he immediately took on an expression of injured haughtiness. "Well, sir, I expected more from you, but if that is your decision, then I will abide by it." With that he bowed, and walked out of the room.

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note to congratulate his daughter on her wise decision. He felt extremely fortunate that Abigail had inherited her mother's good sense and refused a man such as Mr. Borden, who reminded him very much of Mr. Collins. This connection propelled him to think of the former parson, whom he had not yet forgiven for having had the gall to propose to his Elizabeth. He shook his head once more, this time in disgust.

If the master of Pemberley was in his study, the master of Ambercombie was also in his. Jonathan sat in front of his desk with a quill in one hand, staring at a blank piece of paper that was on his desk. He poised his pen to write but stopped before the tip hit the paper. He could not think of a single word to begin his letter.

Throwing his quill on the table, he muttered to himself, "How difficult would it be to invite one's mother to a Christmas party?"

He stared into the fire remembering all the Christmases he wished his mother would come and visit him. She never came. He took into consideration the fact that she has not returned to Derbyshire in more than thirty years. What ever made him think that she would deign to come for the holidays upon his request? A knock on the door answered his question.

"Come in," he said.

Mr. Edwards entered. He bowed and handed Jonathan a letter. Jonathan ripped the letter open, read it quickly, and run his fingers through his hair. Another matter of business. He looked up at Mr. Edwards, who was waiting patiently.

"I must leave for London. Tell Mr. Miller I will be back before Christmas. I have some business to attend to in town. Please prepare my carriage. I will depart this afternoon," said Jonathan.

"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Edwards, who instantly set forth to do as he was told.

Jonathan replaced his pen on the stand and slipped the piece of paper back in his drawer. How he wished he did not have to go to London, for he hated traveling in the snow. Business matters always came up at the wrong time. He opened another drawer and pulled out some documents, and prepared them for his departure to London.

Chapter Twenty-one - Mother

Posted on Saturday, 20 April 2002

The morning sun did nothing to brighten up London's cold and dreary streets. Even with the constant bustle of people and carriages hurrying to and fro, the atmosphere remained gloomy and unhappy. Winter had never agreed with London, for it always made its gray buildings drabber, and its busy roads muddier.

In one of the wealthy parts of town, away from the noisy milieu of London's commercial district, Angelica St. Vincent sat in her room, in front of her writing desk, unaware of the flurry of activities that went on in the world outside. Several crumpled pieces of paper littered the rosewood desk, and a few more were scattered on the floor below. Her golden head was slightly bent forward as she carefully wrote on a piece of expensive paper.

London, December 3, 18-.

Dear Jonathan,

I hope this letter finds you safe and well. I am currently in London, and I was wondering if you would care to join me

She dipped her pen into the inkwell and continued to write.

for the holidays, unless, of course, you already have other plans.

She read what she had written so far and shook her head, crumpling the letter in her hand and throwing it on the floor. She pulled out another piece of paper from her desk drawer and started afresh.

London, December 3, 18-.

My Dearest Son,

I hope this letter finds you well and happy. I am currently staying at our townhouse here in London, and I was hoping you could join me for the holidays. I know this may come as a surprise to you, for we have not spent many a Christmas together, but surely this is a good time as any to start

She paused for a moment, gripping her quill tightly between her fingers. Before she could continue writing, however, a drop of ink fell from the tip of her pen, blotting the word start beyond recognition. She sighed in frustration and laid her pen on top of the letter. This is a hopeless endeavor, she thought sadly, scanning the mess on her desk. Every year, for the past eighteen years, she had repeated the same ritual, wasting paper, ink, time, and effort, yet accomplishing nothing. Why do I even try? she wondered, putting away her quill pen and gathering the crumpled pieces of paper from her desk and from the floor. She quickly threw every unfinished letter she had written into the fire, watching as the flames devoured them, one by one.

The shrill cry of a newly born punctuated the room, and when Angelica saw the doctor hold up a tiny baby, all red and shriveled up, she sank back on her pillows with a sigh of relief. She was exhausted, but satisfied, and a beautiful glow lit her face.

"Boy or girl?" she whispered, catching her breath.

"Boy," replied the doctor, grinning. "A healthy baby boy."

"Let me see him. Let me see what he looks like."

The doctor gently wiped off the blood from the baby's face and body, and wrapped the tiny form in a blanket. He then placed him beside Angelica.

"Oh, he is perfect, is he not?" exclaimed Angelica happily, gazing adoringly at her baby.

"What are you going to name him?" asked the doctor.

"Jonathan," said Angelica decidedly, "for he is God's gracious gift to me."

The fire crackled, interrupting Angelica's reminiscences. When she saw that all her letters had already turned into ashes, she got up and walked toward the door, opening it slightly. She heard indistinct voices downstairs and wondered if something was the matter. Deciding to investigate, she quickly stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed loudly, and before Angelica could take more than three steps forward, she found herself face to face with the owner of those footsteps.

"Jonathan!" she exclaimed in surprise. "You are here!"

Astonishment was also clearly written on Jonathan's face as he stared at her for a long moment, as if to ascertain the reality of the figure before him. His face looked haggard from the long journey, but his eyes had been shocked into alertness. It took him some time before he could speak.

"Mother, I did not know you were in town," he said, disbelief evident in his voice. "I was not expecting you."

"I-I just arrived last night," explained Angelica, as a feeling of unease engulfed her. "What brings you here?"

"A matter of business," came the terse reply. "And you? What brings you back to England?"

"I, well, I was hoping..." her voice broke off uncertainly. "I decided to spend the holidays here."

"Here in London?" asked Jonathan.

"Yes," said Angelica, and without thinking added, "Perhaps you can join me." The invitation surprised her as much as it did her son.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed with suspicion and distrust. "Me? Spend Christmas here in London with you?"

"Well, yes, that is, if you are not spending it elsewhere," replied Angelica hastily.

Jonathan appeared to be contemplating her offer. "I am afraid, Mother, your invitation comes a couple of days late. I have already been invited to spend Christmas somewhere else."

"Oh, I see," said Angelica, hiding her disappointment. "Of course, I understand. With whom will you be spending the season, then? If you do not mind me asking."

A keen look came into Jonathan's eyes as he said casually, "With the Darcys."

"The Darcys!" Angelica gasped involuntarily, as she realized that some of her worst fears had come true.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," continued Jonathan, "they have extended the invitation to include you."

Angelica studied him carefully trying to determine if his last statement were true, but with Jonathan, it was always hard to tell. "No, I would rather stay in London," she said finally.

Jonathan seemed to expect such a reply from her. "That is unfortunate," he said, his voice suddenly turning bitter. "I thought you would be eager to see your old friends. After all, you have not seen them for thirty years."

"I have no friends in Derbyshire," said Angelica calmly, though her heart was thudding painfully against her ribs.

"No?" Jonathan looked at her with a steady, penetrating glare. "I thought you and Mr. Darcy were very intimate friends once."

Angelica was stunned. "Where did get such an idea?" she whispered, almost fearfully.

"Does it matter? As long as it is the truth, its source is of no consequence."

"D-did he, did Mr. Darcy say anything to you?" she asked.

Jonathan gave her a cold smile. "Why do you not ask him yourself, if you want to know."

"You would do well to stay away from the Darcys, Jonathan," Angelica said weakly.

"Why, Mother? Because they are part of your past? Because you are afraid I might know who you truly are? Are there any other dark secrets that you hold?" asked Jonathan contemptuously.

Angelica's eyes flashed with fear and anger. "You have no right to dig into my past. You have no right," she snapped. "You have no right to judge me! I am your mother; I gave you life."

"What kind of life did you give me? Did you ever stop to think about that?" The bitterness in Jonathan's voice was now tinged with sadness. "You care for your past. What about mine? I have none! I have no idea who I am. Look!" he said pointing at the bare walls of the hallway. "Look at them. They are all empty! There are no portraits of anyone, not even my father. There is no history of anybody who lived here. You have taken them all away. You have wiped my past clean so that yours can become pristine. Makes me wonder, what do you have to hide?"

"Jonathan..." said Angelica, who was almost close to tears.

"Pardon me, Mother, I have work to do," said Jonathan coldly, brushing past her.

Angelica stood rooted to the spot, trembling. She felt her blood drain away from her face. "Jonathan," she said softly, when she heard the slam of the door behind her, "my son..."

Jonathan left the house an hour later and did not come back until it was well into the night. Angelica stayed up waiting for him, but as soon as she heard the ramble of his carriage, she went upstairs to her room at once. Sleep would not come immediately, however, and she tossed and turned for a while, hoping fervently to get some rest. Exhaustion finally took over, and she fell asleep.

The streets of London teemed with people, and Angelica was struggling to get through the crowd to where her carriage was on the other side of the street. She pulled up her cumbersome skirt with one hand, while the other searched for the tiny hand of her little boy.

"Jonathan!" she called above the noisy mixture of people, animals, and carriages, straining her neck to see above the tall hats of the gentlemen in front of her. "Give me your hand, dear, so that we can get to our carriage quickly."

No tiny hand grasped her outstretched one; no small voice answered her call. She glanced at her side to find out what the matter was and was surprised to see that her boy was gone. Panic surged through her, as her eyes darted through the crowd. There was no sign of Jonathan.

"Jonathan!" she called frantically. "Jonathan, where are you?"

People stared at her as she weaved through the thick stream of people, dodging, bumping, twisting, and turning while calling out her little boy's name. When such methods failed, she started questioning people one by one.

"Please, sir, have you seen a little boy? Light brown hair and blue eyes. Madam, have you seen my boy? About this tall and this big. No? Please, are you sure? I beg you, help me find him."

But no one would. Just when she had given up hope, a lady exclaimed pointing at something in the middle of the road. Angelica looked up in time to see Jonathan right in the path of a hurtling carriage pulled by four big horses. Terror filled her and she screamed...

Angelica felt someone shaking her, and she forced her eyes to open. In the dim light of a candle, she saw Jonathan's white face above her. Behind him stood the housekeeper, looking terrified.

"Jonathan," she gasped, clutching his arm "where ..."

"Mother, you were having a nightmare. Scared us all half to death with your scream," said Jonathan, a little color returning to his face.

Angelica looked around her, and slowly realized where she was. "It was so real," she said faintly. "But you are alive."

"Of course, I am. What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. I am fine now. I am sorry to have bothered all of you."

"Here, Mother," said Jonathan, offering her a glass of milk that the housekeeper brought with her. "Drink this."

"Thank you," Angelica said gratefully, accepting the proffered glass.

"Are you sure you are all right?" asked Jonathan, and Angelica thought she detected a note of concern in his voice.

"I am fine. Go back to sleep. Thank you very much." She handed him back the empty glass.

When Jonathan and the housekeeper were gone, however, Angelica remained awake until early morning light was peeping through her bedroom curtains.

Jonathan stayed in London for a little more than a week, but it seemed that he was not there at all for Angelica barely saw him. He would always leave at the crack of dawn and come back in the dead of the night. On the few occasions that she was able to ask him where he went, his answer was always the same: business. In truth, she knew that he was merely avoiding her, but there was nothing she could do about it. When the time came for him to leave, he merely said, "Goodbye, Mother." He tipped his hat, climbed into his carriage, and rode off without a backward glance, leaving Angelica gazing at the empty street long after the carriage had disappeared from sight.

Chapter Twenty-two - Reunion

Posted on Saturday, 27 April 2002

In the week preceding Christmas, the excitement at Pemberley escalated as one by one, members of the Darcy and Bennet clans arrived. On Monday, Bingley, Jane, and their three children arrived with Henry Wickham. A few hours later, Caroline Bingley and the Hursts descended ceremoniously upon the great house, but instead of staying with the Darcys, they opted to stay with the Stewarts, much to Darcy and Elizabeth's relief. On Tuesday, the Fitzwilliams came-Edward, Isabelle, and their two sons, together with Richard, Irene, and their three children. On Wednesday, Lady Anne De Bourgh Fleckstone and her husband, Lord Archibald Fleckstone, joined the ever-growing party at Pemberley. And on Thursday, two carriages from Hertfordshire turned up, carrying guests that completed the large group. The first one contained Mary, her husband, and their daughter. The second carried Kitty, her husband, and their four children, which included Colin, the youngest and most rambunctious of the lot. By Friday, Pemberley was in such a state of chaos that Darcy had to lock himself in the library in order to get a few moments of peace and quiet.

While Darcy was occupied with a book, the rest of the older gentlemen were engaged in a game of cards. Colin was streaking down the hallways, whooping and yelling as his two older brothers tried to catch him. Vanessa, Veronica, and Anna were in one corner of the parlor, giggling and gossiping with Kitty's eldest daughter, Helen, and Richard's middle child, Patricia. In another corner of the room, Christopher was conversing intently with Victoria. In the drawing room, Elizabeth, Jane, Mary, Kitty, Anne, and Georgiana, Irene and Isabelle gathered together, exchanging news and talking about their respective husbands while pretending to work on their needlepoint. And Mary's daughter, Ophelia, was singing and playing the pianoforte above the collective din that echoed throughout Pemberley.

Outside, Daniel and Geoffrey, Richard's youngest, were throwing snowballs at each other, while Anthony, Henry, Joseph (Richard's eldest son), and Brian and Eric (Edward's sons) raced their horses in the snow. Only Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were not present at Pemberley. They both remained at the Bondeville estate for they felt far too ill to socialize, and could tolerate only each other's company.

Thus, while everyone else had found a suitable occupation, Abigail found herself without one, and she stood in the hallway deciding what to do to while the time away. The decision was made for her, however, when Colin and his brothers rushed past her, almost knocking her down. She quickly chased after them for she feared that they might get into some manner of accident, but found that keeping up with them was no simple matter.

When Abigail finally caught up with her younger cousins, she found them engaged in a tussle, and had to extricate them from one another, with much difficulty. She gave all of them a good-natured scolding, receiving only mischievous grins in return and no apology whatsoever. She then led them into the kitchen, and instructed Cook to feed them. Grumbling and muttering to herself, Cook gave the boys a piece of pie each, and when they began wolfing their share down with gusto, she gave them a disapproving glare. Abigail smiled to herself, knowing full well that Cook was actually flattered with the attention her pies were getting, and would probably fill up her little cousins' bellies until they could hold no more. She quietly left the kitchen, got her coat from the cloakroom, and went outside.

"Look out, Abigail!"

She heard Daniel cry, as a snowball whizzed past her, only a few inches from her face. She turned around and saw another snowball coming right at her. She ducked, and the snowball swooshed harmlessly over her head. When she straightened herself up, she saw Daniel and Geoffrey on the ground, laughing.

"You both shall pay for this!" she yelled playfully, molding some snow into a ball with her gloved hands. She hurled her snowball straight at Geoffrey and hit him squarely on the head. Abigail laughed gleefully.

"That was a good one, Abigail!" shouted Daniel, clutching his stomach and laughing so hard that he did not notice that Abigail had launched another snowball, this time aimed at him, and struck him forcibly on the shoulder.

"That should teach both of you!" she cried jubilantly, as her cousins retaliated by pelting her with more ammunition. She quickly got out of their range of fire, and waved at them when she was a safe distance away. They waved back and continued their game.

Abigail began to walk toward Pembercombie Hill, still in high spirits, though a little weary from her exertions that morning. It was a beautiful day, and she wanted to take the opportunity to visit her favorite place and steal a few moments to herself. She had only been walking a few minutes, however, when she heard someone call her name.

"Abigail! Abigail! Please wait!"

She turned around and saw Henry running towards her. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and he was a little out of breath when he reached her. He was wearing a faded blue overcoat and old boots.

"Henry! I thought you went riding with Anthony and the others," said Abigail.

"I was," he panted. "But they have all decided to go back in, and I still wanted to enjoy the fresh air. Where are you headed?" He put his hands in the pockets of his well-worn overcoat and walked alongside Abigail.

"To Pembercombie Hill," replied Abigail.

"Ah," Henry said, understanding immediately. "Some things never change. I remember every time I came to visit Pemberley with the Bingleys, I would always find you there."

"It is the best place in the world, and our newest neighbor seems to think so, too."

"Neighbor? Oh, you mean the master of Ambercombie," said Henry. "Well, part of the hill is on his property. Does he bother you often?"

Abigail shook her head, and blushed. "No. He is not as bad as I thought he was, but I do not know a whole lot about him. He is friendly enough, but he does not say much about himself."

"Mysterious, is he?"

"In a way, yes. He is spending Christmas with us, though. I do not think he has any other family, except for his mother. At least, nobody has visited him as far as we know," answered Abigail.

They both trudged in silence, their feet sinking deep into the soft, white snow. Every now and then, they would take in deep breaths of the cold, chilly air.

"Uh, Abigail," said Henry after a while. "How - how is Bern, I mean, Miss Raines?"

"Bernadette?" Abigail saw the eager expression on Henry's face. "Oh, she is quite well. In fact, we have invited her family to our Christmas celebration, too."

"Really!" said Henry excitedly. "It would be so nice to see her again. It has been such a long time since I last saw her. I wonder if she has changed much."

Abigail looked at her cousin sympathetically. "Henry, I - well, there is something you might want to know."

"What?" demanded Henry, a little alarmed.

"Well," said Abigail hesitantly, "she and Anthony..."

"Oh, I see," said Henry glumly, his excitement fading away. He looked up at Abigail with a pained expression on his face. "Is Anthony, I mean, is he serious about her?"

"I believe so," she replied, now feeling genuinely sorry for Henry.

"I am glad for both of them," he mumbled, though it was obvious that he was not. "I always knew she would find a fine young man someday."

When they had reached the base of the hill, they saw that another person was already on top of it. Abigail knew exactly who that person was. As fate would have it, Jonathan had once again beaten her to her spot. Nonetheless, she and Henry continued toward their destination. When Abigail reached the top, Jonathan greeted her with a smile that faded as soon as he saw Henry right behind her. She introduced them to each other, and both of them exchanged cordial greetings. Jonathan, however, regarded Henry coldly with an unwavering gaze.

"It has been a while since I last saw you up here, Miss Darcy," said Jonathan, still eyeing Henry suspiciously.

"Well, the cold weather has prevented me from coming up here, I must admit," she explained readily. "And for the past week, I have been quite occupied."

"Oh, I can see that," said Jonathan sardonically, giving Henry a withering look, but Henry was too lost in his thoughts to notice.

Abigail ignored him. "Everyone is already here. I cannot wait for tomorrow night. You will come to Pemberley, will you not?"

Jonathan looked confused. "Why? What is tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow night is Christmas Eve!" she exclaimed, expecting him to understand.

His confusion turned to surprise. "I thought you celebrated on Christmas Day..."

"Oh, yes, we do. But Christmas Eve is special, too. And you will come, will you not?" she repeated. "I insist that you do."

"Then I shall not refuse." He was about to smile, but he involuntarily glanced at Henry and remained grave instead.

"Oh!" exclaimed Abigail. "I almost forgot to ask. Is your mother coming to celebrate with us?"

This time Jonathan scowled. "No. She has engagements elsewhere," he replied bitterly.

The vehemence with which he said this snapped Henry out of his abstraction. "That is unfortunate," he said sincerely.

"Yes, well, my mother is not as keen on Christmas as your parents probably are," Jonathan snapped.

Henry looked embarrassed. "You are mistaken, Mr. St. Vincent," he said quietly. "My parents are not celebrating the holidays with us, either."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Jonathan gruffly, and after an awkward pause, added, "Well, I should give you both some privacy." He tipped his hat to both of them, and started abruptly downhill.

Abigail stared after him in shock, shaking her head. "What is the matter with him?" she asked Henry. "He is usually not this rude."

"I can hazard a guess, if you will allow me," said Henry, slightly amused.

"Please do," said Abigail, still annoyed at Jonathan.

"I think he is in love with you."

"What!" cried Abigail, blushing furiously. "Impossible! I have never heard anything more ridiculous. Why, he was downright rude to us!"

"To me, maybe, but not to you. He regards me as a rival."

"A rival!" Abigail laughed. "You make it sound so noble. I think you are mistaken. I hardly know anything about him."

Henry shrugged. "Apparently he knows enough about you."

Abigail stared at Jonathan's retreating figure, which from a distance looked tiny, and wondered if what her cousin said was true. She could not reconcile herself to it, however, and spent the whole day going over her dealings with Jonathan. She ended up very frustrated, especially when she realized that she wished Henry's theory to be true. She resolutely determined never to think of Jonathan ever again, and stayed up half the night doing otherwise.

Chapter Twenty-three - The Night Before Christmas

Posted on Saturday, 4 May 2002

Christmas eve arrived at last, and with it came a warm happiness that enveloped everyone at Pemberley. Every room in the house was brightly lit with glowing candles. Garlands of ivy and holly and tinsel hung on the walls and ceilings. Evergreen leaves tied with bows of red, silver, and gold framed the windowsills. Sprigs of mistletoe graced every entryway. Several stockings hung from the mantel. And the Yule log crackled joyfully in the fireplace.

Upstairs in her room, Abigail was hurriedly gathering the presents she had wrapped when someone tapped on her door.

"Come in!" she called, stuffing the presents into a red sack.

Elizabeth entered the room. "I was just wondering if you were ready."

"Almost, Mama," replied Abigail, glancing at her mother. "Is everyone already here?"

"Well, we are still waiting for the Raineses and Mr. St. Vincent. But I am sure they will be here soon. I was actually hoping you would receive them with us when they come."

Abigail paused for a few seconds before answering. "I would be happy to," she said, and resumed filling up the red sack with gifts.

"Then I will wait for you in the foyer," said Elizabeth, putting her arm around her daughter and giving her a loving hug.

When Elizabeth had left the room, Abigail sat down on her bed and sighed. How could I possibly face him now? she wondered. She stood up and walked to her writing desk, pulled one of the drawers open, and took out a package wrapped in gold and tied with a red ribbon. It was a present for Jonathan. She had bought it a week before, making sure that the master of Ambercombie would receive at least one Christmas present, in case the rest of her family forgot to give him any. She was so pleased with herself then, thinking how brilliant and kindhearted she was to have thought up such an idea. But now she was not so sure. Her actions might be misconstrued as...

"Oh, hang Henry!" she exclaimed to herself, throwing the gold package in the sack. "He does not even know him; how could he possibly tell? 'Tis Christmas after all!" And with that she tied the sack with a string, hid it under her bed, and bounded down the stairs toward the main entrance.

Darcy, Elizabeth, and Anthony were already in the foyer when Abigail arrived, just in time to greet the Raineses. First came Mr. and Mrs. Raines, followed by Bernadette, then by her two younger brothers. Anthony looked extremely happy to see the family, and even offered to escort Bernadette into the drawing room. Abigail was only able to catch her friend's eye, however, and mouth, "Henry is here," before the flustered Bernadette took Anthony's arm and was led inside.

The remaining Darcys stood near the entrance for a few more minutes, waiting for their last guest to arrive, and in that time Abigail fervently prayed that Jonathan would not show up. Just when it seemed that her prayers were answered, Jonathan appeared at the entrance. Abigail glimpsed his serious face and immediately looked down, pretending to smooth invisible wrinkles on her dress, until she noticed a pair of shiny black shoes standing opposite her small dainty ones. She looked up, though not meeting Jonathan's eyes, and curtsied politely. Still avoiding his gaze, she glanced at her parents and saw that they were already heading toward the drawing room. She then realized that she would have to be escorted inside by Jonathan, who was waiting patiently for her next move. She flushed and diffidently took his arm, wondering why she felt extremely nervous.

"You look lovely this evening, Miss Darcy," complimented Jonathan.

Abigail turned as red as a holly berry, and mumbled, "Thank you." She noticed that he seemed paler than usual, but decidedly in brighter spirits than the day before. Neither said a word after that.

As soon as they had entered the drawing room, however, a loud tinkling noise silenced the whole room as everyone stopped and turned to the source of the sound. It was the butler, ringing a small bell.

"Dinner is served," he announced ceremoniously.

Once more, Abigail found herself walking beside Jonathan, this time to the huge dining room, where two long dining tables stood parallel to each other, while a smaller table took up a corner. All of them were laden with a bountiful repast. The older generation sat in the first table, the younger one in the second, and the children (which consisted only of Colin and his two older brothers) settled down in the small one. When everyone was comfortably situated, Darcy stood up and cleared his throat, commanding everybody's attention.

"Every year we come together to celebrate Christmas," said Darcy, in a deep but clear voice. "It is a family tradition, and in my opinion, one that should continue on for generations to come. In the spirit of him whose birthday we celebrate, we come here, not only to give and receive presents or to have fun, but to fellowship with each other, to set aside our differences, and to forgive past grievances. We are family and friends, after all. So, I welcome everyone to Pemberley, and sincerely hope that your stay here is as wonderful as you had anticipated."

Darcy sat down, and a murmur of approval arose from all the tables. Then, as if on cue, Edward, being the oldest member of the party, stood up and said grace. After he said, "Amen," dinner commenced. And soon, a merry chatter filled the room, punctuated only with the noisy clatter of silverware on porcelain, as everyone began different threads of conversation.

While everyone around her was talking, Abigail ate quietly, directing most of her attention to her plate. To her right sat Vanessa, who was having an animated conversation with Daniel, and to her left sat Jonathan, who seemed to regard everything with something akin to awe. Opposite her sat Bernadette, who had the misfortune of being flanked by Anthony on one side and Henry on the other.

"You are related to almost everyone here?" asked Jonathan in disbelief. "I had no idea this was such a grand affair."

Abigail turned to him. "I suppose it can be overwhelming at first, but you get used to it."

"Everyone looks so happy," observed Jonathan.

"But why should they not be? Wait until tomorrow. It gets even better," said Abigail, smiling self-consciously. "Do not forget, we walk to church early in the morning. And bring your skates."

"Skates?" repeated Jonathan. "Oh, of course. I almost forgot. It seems to be a much anticipated activity."

"But it is!" exclaimed Abigail, forgetting herself for the moment. "It is very exciting, and there are several events. My favorite is the individual race, then perhaps the relay. But, truly, all the events are quite enjoyable. You will participate, will you not?"

Jonathan colored a little under Abigail's expectant gaze. "I am a little rusty. I have not skated since I was in Oxford. I may not be up to par."

Abigail's face fell. "Oh."

"But I will participate," added Jonathan hastily.

Abigail's expression brightened immediately. "I hope you w - I mean, I know you will do well," she stammered, feeling hot all of a sudden.

"Thank you," said Jonathan, smiling for the first time that night. "Perhaps you can explain the rules to me."

And Abigail did. But the conversation did not stop there. It branched off into areas that she never thought she would discuss with the master of Ambercombie. And when dinner ended, she felt sorry to part with his company.

After dinner, everyone proceeded to the music room, filling it to capacity. Ophelia promptly took her place in front of the pianoforte and started playing Christmas carols. Edward immediately broke into a song, and soon all of them joined in, including Jonathan. Their voices were not in harmony, to say the least, but they were having so much fun that they failed to notice it. Even Caroline Bingley forgot to be critical for she was singing quite loudly and could hear nothing else but her voice (which, of course, in her opinion, was rather lovely). At first the songs were lively, enough to make the gentlemen tap their feet in time with the music. But gradually, Ophelia played more solemn pieces. At the end of a rather serious interpretation of Adeste Fideles (O Come, All Ye Faithful), everyone paused, and Anthony stood up and walked to the center of the room.

"We, that is to say, all of us who are cousins by birth or marriage or in some other roundabout way, have managed to prepare something special for you older folks (some good-natured groans were heard here) and guests," he announced. "We have practiced very hard for this, and we sincerely hope you like it."

On signal, fourteen young gentlemen and ladies, and three children gathered behind Ophelia, with Anna squeezing through and sitting down beside her. The room fell quiet. Then, almost imperceptible notes from the pianoforte began to fill the room, and a voice like that of an angel's broke forth. It was Colin's.

"Silent night, Holy night..." he sang with much emotion.

Then, the ladies joined him, their voices sounding like a soft breeze. "All is calm, all is bright..."

"Round yon Virgin Mother and Child, Holy Infant so tender and mild..." The words reverberated as the gentlemen added their voices.

"Sleep in heavenly peace..." The voices were now distinctly lighter, as the gentlemen's voices faded away.

And now the ladies had stopped singing, and only Colin's sweet voice was left. "Sleep in heavenly peace."

The last soft notes of the song were heard, followed by a hushed silence. Then, from nowhere, Darcy began to clap his hands, and a thunderous applause followed. Colin grinned mischievously, quite pleased with himself. Ophelia looked self-important, while Anna blushed profusely. The rest of the family choir bowed and curtsied unashamedly.

When the applause subsided, Elizabeth took the floor, holding a big, black book in her hand. "I think we would all agree that that is the most moving rendition of Silent Night we have ever heard. It is then but fitting that we now hear the story that I am sure inspired that song."

She sat on the chair that Darcy had placed in the middle for her, and opened the book. Everyone crowded around; Colin even managed to sit at her feet, while Abigail supported him from the back. When everyone had settled down, Elizabeth started to read the Christmas Story from the book of Luke. Soon the whole group was transported to Bethlehem, with Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus, for Elizabeth was a gifted storyteller. Her manner was so unlike that of the local clergyman. No, indeed! She read with such energy (and even included in her narrative what she thought Mary and Joseph said to each other at that time), and her audience gazed at her with rapt attention, all except Colin. The poor boy was so tired from his exertions the whole day that no matter how hard he tried, he could no longer keep his eyes open. Oh, he so wanted to hear how frightened the shepherds were when dazzling angels appeared in the sky to announce the birth of the Messiah, and how wise men bearing gifts followed the star to the manger, but sleep overcame him. When the story ended, and everyone got up to leave, Abigail discovered that she could not stand. Colin had fallen asleep - in her arms.

"Let me take him."

Abigail heard a voice from above. It was Jonathan's.

"Yes, please. Thank you," said Abigail, for her legs were already numb from sitting down.

Jonathan carefully lifted Colin in his arms, while Abigail stood up unsteadily.

"We should take him to his room," whispered Abigail.

Jonathan nodded, and she led the way upstairs into Colin's bedroom. She opened the door, while Jonathan walked in and gently laid the boy on the bed. Then, he tucked him in with a tenderness that surprised Abigail. She kissed Colin gently on the forehead, stroking back a few stray wisps of hair. Then they both silently left, closing the door quietly behind them.

"Do you think he will be all right there, all alone?" asked Jonathan, a little worried.

"I am sure he will be. His mother's room is just next to him. Besides, do you not believe in guardian angels?" said Abigail with a twinkle in her eye.

Jonathan smiled at her tenderly. "I think tonight I do believe." He paused for a moment. "Miss Darcy, I - I want to thank you for inviting me this evening. This is the best Christmas Eve celebration I have ever been to. I almost wished it would never end."

"I am glad you had a good time. But there is still tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow."

They both headed down the stairs in time to see the Raineses off. After a good many farewells and goodnights, Jonathan also left for Ambercombie. Soon afterward, the Stewarts, the Hursts, and Miss Bingley departed for the Bondeville estate. Those who were left at Pemberley repaired to their respective rooms one-by-one. And by midnight, all of them were snug in their beds, dreaming of Christmas day.

Chapter Twenty-four - Christmas Day!

Posted on Friday, 10 May 2002

"He came! He really came!" The sound of Colin's shouts echoed throughout Pemberley as he ran up and down the hallway, waking up everyone in the great house. "He gave me lots of presents! He really d-umph."

Colin had rammed into Darcy and was thrown backwards to the floor with the impact. He looked up at the bedraggled gentleman in his nightclothes and fear gripped him.

"I - I am so sorry, sir," Colin said in a more subdued tone, as he gazed into the serious face of the master of Pemberley.

"So, he did come, did he?" asked Darcy, a little gruffly.

"Y-yes, sir, he did, sir."

"Well, come boy," said Darcy helping the frightened boy up. "Do not sit there. Go and open the presents that Father Christmas gave you."

Colin looked extremely surprised and relieved. "Yes, sir!" he shouted, regaining his lost exuberance, and ran downstairs.

Elizabeth, who had heard the whole conversation, hugged her husband from behind. "Good morning, Father Christmas."

"I think, Elizabeth, that I have grown a little old for this," said Darcy wearily. "Getting up in the middle of the cold night to fill stockings, only to be awakened far too early in the morning by overexcited children."

"But you do such a good job, sir. You are irreplaceable," said Elizabeth.

Darcy turned to his wife. "And so are you. Merry Christmas." He gave her a lingering kiss.

"Too old did you say?" asked Elizabeth, after they parted. "I daresay, no indeed!" And she was once more silenced with a kiss.

By this time the rest of the household was fully awake, eager to greet the morning. A flurry of activities followed as the children emptied their stockings and scattered wrapping paper all over the place, and the adults hurriedly prepared for church while shouting yuletide greetings to each other. Breakfast was a quick affair, and soon afterwards, everyone was bundled up and ready for the walk to church.

The whole party trooped outside into the cold and bright morning. The sun was slowly coming out from behind the hills, tingeing the sky with a pink glow. Fresh snow had fallen during the night, covering the ground with an impeccable white blanket, only to be tarnished by more than two-dozen pairs of feet trampling through it. A few minutes later, the Pemberley party was joined by the Bondeville group, and together they made their exodus through the winter wilderness.

Abigail, dressed in her best Sunday frock, looked furtively towards Ambercombie Manor with a worried expression on her face. Her heart sank. The estate looked deserted and there was no sign of Jonathan anywhere. She sighed softly.

"Do not worry, he will come," said a confident voice beside her.

Abigail turned and saw Victoria grinning at her mischievously. "I do not know what you are talking about," she lied, looking embarrassed.

"Oh, of course," teased Victoria. "I am sure you do not care one bit if the master of Ambercombie does not make it to church on Christmas day."

"Well, why should I care?" demanded Abigail, a little irritated.

"Hmmm," purred Victoria. "And why should you, indeed? Oh, I do not know, dear cousin. Perhaps because he looks at you a great deal, or perhaps because be pays you a little bit more attention than he does the rest of us. But I suppose the best reason would be because you like him."

"Victoria!" protested Abigail. "I do not know where you get such ideas! It is not my business to care if he does not come to ch - what is the matter?"

Victoria was looking right behind her with a horrified expression on her face. She whirled around and found herself looking into Jonathan's steel blue eyes. Warm blood coursed through her veins as she blushed to roots of her dark auburn curls.

"Merry Christmas," greeted Jonathan gravely.

"I - I, Merry Christmas," returned Abigail weakly.

"Merry Christmas," said Victoria, recovering quickly. "If you will please excuse me, I think Chris - I mean, Mr. Bingley is looking for me."

Victoria ran ahead of them, and they walked together in uncomfortable silence. Abigail listened to the crunch of their footsteps while gathering up the courage to say something, at the same time blaming Victoria for her mischief, and berating herself for her indiscretion.

"Mr. St. Vincent," said Abigail finally. "I am really glad you came."

"Really?" The expression on Jonathan's face confirmed Abigail's suspicion that he had overheard her.

"Yes, really," she said sincerely, turning redder still, if that was at all possible.

Jonathan stared at her for a moment. Then he smiled at her, and the uncomfortable silence was lifted. By the time they had reached the church, they were on amiable terms again.

The church was a large, old gray structure, and by the time the service started, it was packed to the brim. The clergyman was an old, balding man, whose tall stature and venerable appearance elicited respect and awe from his parishioners. He usually delivered his sermon in a dry monotone, but today, a wave of energy seemed to sweep over him and he preached with more vigor than he had in the past fifteen years. He also appeared ten years younger. After the service, however, Abigail noticed with disappointment that he had regained the ten years back. She knew then that the next Sunday's sermon would be as dull as it always had been.

As the group, which now included the Raineses, walked back to Pemberley, the excitement mounted. The conversations grew more animated. The children became more restless. Geoffrey and Daniel started pelting each other with snowballs as they walked along. Unfortunately, some of the snowballs would go astray and hit unsuspecting victims. Those victims would then retaliate, and soon a full-scale fight had erupted, and by the time they reached Pemberley, most of them were wet, cold, and disheveled.

The warmth that welcomed them when they entered the great house drew out audible sighs of relief, but the sight that greeted them in the dining room elicited expressions of awe and delight. The bountiful repast they had partaken of the night before was nothing compared to the magnificent feast that lay before them. All three tables (including the small one in the corner) were laden with mashed potatoes, thick gravy, mince pies, berry pies, traditional plum pudding, oranges, apples, cherries, grapes, and bowls of punch. And in the middle of each lay a stuffed turkey, roasted to a golden brown and garnished all around with chives, onions, carrots, celery, and radishes, and surrounded by small bowls of cranberry sauce.

They all felt hungry all of a sudden, and as soon as grace was said, they heaped their plates full of the Christmas feast. Most of them overfed themselves, and a little later, groans of satisfaction were heard from the tables, which delighted Cook, who was watching from the dining room's entryway, to no end. She kept on beaming and nodding as compliments were heaped upon her. When all of them had eaten their fill, they rose from their tables (with much difficulty), and proceeded to the drawing room.

In a matter of minutes, a slight but noticeable change occurred in the room. Suddenly it was filled with packages of different sizes, wrapped in colorful paper, and tied with ribbons of various colors. An excited chatter filled the room. The children could barely contain themselves, and even the adults were gazing at the packages with anticipation. Abigail dragged her red sack of presents to the center of the room, and ordered the rest of the group to deposit the presents they had brought at her feet. When this was accomplished, she started picking up each gift and reading off the names on the cards.

"To Lizzy from Jane," she read aloud, handing a silver package to her mother, who in turn smiled gratefully at her favorite sister. "To Edward from Isabelle; to Daniel from Anna; to Joseph from Papa and Mama; to Henry from the Bingleys; to Fitzwilliam from Elizabeth..." She handed off each package as ooohs and aaahs were heard immediately after the sound of ripping paper. Soon the pile of gifts was gradually dwindling, while the mound of wrapping paper was quickly mounting. Then she came to a large package wrapped in green paper. "To Jonathan from Anthony," she announced.

Jonathan looked surprised, Anthony looked pleased, and everyone looked envious when Jonathan held up a new saddle for Lightning. Jonathan nodded at Anthony, and Anthony seemed to interpret this as a sign of gratitude for he grinned at him. Amazed and relieved at her brother's thoughtfulness, Abigail decided not to give her present to Jonathan. After all, she argued in her head, he already has one. She then opened her red sack and started handing out the presents she had brought. When the only package that was left was the one wrapped in gold and tied with a red ribbon, she folded the sack around the package, and continued to hand out the rest of the presents.

At this point, Darcy stood up, carrying a large, white sack of gifts, and walked over to the entryway where the staff of Pemberley and Ambercombie had gathered, watching the whole clan exchange presents. Elizabeth followed him, and they started handing out packages to each one of them, thanking them for their faithful service. They all beamed at the couple. One little girl, the daughter of Cook, could not help herself and hugged one of Darcy's legs. Her mother had to pry her away from the embarrassed master, while Elizabeth watched them with amusement.

After all the gifts had been handed out, ripped open, admired, and put away, and the last piece of wrapping paper was tossed in the garbage bin, they all looked at each other with huge grins on their faces. A deafening shout went up. "Skatefest!" they all yelled.

Everyone headed outside, and Abigail was one of the few who were last to leave. As she stepped out into the hallway, holding a few gifts in her arms, she saw Jonathan give a small package to Anthony. She walked along the hallway and up the stairs to deposit her gifts in her room, but she had not gone halfway up the staircase when she heard someone call her.

"Miss Darcy!" called Jonathan, carrying a large package wrapped in regular brown paper and tied with a string. He ran up the stairs to where she was and handed her the package. "This is for you. It is not much, but I hope you like it."

Abigail set down her gifts on one of the steps and took the package, coloring deeply. "Thank you," she said in a small voice. She untied the string, and tore off the wrapping. She gasped. It was a painting of her, sitting on her log at Pembercombie Hill. "This is amazing!" she whispered, looking at the painting in awe. "Did you paint this?"

Jonathan looked a little embarrassed. "Yes, I did. I am not a professional, of course..." his voice trailed off, and he flushed.

"It is beautifully done," she said softly. She looked up and saw Jonathan staring intently at her.

"Miss Darcy, I..."

"I have a present for you, too," Abigail said sheepishly. She carefully propped up the painting against the wall, and opened her red sack. "Here," she said, holding out the gold package in her hand. "I meant to give this to you a while ago, but well ... Anyway, I do not know if..."

Jonathan opened the gold package. Inside was a book - Shakespeare's Sonnets. He smiled. "I have always wanted to have this in my library."

Abigail looked at him skeptically. "You are just saying that so you would not to offend me."

"No, of course not. I like Shakespeare."

"Do you indeed?" asked Abigail, still doubtful. "If you are, I must admit I am surprised."

Jonathan looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Because you do not believe in love, and Shakespeare did."

He grinned. "So, is this why you are giving this to me? Ah, but it is one of the reasons I am intrigued by him. I read his writing to find out why he is a believer. He is quite convincing."

"But are you convinced?"

Jonathan replied softly, "If ever I am, it is not because of him, no matter how well he writes."

Abigail blushed once more. "I will see you outside then. Thank you for the painting."

"And thank you for Shakespeare," said Jonathan, holding up the book.

Abigail watched him stroll down the steps and out the entrance, and realized that she had been holding her breath until then. She put all her other presents in the red sack, flung it over her shoulder, picked up the painting and went up to her room.

Once in her room, she propped the painting on top of her dresser and gazed at it for a few minutes. He actually painted her! What could it mean? She turned and looked out the window, and saw the object of her thoughts making his way to the pond, clutching his skates with one hand. "It cannot be," said Abigail, shaking her head sadly, "for he does not believe in love."

Chapter Twenty-five - Skatefest

Posted on Sunday, 19 May 2002

Jonathan strolled slowly toward the frozen lake, glancing back to see if Abigail was following behind him, but she was nowhere to be seen. He trudged on disappointedly, consoling himself instead with the memory of her face when she received the painting. She looked so beautiful then. But why should he be disappointed? Why should he find the need to console himself? Surely he was above the charms of a pretty lady?

"But she is more than a pretty lady," he muttered resignedly to himself.

As he walked on, the lake came into view, and from a distance he saw Darcy and Elizabeth engaged in an intimate conversation. The sight of them gave him an unexpected jolt. He felt as if he had awoken from a dream and suddenly remembered where he was. Guilt washed over him as he realized that he was slowly straying away from his purpose. He renewed his resolve once more.

"No, I shall think of her no more. She is but an instrument to my goal - nothing more. An instrument, that is all."

He quickened his steps into a brisk walk, as if by doing so he could flee the thoughts that threatened to overpower his will. I have to find my past, he thought determinedly, I have to. By this time, he had reached the frozen lake, where everyone had gathered. The ice that now covered it was much thicker compared to the thin sheet of glassy surface that coated it more than three weeks before. Anthony, Joseph, and Brian were already skating effortlessly on the ice. Joyful shouts and merry laughter echoed as more and more people joined them. He felt a pang of envy as he watched them. They all looked so happy.

"Come on, St. Vincent!" yelled Anthony, as he glided across the lake. "What are you waiting for? It is wonderful out here!"

Jonathan raised his skates in the air to show Anthony that he was about to put them on. He hurried toward a fallen log, a little distance away from the lake, and sat on it. Behind him was a small cluster of leafless trees. And as he bent down to put on one of his skates, he realized he was not alone. From behind the trees, he heard voices. One was Bernadette's and the other was the voice of a man who sounded vaguely familiar. His curiosity got the better of him, and he glanced furtively to find out who it was. Since the trees were bereft of any foliage, they could not effectively conceal who the gentleman was. It was Henry.

"...wished you would not be so upset," Bernadette was saying.

"When did he ask you?" said Henry, obviously agitated.

"Last night. It happened so quickly, I barely had time to think."

"So you regret it?" Henry sounded hopeful.

"Oh, no! I do not regret it!" exclaimed Bernadette hastily. "Oh please, Henry, do not make this difficult for me."

"I am trying my best..." came the forced reply.

"Oh, Henry!" cried Bernadette.

"How could you, Bernadette?" accused Henry. "You used to hate him so! Did he not tease you mercilessly when we were little? Did he not pull your hair and throw you into the lake? I had to jump in and save you! Or have you forgotten?"

"I have not forgotten..."

"You always came to me for help and comfort. And now, I am nothing to you," he said disconsolately. "I know I cannot give you what Anthony can. I am not an heir to any fortune. But I never thought you would be the kind to marry for money."

"That is not true!" protested Bernadette vehemently. "You know it is not. I love Anthony, I really do. Why can you not see that? He is a good man, though he was a mischievous boy. In all those years he picked on me he never did anything to hurt me. And now, he is nothing but a gentleman."

"You could have drowned! He would not have you now, if you did!" cried Henry in a final effort to dissuade her.

"I owe you my life, Henry. You will always be special to me," said Bernadette in a gentler tone, "but did you really think Anthony would have left me to die? Besides the water was quite shallow. It was just a childish prank."

"I do not know," replied Henry, sounding defeated.

"We must go," said Bernadette. "The others will be looking for us."

The snapping of twigs indicated to Jonathan that they were heading his way. He bent down once more and began to tie the leather straps of his skates to his boots. He heard the crunch of footsteps, and when he looked up, he saw Bernadette and Henry walking in the direction of the lake. They spotted him, however, and looked at him guiltily.

"Hello, Mr. St. Vincent. I did not know you were in the area," said Bernadette.

"I was just putting on my skates," said Jonathan nonchalantly, affecting innocence.

"Well, I hope to see you on the ice soon," said Bernadette. She smiled nervously, and she and Henry continued on their way.

Jonathan ruminated on what he had just overheard. He had gleaned three pieces of information from it: first, that Anthony had proposed to Bernadette and she had accepted, second that Henry loved Bernadette, and third but most importantly, that Henry did not love Abigail. The last piece of information relieved Jonathan greatly, and he set forth toward the lake in great spirits, forgetting that entertaining such feelings was against his earlier resolve. When he reached the lake, he saw Abigail already skating by herself, near the edge.

He glided over to her. "Do you mind if I join you?" he asked.

Abigail smiled, and he almost lost his balance. "Of course not, Mr. St. Vincent."

Together, they circled around the lake. At one point, Abigail almost tripped on her skirt, and had to grab Jonathan's arm to keep herself from falling. Jonathan relished the incident, for it gave him the opportunity to hold her close even for just a moment. They had only done one turn around the lake, however, when Richard announced that the individual race was about to begin.

The nine who dared to join were Anthony, Henry, Joseph, Brian, Eric, Daniel, Geoffrey, Christopher, and Jonathan. They all skated to the starting mark, and were instructed by Richard that all they had to do was skate to the other side of the lake and back as fast as they could. They all nodded, grinning nervously as they took their places.

"On your mark..." bellowed Richard, "get set...GO!"

They all took off in an instant. The crowd roared wildly - cheering, chanting, shouting, and clapping. Jonathan skated rapidly, his skates swishing underneath him as he found his rhythm: left, right, left, right, left right. His skates slashed through the ice marring the once smooth surface. He bent forward, swinging his arms in an effort to propel himself onward at an even greater speed. The rush of cold wind in his face exhilarated him. Soon, the roar of the crowd grew gradually distant until all he could hear was the whistle of the wind whipping in his ears. When he neared the edge of the lake, he prepared to turn. He slowed down a little and managed to turn around without stopping. He recovered his speed quickly, and was soon hurtling toward the goal at a frantic pace. Left, right, left, right, left, right. His skates clicked rapidly against the ice.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Anthony edging away from the group, with Henry close behind. As Jonathan passed the midpoint, the noise from the crowd grew louder and louder. Anthony was now visibly ahead of the group, but Henry was furiously trying to catch up. Jonathan was only a striking distance from Henry, but on his right, Brian was fast gaining on him. Soon Brian was beside him. Then Brian overtook him.

Jonathan furrowed his brows, his blue eyes full of determination. Fatigue was taking over, but there was no room for weakness. He increased his pace, raced past Brian, and increased the gap between them. Unfortunately, Henry was getting away. Then, from amidst the crowd, he saw Abigail, right in front, waving her arms in excitement and shouting what he imagined was his name. Suddenly, he felt warm all over. A renewed energy flowed through his tired legs. He burst forth in an amazing display of speed and agility, tearing towards the finish line.

But he was half a second too late. Anthony had already crossed the finish line, followed by Henry. The noise from the crowd was deafening. Everyone ran forward toward Anthony, congratulating him, while Henry watched sullenly from behind. Jonathan found himself squeezed tightly between the two of them. When the crowd finally gave them room to breathe, he saw Bernadette and Abigail walking toward them.

"Oh, Anthony," cried Bernadette, unconsciously addressing him by his first name. "You were wonderful!"

Anthony positively beamed, but Henry scowled.

"And you were wonderful, too, Henry," she said.

It was now Anthony's turn to scowl. Henry only smiled weakly.

"You were great, brother, and you, too, cousin," said Abigail.

But what about me? thought Jonathan dejectedly. Was I not great, too? Do I not even merit any form of acknowledgement?

"Mr. St. Vincent, you certainly gave them both a scare," concluded Bernadette, but this compliment did not make Jonathan feel a great deal better.

"Thank you, Miss Raines, you are very generous," he replied.

"But I must agree, sir," said Abigail. "I thought you were marvelous!"

He flushed, unable to mask his delight. She thought I was marvelous! thought Jonathan ecstatically. Once more, the same warm feeling enveloped him. It was the happiest moment of his life.

What followed after that remained foggy in Jonathan's memory. He remembered skating the relay with Anthony, Christopher, and Daniel as his partners, but that was about the extent of it. He could not even remember whether they won or not. He dimly recalled watching the children sled down the hill, and helping Colin build a snowman, but the details were unclear in is mind. Only one incident stood out in the mist that shrouded his consciousness.

Right after Abigail said he was marvelous, Kitty came over to congratulate her nephews. And when she saw him, she said to him in awe, "Your resemblance to your father is amazing! When I saw you last night, I could hardly believe my eyes. It was like seeing James, I mean, your father, all over again. I wonder how Lizzy can bear it."

"Lizzy?" asked Jonathan, puzzled.

"Lizzy, yes. I suppose she would be Mrs. Darcy to you." Kitty smiled at him. "Your father was a good man. We do not know what happened. He and Lizzy were so -"

A loud shriek interrupted her. It was Caroline Bingley. Apparently, Colin tried to skate close to the edge where Caroline was standing, and lost his balance. In an effort to save himself, he grabbed her skirt, pulling her into the slippery ice with him. They both slid ten feet on their backs before stopping near the feet of Darcy. A few repressed laughs escaped from the crowd, while Darcy helped the red-faced Caroline to her feet. Meanwhile, Kitty had already charged through the crowd and rescued Colin from Caroline's wrath.

The interruption frustrated Jonathan - but only for a moment. He stole one look at Abigail, who was trying to hide a smile, and suddenly his frustration vanished. At that instant, his past did not seem as important as it once had been. It did not matter anymore. He no longer cared. All he could think of was his future - and he saw his future in Abigail.

The afternoon soon ended, and they all trooped back once more to the great house, where cups of hot chocolate awaited them. Jonathan stood by one of the windows in the drawing room, thinking how wonderful it would be to have a family, to have friends, to have someone to spend the rest of his life with, when Abigail joined him and offered him a cup of hot chocolate.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, warming his hands with it. He watched Abigail take a sip from her own cup, and marveled at how happy he felt when she was near him. "Miss Darcy, perhaps you could show me the wreath you made."

Abigail looked pleased, coloring slightly. "Why, of course, I would be delighted to."

She led the way to the other side of the room, and Jonathan followed her, holding his cup in one hand, and instinctively placing the other in his coat pocket. He pulled Shakespeare's Sonnets halfway out of his pocket, and smiled. "I believe," he whispered.

Chapter Twenty-six - The Second Proposal

Posted on Saturday, 25 May 2002

It was already the third week of January, and any trace of the festivities that had taken place at Pemberley during the holidays had long faded away. All the decorations had been taken down; all the guests had left. Pemberley was once more in a state of quiet grandeur.

From the window of her bedroom, Abigail watched the snowflakes drift slowly to the ground, reflecting upon two events that would affect her life considerably. The first one was Anthony and Bernadette's engagement, which had been announced on New Year's Eve, much to the delight of everyone, except Henry, who was still suffering from a broken heart. To Abigail, the announcement was joyful news, for Bernadette was her good friend and nothing could make her happier than to have her as a sister as well.

The second event, however, was not as joyful to her, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise. It was Victoria's impending marriage to Christopher two weeks hence. Although she was happy for both of them, the thought of losing her dearest cousin's constant company pained her deeply, and the fact that Victoria was moving only thirty miles away from her did little to alleviate her pain.

With both her friends about to enter the state of matrimony, a vague sense of loneliness overcame her, for she knew that things would never be the same between the three of them. Their husbands would replace her as their closest confidantes, and she would be left alone to fend for herself.

While these thoughts occupied her, a knock on the door startled her into awareness, and it took her a moment to answer the door. When she did, she saw the housekeeper standing before her.

"Miss Abigail, I am sorry to disturb you, but there is someone here to see you," said the housekeeper.

"Who could it be? Victoria? Bernadette?" asked Abigail, mentioning the two people who were uppermost in her mind.

"No, miss. It is a gentleman - Mr. St. Vincent."

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise. She had not seen or heard from Jonathan since New Year's Day. Nonetheless, the news delighted her. "Please tell him I shall be with him in a few minutes, thank you."

The housekeeper nodded, then left. Abigail closed the door, and leaned against it. He is here! she thought nervously, and wondered what purpose Jonathan could have in visiting her. She quickly changed into a more flattering gown, and afterwards, felt ashamed of herself for doing so. With a hasty glance at the mirror, she went downstairs to meet her visitor.

"Good afternoon, Mr. St. Vincent," said Abigail after she entered the room, noticing that Jonathan looked pale and nervous.

He stood up immediately and bowed. "Good afternoon, Miss Darcy," he said. "I hope I find you well today."

"Yes, I am well, thank you," replied Abigail, sitting down on one of the settees.

Jonathan sat down on another, opposite her. "And your family?"

Abigail smiled at him. "They are all very well, sir."

They lapsed into silence, and Abigail took the opportunity of observing her guest. As usual, his blue eyes gave away nothing, but the pallor of his skin and the manner with which he ran his fingers through his hair several times suggested great anxiety.

Could he be in trouble? she wondered to herself. If so, did he come to seek my help? But why me, of all people? Why not Papa instead?

As if reading her thoughts, Jonathan finally spoke, but not in the confident, unconcerned manner he usually affected. His voice was unsure, and he appeared to be groping for words to say.

"Miss Darcy," he said, "I know you are wondering why I have come to call on you, and when I do tell you, I know you will wonder still."

Abigail was relieved that Jonathan had broken the silence, and with great anticipation, waited for him to continue.

"Even I am surprised at myself, that I should even think of it at this time in my life, when nothing is clear and everything is uncertain. But I have given it a great deal of thought. I assure you, this is not a rash decision."

Abigail was both curious and bewildered. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I am afraid I do not understand."

Jonathan looked flustered, and some color returned to his cheeks. "What I mean to say is that I - I have decided to - to settle down."

"Settle down?" repeated Abigail, astonished at this declaration. Then it dawned on her. Could this be a proposal? she wondered, and hope arose in her heart.

"Yes..." Jonathan stood up and walked to the window, running his fingers through his hair once more. "I mean, I do not know how..." His voice trailed off, and he looked at her intently for a moment. "Miss Darcy, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Abigail stared at him, not knowing what to say. The abruptness with which Jonathan posed the question surprised her. She had expected much more than a simple proposal of marriage. She had expected a declaration of deep love and affection from him, an avowal of his passion and high regard for her. But none seemed forthcoming. Still, she waited for him to continue, hoping for some expression of his feelings for her.

Jonathan, however, seemed to be waiting for an answer, and when Abigail remained silent, he said, "I assure you, I will be able to provide well for you. You will in no way surrender any comfort or luxury that you are currently enjoying at Pemberley."

Abigail finally found her voice, and answered with much difficulty. "Money is the least of my concerns, sir. I am sure my father will provide a generous enough dowry to support my wants and whims. Your reasons for asking my hand are what concern me more. If I may ask you, sir, what motives have driven you to such a proposal?"

Jonathan looked confused at the question. "As I said earlier, I long to settle down, build a home, and have a family. Surely those are good reasons for marrying."

"Yes, they are, but - but are they the only reasons you have for marriage? To have a family, to produce an heir?" asked Abigail, her hope dissipating.

Jonathan turned pale once more. "Some people marry for money, for status and fame, for convenience. But I am not one of them. My motives are honorable, Miss Darcy. Surely you can see that. Is a desire to have a wife and children an insufficient reason for marrying? Is a wish to settle down an inadequate motive? What other reasons can there be?"

Love, thought Abigail bitterly, as her hope ebbed away and her disappointment flowed in. He did not love her. He never did. She should not have even hoped, knowing he did not believe in love. She felt angry, frustrated, and humiliated. How could she have been silly enough to believe herself in love with him? How could she have cared for a heartless, indifferent man such as he, whose thoughts on the advantages of marriage were all but romantic? She fought back the tears that were already threatening to flow, and said as convincingly as she could, "Mr. St. Vincent, I know you think that these are sufficient reasons for marrying. I must admit, they are honorable, but they are not enough for me. We are of different opinions in this matter. I believe that love is an essential part of marriage."

Jonathan looked too shock to speak. He stared at Abigail with utter disbelief.

Abigail went on courageously. "I cannot accept your proposal, sir. I am sincerely sorry for any pain I may cause you, but I cannot marry a man who does not love me." She paused to give him one last chance to disagree with her.

But Jonathan appeared stunned and did not seem inclined to speak.

When Jonathan offered no protest to her statement, Abigail continued, this time in a softer voice, "And I cannot marry a man whom I did not love." Her voice quivered as she said this, and she bit her lip afterwards to prevent herself from crying.

Jonathan stared at Abigail for a moment, then ran his fingers through his hair dejectedly. In a hurt voice, he said, "I see. Of course, I shall not force my wishes upon you. I thank you for your time." He walked towards the center table, picked up his hat and headed to the entryway. Before he stepped out, however, he stopped and turned to Abigail. "Miss Darcy, I am grateful for your honesty. I can understand your certainty in declaring what your feelings are for me. I only wish you were not as certain in declaring what mine are for you." He nodded at her, and left.

As soon as he was out of sight, tears flowed freely on Abigail's cheeks. She was hurt and confused, angry and sad. She loved him; she hated him. She cried for a full quarter of an hour. And when she had sufficiently recovered to recall in her mind the conversation they just had, she felt deeply grieved. His silence! Abominable silence! If only he had told her that he did not love her, then she would not doubt the validity of her actions. His last statement - what could he mean by it? Did he love her? Did he despise her? If he loved her before, surely he despises her now. Oh, the agony of it all!

She felt that there was nothing else that could make her more miserable, but fate thought otherwise. As Abigail wiped away the fresh tears that had fallen, another caller came to see her. It was none other than Mr. Borden, whose impeccable timing cannot be faulted.

Mr. Borden strode into the room, bowed with great dignity and greeted her. Abigail curtsied half-heartedly, feeling worse than she had imagined possible. Both of them sat down, opposite each other, and Abigail began to find a way to excuse herself from his company.

"Mr. Borden, I appreciate your calling on me today, but I am not..."

"Miss Darcy, I must speak to you, indeed, I must."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I am feeling un-"

"It is matter of great importance. It is regarding my offer of marriage to you."

Abigail's heart sank. Oh, no! she thought wretchedly. What sin have I committed that I should merit such punishment?

Mr. Borden seemed oblivious to the expression of disgust on Abigail's face. "I have spoken to your father and he has agreed to give his blessing to our union if I can convince you to marry me. And I can see no reason why I cannot. We are both sensible here."

"Sir, please, I am sorry, but I feel unwell today. Can we not discuss this some other time? I am not at all sensible at present. In fact, I am quite the opposite," said Abigail, managing at last to complete a few sentences without being interrupted.

"Perhaps you should take some tea," said Mr. Borden. "I am sure you will feel immediately better. Then we can discuss the details of our wedding."

"The details of our wedding!" cried Abigail, unable to control herself. "Sir, you are quite presumptuous, do you not think? After I had rejected your offer of marriage, I am astonished that we should even have a wedding!"

Mr. Borden looked affronted. "Your rejection was hastily given, Miss Darcy. But no matter. I see that you are unwell. It would be difficult for me to reason with you when you are in this state. But I will request an audience with you as soon as possible."

Abigail sighed. "Good day, Mr. Borden."

Mr. Borden stood up, bowed stiffly, and walked out, obviously in bitter spirits. Abigail ran up to her room lest another suitor should call on her and make her an offer of marriage. She slammed the door and buried her head in a pillow and sobbed uncontrollably. It was a truly wretched day.

Continued In Next Section