Christmas at Pemberley

Part 16

Daniel still hadn't quite adjusted to eating breakfast alone. Even at home, their meals were rarely conducted in anything other than stilted silence, but it was still slightly preferable to sitting alone at an otherwise-empty dining table.

His recollection brought to mind the previous evening, and he smiled a little as he lifted his fork to his mouth. He had enjoyed the evening far more than he had expected to. Far more than he had begun to, in fact. The meal itself had been somewhat less than enjoyable, but that was more than made up for by the privilege of dancing with Miss Georgiana Darcy.

Even the thought of her name made his heart lift. How could he have ever thought of her as frivolous? In the course of one evening - less, truly, for they had spent the first half of the night alternately ignoring and being ignored by one another - she had completely turned his opinion of her on its head, and left him marvelling at his own stupidity.

And we will be afforded the chance to work together again soon, he thought, returning to her idea of putting together a short Christmas concert with the children of the village. When the idea was first put to him his abject lack of enthusiasm had certainly done little to win her over. He groaned, now, recalling the scathing glance she had sent his way. It had taken a certain amount of grovelling and explanation to justify what had been fairly unjustifiable. Fortunately, Georgiana Darcy seemed more understanding than he had ever dared to credit her, for she accepted his faltering invitation to dance and then permitted him an opportunity to apologise. He had asked her a question or two of his own about her plans for the concert and that had been all it took to coax her into speaking. He had fallen silent, allowing her to talk freely and was delighted by the way her features lifted and fell as she spoke. Her words had encouraged his own and too soon the dance drew to its conclusion, but they continued speaking as if scarcely aware of the opportunity to part.

...I assure you, Mr Lambert, you cannot imagine the trials one bears living alongside one's elder brother!" Georgiana had remarked, fanning her flushed cheeks with one hand and darting a mischievous glance over one shoulder to reassure herself she had not been overheard by the brother in question.

"I assure you, Miss Darcy," Daniel had replied, reflecting her own words back to her. "I remember it all too well."

He had stopped speaking, then, surprised at his own candour. He had not intended to mention his brother, nor had Robert even been in the periphery of his mind. What was it about speaking to Georgiana Darcy that made him so utterly prone to forget himself and lose all sense?

Georgiana had turned to him, then, her eyes widening in surprise and curiosity.

"Oh, do you have a brother?"

"I do." He had paused, taken a breath, told the truth. "I do, indeed. The truth is..."

But he had never been permitted to say any more, for Georgiana's own brother had swept over to them, demanding a dance with his sister if she had decided she did not care to play for them any longer. Daniel was only too pleased to stand aside, although he was disappointed to lose her companionship, and he faded from the group of dancers to the edge of the room, averting his gaze from the interests of more than one young lady silently pleading with him to invite her. He was not a greatly skilled dancer, although he had made the effort in order to set things right with Georgiana. She was gracious not to tease him for the numerous missteps he made, and he was in no hurry to exhibit his poor skill a second time.

He turned his attention back to his breakfast, humming a bar or two of the same piece of music that would persist in echoing through his mind, affording him another reminder of the happy note the evening had ended on, so different to how it began.

"Your post, Mr Lambert."

He was not well-staffed with servants, but his housekeeper comported herself admirably and always seemed to spare a cheery word or a smile for him. She was a broad, motherly figure and he made a special effort to thank her for her attention to his needs, taking the small clutch of letters she held out and sifting through them with an expert eye.

If I had been told that life in the clergy would consist of writing quite so many letters I am not convinced I would have believed them!

It was no great tragedy to him that it did, although he rarely found ample time to reply to his numerous correspondents in the manner he would wish to. That morning, however, he slipped an envelope from in between its neighbours and examined the familiar hand. It was softer than his father's, but the feeling was the same. This was his Mama, surely, writing to him in honour of the season. He pocketed the note, promising himself he would read it later, when he was of a mind to concentrate more fully. Whilst he and his father communicated through silences, Mama still endeavoured to stay in touch with her son, even if that meant contact must be upheld via letter rather than in person.

A fleeting thought assailed him: ought he to invite his parents here? It was late to change their plans, now, and undoubtedly his father would be reluctant to miss the social whirl of Christmas in town, particularly if it meant sacrificing London for sleepy Derbyshire. He glanced around his house, outfitted in a way that matched the simple, un-fussy clergy and decided against the invitation. Neither of his parents would find much to admire in sobriety and simplicity, and he was already out on a limb making his pastoral debut at Christmas, without the added strain of preaching to a crowd that included his ever-critical parents.

Snatching up his belongings, he made his way towards the door and out into the street, blinking in the bright morning sun, his mood a little rattled and the letter from his mother still pressing on his mind.