Carolyn Eberhart - A Darcy Christmas

“My goodness, such high drama. Wonder where you two inherit your theatrical tendencies from?” She glanced sidelong at her husband, who grinned and blushed. “You can go ahead to the dining room. I am sure others are there and will assist, although apparently you have supreme dominion of the entire Manor. We shall be along shortly. And don’t even think it, you two,” she sternly interrupted with their mouths half open for an objection, “presents are never opened until after church. You may as well accept it.”

They frowned for approximately two seconds until Alexander nudged and reminded of Mrs. Langton’s famous Christmas breakfast pastries. Significantly cheered by that news, fresh hugs and kisses were administered before they clamored off the high bed and exited the room with as much noise and energy as when they entered.

“‘The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming fireplace, to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which was an enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume of light and heat: this I understood was the Yule clog, which the squire was particular in having brought in and illumined on a Christmas eve, according to an ancient custom. Herrick mentions it in one of his songs:

“Why does he call it a ‘clog,’ Papa?”

Darcy paused in his reading and smiled at his eldest daughter. “It is an older term for a large, heavy piece of wood, Noella. Not so commonly used today, but one of the reasons I adore Mr. Irving and encourage you to read him is his command of our language.”

Michael snorted, muttering disdainfully, “Everyone knows what a clog is.”

Noella flared, piercing her brother with a withering glare. “I bet you did not know it! You are more stupid than me!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Children,” Darcy interrupted the familiar exchange with his patented tone: calm and quiet but with a firm edge that clearly conveyed the penalty for disobeying. “You will refrain and hold your tongues. It is Christmas Eve and we will have a lovely family time. Understood?”

“Yes, Papa,” they intoned meekly, ducking their heads. Darcy, however, knew his children well and did not miss the smirk on Michael’s lips or the elbow nudge Noella gave her brother.

Neither did Alexander. “Bets on how long peace reigns?”

He spoke in French, his father responding in the same language, “Five minutes? Ten?”

“Ten what?” Michael asked.

“If you attended to your French lessons then you would know more than merely counting to ten,” Darcy answered in English, reaching to pinch his second son’s nose.

“I can count to more than that,” he countered churlishly. And then he brightened, turning his crooked grin upon Alexander. “You win in languages, brother, but I can still wrestle you to the ground in seconds.”

Alexander shrugged, unconcerned. Nor did he deny it since it was the truth. Alexander was nearly two years older than his brother and a foot taller, having inherited his father’s stature, but Michael was brawny and incredibly strong. Lizzy lovingly referred to him as her bear. Noella said he resembled a block, always following the slur with a comment comparing his intellect to a stone. Practically from the moment Noella could talk the two had grated on each other’s nerves. Yet underneath the incessant pestering and insults, the two Darcy children closest in age were deeply devoted to each other. Of course, they would deny the affection vociferously! Nevertheless, denials aside, the fact that they clearly enjoyed the bantering and baiting and were forever together revealed the truth.

Such as now.

Michael and Noella sat cross-legged next to each other, their shoulders and knees touching. The family congregated in their parents’ bedchamber, the enormous bed large enough to accommodate all seven of them with ample space to sprawl out. Yet Michael and Noella chose a position next to their father’s long legs, bodies brushing together as they proceeded to irritate each other.

The family held a tradition started upon Michael’s first Christmas Eve. Alexander joined them in their bedchamber while Lizzy nursed Michael, Darcy cuddling his two-year-old son against his chest and opening a book to read a story. Naturally, given the date, he chose the Bible and a collection of Robert Herrick’s Christmas poems. Both boys fell asleep to the comforting sound of Lizzy humming carols and Darcy reading poetry, neither parent having the heart to return them to the nursery. The special interlude of holiday celebrating was unplanned but thoroughly enjoyed, the perfect memory of Christmas Eve play and storytelling thus becoming a tradition.

The addition of more children only enhanced the delight, so the once-a-year event continued. Following a lavish dinner and entertainment with carols in the parlor with whatever guests were dwelling at Pemberley, they dressed in sleeping attire and reclined upon their parents’ enormous bed in the fire-heated chamber while Darcy read a collection of Christmas themed stories. Songs were sung, prayers were recited, and upon occasion, everyone slept in the room rather than returning to their own chambers.

The story choices varied year to year, but always concluded with a Bible reading of Christ’s birth. This year Darcy chose the writings of Washington Irving from The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon. After disappointing Michael and Noella by refusing to read the tale of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow, he began with “Christmas Eve” and had not gotten far when the first of what would probably be several sparring interruptions had occurred to discuss the origins of clog.

Lizzy laughed from her comfortable location leaning against Darcy, propped on a large goose-down pillow and holding the youngest Darcy asleep on her chest. She met her husband’s eyes and smiled, and then she winked at her eldest son. It certainly was annoying at times, but the antics of Michael and Noella were amusing. Alexander smiled, bending his head to nuzzle a kiss to the head of the fourth Darcy offspring who sat curled on his lap.

“Papa, finish the story, please.” The four-year-old’s tiny voice, sweet and velvet, brought instant tranquility to the room. Everyone smiled, even Noella and Michael, tender eyes alighting upon the fragile child encased in her protective brother’s embrace.

“As you wish, angel.” Darcy resumed his reading, the tendrils of peace touching all of them as if a spell had been cast.

Such was the natural power of Audrey Faine Bethann Darcy.

She was born under tremendous stress, with Lizzy experiencing the most traumatizing birth of her five children. Dr. Darcy’s superior skills were sorely tested to deliver a living baby. The combination of malpositioning that impeded her easy descent and a severe gush of blood that signified a premature detachment of the placenta led to the birth of a limp, weakly gasping infant requiring swift intervention. Darcy and Lizzy did not doubt for a second that if George had not been present their second daughter would have died either before her arrival or in those critical moments after. Perhaps Lizzy as well, as she bled profusely, was delirious from the pain, and could not help with the final stages of the delivery in any way. The physician’s professional deportment and staggering mastery in any crisis saved both of them, but it would be some months before they knew their daughter had not suffered brain damage along with the left-sided partial paralysis that was a permanent fixture.

Her name was chosen carefully to reflect their hope for her future and thankfulness in her survival. It also presaged her unique character. Audrey was a favorite name of Lizzy’s since reading Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Darcy loved the tale of the seventh-century Anglo-Saxon Cambridgeshire Saint Æthelthryth, or St. Audrey in the common tongue, since reading of her life in a Latin translation of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle while at University. But primarily they agreed that the name’s meaning of “noble strength” was apropos. Faine was an Old English name meaning gladness, joy, and good nature. Bethann, obviously, was a tribute to Elizabeth and Darcy’s mother Anne.

In time it became clear that she not only was mentally sound but incredibly bright. Her intelligence promised to rival Alexander’s. Audrey was already able to speak French and Latin quite well, could read above her level, and possessed a phenomenal memory. The muscle damage that disfigured her face by causing a droop to her left eyelid and mouth, and weakened her arm and leg so that grasping was difficult and walking a chore, was unable to mar her dainty beauty and saintly disposition. She truly was an angel—a miracle child with features delicate and fair. Her body was waiflike, hair like fine silver, eyes pellucid blue, and skin of snow. Her temperament matched her appearance. She was gentle, lovable, and soothing. Serenity surrounded her, the aura so strong that it touched all who encountered her.

She and Noella were polar opposites in every way. Noella was darkly beautiful with olive-tinged skin, lustrous ebony curls, eyes the color of fire-glazed raw umber, and bold features. She greatly resembled her mother, her temperament taking Lizzy’s stubbornness and wit to extremes. Michael and Noella combined were a definite challenge to parenting skills! Darcy was convinced that God in His wisdom and grace had granted them the steady Alexander and halcyonic Audrey to buffer the severity of the middle Darcys.