“Maybe it was not a wise idea to place Papa’s portrait in the room,” Lizzy mumbled.

Darcy nodded, glancing at the ornately framed painting of Mr. Bennet commissioned shortly after he settled at Pemberley nearly four years ago.

Longbourn Manor and the surrounding lands gradually became unmanageable and too isolated for the elderly gentleman, whose vision was failing. Nevertheless, pride and stubbornness kept him tied to his familiar environment despite Mrs. Bennet’s incessant complaining about boredom and loneliness with all her daughters married and busy. Her long absences to dwell with her brother and sister-in-law in Cheapside brought him a measure of peace but led to further isolation and the estate’s decline.

A broken leg resulting from a minor stumble upon the stairs prompted George Darcy to drive to Hertfordshire to rescue his friend. He goaded the cranky older man into a heated shouting match while the physician reset the bone misaligned by the local hack; verbal insults and expletives were flung back and forth with anger masking the residual pain not dulled by heavy draughts of brandy. George’s nagging and harassment persevered for days until finally convincing Mr. Bennet to relocate to Pemberley, which, of course, was the main purpose of the trip. Lizzy and Jane were profuse in their thanks, which George also quite enjoyed!

The years that followed were joyful ones for all the inhabitants of Pemberley. Mr. Bennet delighted in exploring the vast library that appeared to have a magically inexhaustible supply of new books. His friendship with Dr. Darcy was a sincere one that brought pleasure when the busy physician was available. And the immensity of Pemberley meant that privacy and quiet were easy to find even with the ever-increasing number of Darcy children, constant visitors, and a shrill wife, when Mrs. Bennet chose to reside at Pemberley rather than in London. Thus the skillfully wrought portrait depicted an aged, snowy-haired man with twinkling, intelligent eyes and a faintly mischievous smile.

“Mother, I have your tea poured and sweetened as you like. Noella is filling a plate with your favorites.” Alexander bent, planting a soft kiss to his mother’s cheek.

“Thank you, darling.” Lizzy clasped her son’s offered hand, smiling into the face that was a youthful image of her husband’s.

“Happy Christmas, Father. Aunt Jane, I believe Michael and Ethan are yet fighting over who should be allowed to bring your breakfast, but Charlie has your tea waiting.”

“He won that battle, did he?” Charles laughed, glancing to Jane’s designated table placement where their second son stood behind the chair, steaming cup of tea waiting.

“Only because Michael and Ethan were too busy arguing over boiled or scrambled eggs.”

“I never eat boiled eggs.”

“And of course Michael knows this, Aunt. Irritating cousin Ethan is the impetus, but I am sure he will relent before you perish from hunger.”

“Let us pray so,” Darcy murmured. “I would hate to be forced to publicly admonish my ornery son on Christmas Day.”

“Do not worry, Darcy,” Charles said. “Ethan is far too gullible. Michael is good for him.”

“Perhaps, but I rather doubt Michael has Ethan’s best interests at heart.”

“Merry Christmas, Mama! Papa! Your plate is ready, Mama. Shall I dish yours, Papa?”

“Thank you, Noella, but I can manage. A hug would be appreciated,” he said with a smile, opening his arms as Noella readily embraced him. “Happy birthday, holly berry.” He kissed her head, whispering for her ears only, “I have a very special gift for you.”

“Oh! What is it, Papa! Tell me, please!”

“Christmas first. One party at a time, as we always do, and then this afternoon I will reveal. No pouting, miss,” he tugged on her protruding lower lip, “and the sad eyes shall not sway me.” He winked at his wife, Lizzy smiling and shaking her head, well aware that Darcy was pathetically vulnerable to weepy manipulation from his daughters.

Noella knew this as well, but she laughed, tossing her head and causing her black curls to bounce prettily. “Oh, very well! I shall be patient. Does not Grandpapa’s portrait cheer the room, Mama? I still feel as if he is here, and Audrey said she knows he is watching over us. Do you think that is true?”

“Only God knows for certain,” Darcy answered, “but he lives on in our hearts to be sure.”

He glanced to the table setting nearest Mr. Bennet’s easel-propped painting where Audrey sat, her lips moving in a steady stream of quiet conversation to her adored grandfather’s image, relaying the antics of his daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren. Nathaniel sat beside his sister with Mary’s oldest girls across, all of them adding to the observations as had become a custom due to Mr. Bennet’s diminished far-sight. The gift of descriptiveness with colorful language and exaggerated recounting was possessed by all of them to varying degrees, their talents perfected via theatrical performances on a regular basis and later used to entertain their grandfather. It appeared to be an ingrained habit that would be slowly relinquished.

Lizzy left to assist Thomas with his plate while Darcy crossed to the breakfast sidebar where his Uncle George stood talking with General Artois, Kitty’s husband; Mr. Joshua Daniels, Mary’s husband; and Mr. Gardiner. Greetings and holiday well wishes were extended as Darcy poured his coffee.

“Is the birthday girl still clueless as to her present?” Artois nodded toward Noella, who now sat between Michael and Nathaniel, inhibiting the latter from pouring a sixth spoon of sugar into his porridge, a pronouncement he was clearly not pleased about.

Darcy nodded his head. “As far as I know. I have been most adamant that she cannot have a full-grown horse until she is fifteen, so she is not expecting it. And thank you again for supplying the headgear. Cleo is quite small, that being why I chose her for Noella, and none of our bridles or halters fit her. The decision was a sudden one—”

“And displeasing to Mrs. Darcy,” George added with a chuckle.

“—and I did not have time to order a new one from London,” Darcy concluded, ignoring his uncle’s remark. Lizzy had relented all opinions ages ago when it came to the boys riding horses with their equestrian obsessed father, but she fought the notion with Noella. However, the reality that Noella was far more enamored with and competent on a horse than Michael could not be denied, so Lizzy was gradually learning to accept defeat. Nevertheless, they had argued over gifting Cleo, and it was only the mare’s smaller stature that convinced Lizzy to agree, albeit reservedly.

“My pleasure,” Artois said. “It will be fun to see her face. Cleo is an excellent mount for a first horse. Thankfully the weather is pleasant enough for her to ride today.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Darcy,” the ever-polite solicitor to the Pemberley Estate began, Mr. Daniels forever maintaining his formality despite years as a brother-in-law, “but when is the birthday party to commence? Mrs. Daniels wanted to take the children to Mr. Bennet’s graveside sometime this afternoon but we do not wish to place a damper upon the festivities.”

“Not until after present opening is completed and luncheon has been served. I think Elizabeth has arranged three o’clock with the kitchen staff for Noella’s portion of the day. At teatime, more or less, with birthday cake and sandwiches. Elizabeth already discussed visiting the cemetery before the party. Grief is a part of this Christmas, as it is often a part of life. The two frequently coexist—a reality the children need to learn.”

“Perhaps the stark combination will finally be the catalyst to Elizabeth’s proper grieving,” George said softly.

Darcy nodded. “I pray so. She needs to release her grief. I worry for her.”

“She will, William. Soon. Elizabeth takes her duties as Mistress and hostess too seriously. Her responsibilities have given her a structure to hold on to, but that task is almost done, with Christmas here and the family returning to their dwelling places in the next week or so.” George squeezed his nephew’s shoulder. “Just be there, as you always are, when the dam breaks. I do not envy you!”

Darcy said nothing. Observing tears from any of the women he loved was never easy, but when it came to his wife he preferred her grief manifest with him there to comfort.

George’s chuckle brought him out of his reverie. “I suppose there is no point taking bets on what Michael and Charlie are harassing Alexander about?”

The men’s eyes returned to the table. Alexander sat in perfect repose, calmly dining, and, if not for the slight color to his cheeks, presumably oblivious to the smirks and gibes directed his way. Lizzy, sitting several chairs away, was clearly trying not to laugh and pretending not to hear what the younger boys were saying as she conversed with her mother and Kitty.

“It might help if he did not carry Miss Lathrop’s card in his jacket pocket and take it out every few minutes,” Mr. Gardiner said.

“I honestly do not think he cares,” Darcy said with a faint laugh. He looked at his brothers-in-law, explaining, “You should have seen his face when the Royal letter carrier delivered it yesterday. It was like he was witnessing the most brilliant, heart-piercing sunrise of all time. He actually smelled the envelope—it was perfumed—and his eyes lost focus for a solid ten minutes! Even I could not resist joining the taunts. I am still not sure when that relationship shifted from friendship to love but they seem certain. Time is needed to be sure for the future, however.”

“He reminds me of James with Anne,” George interjected, his old eyes misty in remembrance of his brother. “They knew almost instantly and never questioned. Merely bided their time until your mother was old enough. Of course, we tortured him as mercilessly as they are Alexander.” He grinned, years dropping from his countenance as the devilry of youth took over. “All part of the fun!”