From Admiration to Love Read online

  by

  Maria Grace

  Published by: White Soup Press

  From Admiration to Love

  Copyright © December 1, 2017 Maria Grace

  All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof,

  in any format whatsoever.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information address

  [email protected]

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9980937-6-5 (White Soup Press)

  Author’s Website: http://RandomBitsofFascination.com

  Email address: [email protected]

  “Grace has quickly become one of my favorite authors of Austen-inspired fiction. Her love of Austen’s characters and the Regency era shine through in all of her novels.” Diary of an Eccentric

  From Admiration to Love

  After the debacle of the previous holiday season, Darcy and Elizabeth joyfully anticipate Christmastide 1813, Georgiana’s come out at Pemberley’s Twelfth Night Ball culminating the season. With months of planning behind the event, even Lady Matlock is satisfied and sends Colonel Fitzwilliam to represent the family, assuring there will be no repeat of the previous Christmastide.

  On St. Nicholas’, Anne de Bourgh and Lady Catherine arrive on Pemberley’s doorstep—never a good sign—demanding sanctuary against the de Bourghs who (according the Lady Catherine) are trying to retake Rosings Park for their family with plans to seduce and marry Anne. Needless to say, Darcy and Fitzwilliam are skeptical.

  Not long afterwards, three gentlemen suitors appear at Pemberley, hoping to court Anne and obliging Darcy to offer holiday hospitality. Anne adores the attention whilst Lady Catherine makes her displeasure know, throwing Pemberley into turmoil that threatens the Twelfth Night Ball. Can Darcy and Elizabeth, with a little help from Fitzwilliam, soothe Lady Catherine’s nerves, see Anne to a respectable match, and still salvage Georgiana’s come out?

  From the award-winning author of Given Good Principles, Remember the Past and Mistaking Her Character, Sweet Tea short stories offer the perfect bite to transport readers back to the Regency era for the first days of new love.

  Don’t miss this free story from Maria Grace.

  RandomBitsofFascination.com

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  DEDICATION

  For my husband and sons.

  You have always believed in me.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 1

  Sunday, November 21, 1813

  The vicar dismissed holy services, and Elizabeth filed out of the family pew just behind Darcy. She rubbed her hands over the soft wool of the new navy-blue redingote Darcy insisted she order from London—the grey stone of the church did nothing to keep the chill out. She had argued the redingote was an unnecessary expense, but he was right. Derbyshire was definitely colder than she was accustomed to, and all those warm things he bought her would be very welcome indeed.

  Darcy had done so many things like that in the brief year they had been married. He had such a quiet, steady way of taking care of everyone and everything around him, sometimes it was easy to overlook how much he did. But that only proved she had been right when she told Papa he was indeed the best of men.

  Georgina and Colonel Fitzwilliam followed as they ducked out of the too-short doorway of the quaint Kympton parish church. Darcy and Fitzwilliam were forever at risk of cracking their heads on the stone lintel. It was old, even as churches went, but it also had character and was filled with characters to appreciate.

  The congregants milled just outside the church, enjoying the thin warmth of the late autumn sunshine that shone through skeletal trees, casting dancing shadows on the sandy paths. Though the morning had begun with clouds and fog, it had turned quite pleasant as the sun finally vanquished the gloom. Purple and white passion flowers—blooming a mite late this year—climbed up the church wall, just beside the door. The vines waved in the light breeze that carried the faint scent of the late musk roses growing on the opposite side of the building. Dry leaves crunched under her feet—probably her favorite sound of the season. It made no sense, though, as those same leaves always found a way indoors, to make a mess of her floors and keep the maids constantly sweeping.

  “Mr. Darcy?” One of the major tenant farmers approached with a small bow. Mr. Rowley was a round, red-faced man, with eight strapping sons who now did most of the work of the farm. He had the look of a man who was perpetually on the verge of losing his temper, but was in fact, quite pleasant. His eldest son’s banns were read this morning. The wedding would be in just a few weeks. Mr. Rowley hoped to secure the lease of one of the neighboring farms for his son. No doubt he wished to continue the discussion now.

  Elizabeth curtsied and wandered toward Georgiana who stood in a small knot of girls close to her age. It was only in the last year that she had begun to make friends in the neighborhood. Darcy had said she had shown no interest before. Of course, she said she had no interest when she had no opportunity to interact with the local girls during morning calls or visits. Once Elizabeth began paying calls and bringing Georgiana with her, suddenly the dear child was making friends with aplomb. Amazing that.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” Miss Sarah Hawkesbury curtsied, very prettily and a mite more deeply than necessary. The pale, freckled girl always seemed a bit too in awe of Elizabeth, almost an exact opposite of Lydia in all possible ways, but she was a sweet girl and easy to like.

  Beside her Miss Florence Roberts and Miss Emilia Millington dipped and bowed their heads. Miss Roberts’ mother was Italian by birth. She favored her mother, with dark eyes and olive skin, and a vivacious personality that had the unfortunate tendency to overshadow all the other girls in the room. Miss Millington had an annoying propensity to giggle whenever she was addressed. Sadly, it made her appear vapid and silly when in fact she had a very intelligent and lively mind.

  “My mother has asked me to thank you again for inviting us to your Twelfth Night ball. We are excited to be there for Miss Darcy’s come out.” Though she attempted to be grown-up now that she was out, Miss Roberts’ smile was still that of an excited little girl.

  Georgiana blushed bright. Poor dear was still not comfortable with the idea of coming out at the ball. Though Elizabeth had been slowly warming her into it by bringing her on calls and hosting numerous small parties at Pemberley, she was still reluctant. Only when Elizabeth promised that her just-now-out friends could attend did she finally acquiesce.

  Mama, had she known, would be horrified at the notion of inviting anyone who might take attention away from “dear Miss Darcy.” Truly, it was unlikely. Though gentlewomen, none of the other girls could rival Georgiana’s fortune or connections, making them hardly rivals at all. Fortunately, they all knew it, but they largely ignored the matter in favor of enjoying their friendship. More importantly, the girls’ mothers understood and did not appear to be trying to push their daughters to take advantage of their connection to Georgiana.

  Gracious, how complicated society could be!

  “We are very glad you all will be able to join us. It has been a long time since Pemberley has hosted a Twelfth Night ball. We hope this one will be quite memorable.” Elizabeth caught Georgiana’s eye, hopefully with a look of encouragement.

  �
�Have you decided on what fancy dress you will wear?” Miss Millington tittered.

  “One of Shakespeare’s fairies, I think.” Georgiana glanced at Elizabeth for approval.

  Elizabeth smiled and nodded. How long it had taken to settle on that idea!

  “Oh! You shall be so beautiful, no doubt. You are so lithe. You will be a perfect fairy!” Miss Roberts gushed. “Mama has said I should be a Spanish infanta…”

  Elizabeth smiled and turned aside. The girls had been debating fancy dress since they first heard of the ball and would probably still be talking about it at Easter. Still, it was an innocent enough diversion, leaving them merry as girls their age should be.

  Fitzwilliam stood off with several of the gentlemen of the neighborhood, but he was not attending to the conversation. That vaguely dissatisfied, vaguely lonely expression he wore when he thought no one was looking crept upon him. He would never admit it, but the way he often needled Darcy about being a settled, married man suggested Fitzwilliam was envious of the state and would not mind a few careful introductions made on his behalf. Generally matchmaking was to be avoided, but when a man all but asked for it, was not a little assistance appropriate?

  There were one or two young ladies in the neighborhood whose fortunes and temperaments fit what Fitzwilliam required. What was more, they had been on the ball’s guest list since before Fitzwilliam arrived. So, no machinations were necessary. The introductions would flow naturally. Who could object to that?

  Darcy approached and offered his arm. “Fitzwilliam said he would escort Georgiana back to the house. Shall we go?”

  She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Yes. I should like to have a little time to prepare the makings of the Christmas pudding before they arrive.”

  “You are still determined to have a traditional Stir It Up Sunday? You have been so tired—”

  “Indeed I am. Pemberley has been too long without proper Christmas celebrations, and I intend to rectify that.”

  “Are you suggesting last year—” Darcy cocked his head and lifted an eyebrow. Teasing man!

  “I had only been Mistress of Pemberley a se’nnight before Christmastide began. There was hardly time to plan anything at all. And with Lady Matlock—”

  He grumbled under his breath. “Pray do not remind me of all her kind assistance. I still have not quite forgiven her for the part she played in your sprained ankle. I do not take seeing you hurt lightly.”

  “I agree, she was less than helpful. But the fall was my own fault. I do not intend to repeat it. This year my plans are all made well in advance, and there will be no misunderstandings at all.”

  “I would settle for no injuries.”

  “That is in my plans as well.”

  “Then I shall hold you to them.” He pressed his hand over hers.

  So dear and protective he was.

  “Of course you will. What news did you have for Mr. Rowley?”

  ∞∞∞

  After a light nuncheon, Elizabeth invited Darcy, Georgiana, and Fitzwilliam to the kitchen, just as her mother had done every Stir it Up Sunday since Elizabeth could remember. Pemberley’s kitchen was huge compared to Longbourn’s, filled with servants baking, making plum puddings, and working on dinner preparations. The air was thick with the fragrances of brandy and spices hanging in the humid heat of the great boiling cauldrons that already contained prepared puddings. How many were needed to distribute on the estate and in the parish? Elizabeth had lost count. Thankfully Cook had not.

  A worktable had been set up in a more-or-less out of the way corner of the kitchen, with all the sweet-smelling makings for plum pudding ready and waiting in small bowls. The menfolk would have no patience for chopping and measuring, so it was best done for them. Even this was a little too much like cooking for their comfort. She gestured for them to stand around the table.

  “I do hope you are going to tell us what to do.” Fitzwilliam laughed and elbowed Darcy.

  “What, you do not know how to cook, too?” Elizabeth reached for the large earthenware bowl in the middle of the table. “You would have me believe an officer of His Majesty—albeit former officer—capable of anything.”

  “I can roast a haunch of meat over a campfire, if that is what you are asking. But more than that I am told is not the province of men.”

  “But are not French man-cooks considered the height of culinary expression?” Georgiana stared at the table. She had grown far more bold and able to tease—and be teased—good-naturedly, but still was not fully sure of herself in doing it.

  “I stand corrected.” Fitzwilliam bowed at Georgiana. “I shall immediately find myself an apprenticeship with one of them and shower you with fine offerings from the kitchen.”

  Georgiana giggled.

  “I would be pleased if you would simply bring back some venison when you go hunting.”

  Elizabeth lifted her brows and stared at him.

  Fitzwilliam laughed heartily.

  “Perhaps we ought to attend to the pudding?” Darcy struggled not to smile.

  “A very good suggestion indeed. Now, we have thirteen ingredients to add—”

  “A most auspicious number, thirteen. I am told it is unlucky.” Fitzwilliam peered at the small bowls on the table and counted under his breath.

  “Thirteen for Christ and the apostles.” Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the table. “Has your mother not taught you—”

  “My mother had nothing to do with the kitchen, even for the sake of a Christmas pudding, unlike Aunt Darcy who was quite as fond of stirring them up as you. You, my dear cousin, must make up for my mother’s lack.”

  “Then pay attention, or I shall have to send you out like a recalcitrant school boy, and have our master deal with you.” Elizabeth gestured toward Darcy.

  Darcy snorted. Poor man might hurt himself trying to keep a straight face.

  “A dire threat indeed. I shall behave myself with all decorum now.” Fitzwilliam raised open hands in surrender.

  “See that you do. Now, I shall add the flour and suet and pass it to the east.” She pushed the bowl toward Fitzwilliam. “You have the dried fruits and nuts—just pour them in on top, like that. You might make a man-cook yet.”

  Fitzwilliam lifted his hand high and sprinkled in the chopped nuts with a flourish, then passed the bowl to Georgiana.

  “Add in the bread crumbs and milk. Here is the citron already soaked in brandy. Pour that in, too.”

  “You have kept the brandy from me?” Fitzwilliam wrinkled his face into a pout.

  “My wife is very wise in all things.” Darcy took the bowl from Georgiana. He poured in the spices, eggs and sugar from the small bowls near him.

  “And you my dear are the most sensible of men.” Elizabeth took the bowl again and reached for a wooden spoon. “This spoon is to remind us of the wood of the Christ child’s crib. Now stir it clockwise with your eyes closed and make a wish.”

  “That is a relief, I thought you might hit me with that.” Fitzwilliam took the spoon.

  “I will have to keep that possibility in mind. Now, stir the pudding.”

  “By Jove, this is heavy! I had no idea!” He struggled to pull the spoon through the pudding.

  Georgiana crowded him away from the bowl. “Here, here, stop complaining, and let me.” She struggled against the heavy batter.

  “Stir up, we beseech thee, the pudding in the pot. And when we do get home tonight, we'll eat it up hot.” Fitzwilliam crossed his arms and pressed his tongue into his cheek. “Or not, at the rate you are going.”

  “Help me, brother.” Georgiana handed Darcy the spoon.

  Cradling the bowl with one arm, he dragged the spoon through the thick slurry. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. “I think I do not pay our cook enough.”

  Fitzwilliam slapped his thighs and chortled.

  “Is it done now, Elizabeth?” Georgiana asked.

  “Only one more thing to add.” She took the bowl from Darcy. “We canno
t forget the charms! They are very dear to my family. You see, each year when someone has found the ring, they have indeed become betrothed. It began with my mother and father.”

  “Did you find the ring the year my brother offered you marriage?”

  “No, but the husband of one of my sisters did, so the tradition continued.” No need to mention it was Wickham who found the ring that year. She dropped the silver charms into the pudding and stirred until they disappeared amidst the dried fruits and nuts, and she was quite short of breath. “Georgiana, hand me that buttered cloth, and you two strong gentlemen—who do not pay the cook enough for this chore—dump out the pudding and tie it up to boil.”

  Darcy and Fitzwilliam struggled with the pudding, finally calling in Cook’s assistance to tie it up and haul it away to a large boiling cauldron.

  “With that, I think I shall seek out some far easier recreation. What say you Georgiana, would archery suit you?” Fitzwilliam mimicked drawing a bow.

  “You consider that easier than making a pudding?”

  “Far easier and cleaner.” He dusted flour off his jacket. “Shall we have a quarter of an hour to clean the flour from our hands and don our shooting dress? I will see you on the back lawn then?”

  “I am a frightful bad shot you know.” Georgiana followed him out.

  “Not an incurable malady I assure you.”

  Darcy shook his head as he watched them leave, then turned his gaze on Elizabeth. “You have flour on your cheek.”

  “Do I?”

  He pulled out his handkerchief and dusted her cheek, gently, tenderly, almost like a kiss. “There, much better.”

  “I am certain this is not the way your mother must have stirred up puddings.” She bit her lower lip.

  “What matter is that? Pemberley needs laughter, and I am thankful to hear it. I look forward to many more Christmas puddings stirred up just this way.”