Free To Forget:Darcy's London Christmas: Pride and Prejudice continuation; Sweet Tea Short Story by Maria Grace

on the receiving end of them—that was intolerable.
    He scrubbed his face with his hands. Great heavens, even the Bennet family had checked themselves better! Was it possible that family demonstrated greater decorum than his own?
    That was not possible. What would Lydia Bennet have done with the character of Beatrice? He shuddered.
    Heavens! That thought must have been the result of far too much port.
    He leaned back in his chair and threw his arm over his eyes. His own behavior left much to be desired. Had he only followed his own advice, Letty’s tantrum might have been entirely avoided. One might easily argue, it had been entirely his fault.
    Fitzwilliam would not see it that way, but surely an unpleasant call from Aunt Matlock was in the offing. He could hardly blame her. Nor Mother would not have approved of his behavior.
    Elizabeth would probably not have been impressed either.
    Even with Letty’s outrageous behavior, his plan for the ball had largely been a success, at least until this moment.
    He had hardly thought about Elizabeth Bennet during the entire evening. Not when the young Miss Blake, wearing the gown that would have better suited Miss Elizabeth sauntered past. Not when the musicians played the same music he and Elizabeth had danced to at Netherfield. Not when he caught a glimpse of the library on the way to the card room and the same book Miss Elizabeth read while she stayed at Netherfield caught his gaze. Not when Letty attempted to involve him in conversation with her shallow chatter and gossip that bored him senseless instead of endeavoring to engage him in sensible discourse. None of those moments made him consider Miss Elizabeth at all.
    It was only now in the solitude of his study that thoughts of that maddening woman invaded his consciousness, refusing to give way in the face of his stalwart defenses.
    Why was it no young lady, regardless of fortune, connections, or beauty, seemed to measure up to the standard set by the impertinent Hertfordshire miss?
    There had to be something for this untoward distraction—something other than a stay in Bedlam.
    He leaned back and closed his eyes.
    “What is troubling you, dear?” Mother gathered her skirts and sat beside him on the uppermost step of the grand stair.
    Darcy shrugged. “Nothing.”
    She leaned her shoulder against his. “Nothing often bothers me as well.”
    “Why should it matter who my friends are?” he muttered, scraping his boots along the polished marble.
    “Bad company corrupts good character.”
    “But his is not bad company, everyone agrees, he is a capital fellow. But...”
    “What do you see that troubles you?”
    “Most of the others, they shun him because of his father.”
    “What is his father’s sin?”
    “Being in trade. He is a good fellow, kind ... tolerant. He does not take offense when I say the wrong things, he just laughs. The others are never so generous to me. I think he is much better than they. But they spurn him because his fortune is not good enough.”
    “Oh, son. I wish there were simple answers. But the world is as it is and people are judged by standards that are hard to understand. There are times when we must choose to stand by someone of good repute, even when others around us do not agree. It may be difficult, but some people, some friendships, are worth the scorn they may cost us.”
    Mother had been correct about Bingley. His friendship was as solid and reliable as Fitzwilliam’s, if every bit as maddening at times.
    Would Mother have said the same thing about Elizabeth?
    She had nothing, absolutely nothing to recommend her, but herself. Nothing but her wit, her kindness, her devotion to her family, her reputation in the community, her beauty, her manners...all those things Mother had considered cardinal virtues.
    Was Elizabeth worth the scorn it might cost him?
    Aunt Matlock would insist she was not. Likely the rest of the family would agree.
    But Mother, she would say she was.
    A cool swath