Maria Grace Shares a special Christmas Treat with Darcyholic Diversions.
(I am grateful to have Maria Grace with us today, sharing a holiday exerpt with us. Be sure to comment for a chance to win a drawing! ~~BTCole)
Thanks so much for inviting me Barb! It is great to visit
with you again. I’m thrilled to be able to share an excerpt from ‘The Darcy’s
First Christmas’, as Elizabeth experiences her first yule log. I’m also
thrilled to be able to give away an ebook copy of the novella to a commenter on
this post.
Elizabeth’s First Yule Log
Elizabeth
sat in the upstairs sitting room, reading. Now things were returned to normal,
a few minutes on her own proved pleasant, not isolating. Earlier that day,
Darcy and Fitzwilliam had taken the children and Georgiana to cut decorations
for the house. Evergreen boughs and Christmas roses adorned the mantle and
filled vases on the tables throughout the house, the fruits of those labors.
What
a change a few days and an alteration in company made. Though there had been a
few frenzied moments in planning, all in all, peace had returned
and with it a sense of the Christmastide season.
Mrs.
Reynolds peeked into the room. “It is almost here, madam. The Pemberley
tradition is for the family to gather in the parlor.”
Darcy
and Fitzwilliam arrived a moment later.
“Come,
my lady, your chariot waits.” Fitzwilliam bowed.
“I
am quite capable in getting to the stairs on my own. I have become quite handy
with these walking sticks now. Perhaps I might suggest them as a new
fashionable accessory for the ton.”
Fitzwilliam
sniggered. “Do not say that too loudly. All it would take is one of Almack's
patronesses to appear in company with them. The next day everyone will be
clamoring for them. You might speak to Bingley. There could be a fortune to be
made in selling fashionable walking sticks to ladies.”
Darcy
snickered.
Oh,
how lovely it was to hear him in good humor once again. The house was glum and
dreary without his laughter.
They
carried her downstairs to the parlor where the Gardiners awaited.
Soon
she would attempt the stairs on her own. The novelty in being carried had worn off.
She longed for the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Darcy, though, would
probably regret the loss of the excuse to be so close to her in public. She
would miss that, too.
The
fragrance of evergreens enveloped them, the room bearing a veritable forest of
boughs, decked with gay red and white ribbons. Mama decorated this way too.
More than anything, this brought the feelings of the Yuletide season to life.
Georgiana
pressed her nose to the glass. “I see them coming!”
The
children crowded around her. They had never seen a Yule log before. In town,
the Gardiners celebrated with a Yule candle.
“Is
the hot cider ready?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes,
madam, and there is bread and cheese in the kitchen for the men,” Mrs. Reynolds
answered as she walked past the parlor door.
Elizabeth
craned her neck to see out the window. A team of horses and several farmers,
trundled up to the front of the house, a huge log chained to the team.
The
front door groaned open and clanking chains and men’s voices filled the ground
floor.
Elizabeth
sat on the couch farthest from the door and gathered the children to her. They
pressed close, eyes wide at the sight of the men wrestling the enormous log up
to the fireplace.
Surely
it would not fit. No, there was simply no way.
The
children gasped and applauded.
How
had they made it fit?
Darcy
smiled at her from the other side of the room. He had promised her it would fit
and was gloating in the glory of being right.
Dear
man.
Darcy
and Fitzwilliam thanked the men for their efforts, and Sampson ushered them
back to the kitchen for an ample measure of Pemberley’s hospitality.
“That
is the biggest Yule log I have ever seen,” Aunt Gardiner beckoned the children
closer to the fireplace.
“Where
did it come from, sir?” Matthew, the oldest, tugged Darcy’s coat sleeve.
Darcy
hunkered down beside him. What an excellent father he would make.
“We
have a cooper on the estate. The Yule log has always come from there. It is a
log not suitable to his purposes, made a gift, suitable to ours.”
“Surely
it is large enough to smolder until Twelfth Night,” Elizabeth said.
“That
is the plan,” Darcy said. “Each year, it is the job of the youngest hall boy to
sleep in the parlor from Christmas Eve until Twelfth Night. He tends the Yule
fire and ensures it remains lit until throughout.”
“Do
not fear, madam, the lad is well rewarded for his efforts, with all the apples
he can roast and toast and cheese he can stuff himself with.” Fitzwilliam
winked.
Elizabeth
giggled.
Darcy
waved them all close to the fireplace. He opened a silver box on the mantle and
removed two crystal bottles and a silver box. He anointed the log with oil,
wine and salt.
“May
the fire of this log warm the cold; may the hungry be fed; may the weary find
rest and may all enjoy heaven's peace.”
He
opened a second silver box and extended it toward them. “This is what remains
of the last Yule log.”
Ashes
filled the box. Along one side lay a long splinter.
“Fitzwilliam,
would you care to light the log?”
Fitzwilliam
rubbed his hands together briskly. “Afraid that you might not be able to manage
to start it on the first try yourself, old man?”
Darcy
snorted, but held his peace.
Elizabeth
snickered.
How
like boys they were. But it was good. Fitzwilliam brought out a youthful,
almost playful side in Darcy, one that needed release far more often. True, it
was a mite prickly, but that could be shaped and softened with time and
practice.
Fitzwilliam
hunkered down beside the Yule log. Shadows drifted across his face. He
stiffened and stared into the fireplace.
Darcy
crouched beside him. “Are you well? Should I not have asked you to do this?”
Fitzwilliam
swallowed hard and worked at words. “I … I … I can do this.” His hands shook
“Let
us do it together.” Darcy moved close beside him and
whispered to Fitzwilliam.
Elizabeth
closed her eyes to listen better. He was reminding Fitzwilliam of boyhood
times. Times spent in their hunting lodge, of Yule logs past. Of pleasant,
peaceful things.
Slowly
the trembling stopped, and Fitzwilliam began to breathe more normally.
Together,
they struck the spark and fanned it into life. They lit the splinter and nursed
the burgeoning blaze until the log burned, too.
Darcy
stood and arranged the group around Elizabeth. He extended his hand toward her,
and they joined hands in a circle.
“Let
us consider the year past. Our faults, mistakes and bad choices. Let us allow
the flames to consume those that we may begin the coming year with a clean
slate. With that as our starting place, let us purpose to improve our faults,
correct our mistakes and make improved choices.”
He
squeezed her hand hard and peeked at her from the corner of his eyes. She
squeezed his hand back.
This
was a tradition different to her family’s. But it was very pleasing and she
would look forward to it in the coming years.
They
lingered a moment longer then released the circle.
A
pair of maids entered bearing trays of cider, apples for roasting, bread and
cheese for toasting.
Darcy
tossed Fitzwilliam an apple. “You may have the honors of tending the roasting
apples.”
Fitzwilliam
bit into it instead. Darcy laughed heartily.
Yes, this was the sound to
launch a proper Yuletide upon.
The Darcys' First Christmas
Sweet, Austen-inspired treats, perfect with a cup of tea.
Full of hope and ripe with possibility, Christmastide tales refresh the heart with optimism and anticipation.
Elizabeth
anxiously anticipates her new duties as mistress of Pemberley. Darcy is
confident of her success, but she cannot bring herself to share his optimism.
Unexpected
guests unsettle all her plans and offer her the perfect Christmastide gift,
shattered confidence.
Can
she and Darcy overcome their misunderstandings and salvage their first
Christmastide together?
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.
Though
Maria Grace has been writing fiction since she was ten years old, those early
efforts happily reside in a file drawer and are unlikely to see the light of
day again, for which many are grateful. After penning five file-drawer novels
in high school, she took a break from writing to pursue college and earn her
doctorate in Educational Psychology. After 16 years of university teaching, she
returned to her first love, fiction writing.
She
has one husband, two graduate degrees and two black belts, three sons, four
undergraduate majors, five nieces, six new novels in the works, attended seven
period balls, sewn eight Regency era costumes, shared her life with nine cats
through the years and published her tenth book last year.
She
can be contacted at:
Facebook:
G+:
On
Amazon.com:
English
Historical Fiction Authors
On
Twitter @WriteMariaGrace
