Holiday fic #8: A Very Mary Christmas
I will NOT use a stupid pun for a title, I will NOT use a stupid pun for a title, I will NOT... Aw, hell.
Title: A Very Mary Christmas
For: slobber_neck
Fandom/Prompt: (Pride and Prejudice) Christmas at Pemberley, and the Wickhams crash the party
Rating: G
Wordcount: Approx. 1500
Plot Summary: Christmastide hijinks with Mary Bennet.
Author's Note: It took all my power not to put vampires in this, because I can no longer conceive of a Pride and Prejudice setting that doesn't involve blood-sucking and ominous allusions to the Dark Gift. Thank you, fandom.
The trouble with Christmastide, thought Mary, was the necessity of celebrating it in the company of all your relations. It would be a far more agreeable occasion if only one could spend it alone-- preferably in quiet study, or with an appropriately solemn book, such as Fordyce's Sermons. It had been her fondest hope to do so while the rest of her family were visiting her sister Elizabeth.
Mary had entertained wistful fantasies of having the library at Longbourn all to herself, eating plain bread and butter for dinner so that her digestion was not troubled by rich holiday fare, and reading late into the night without anyone to chide her for wasting candles. Mrs. Bennet, however, had other plans. Christmastide meant endless morning visits, balls and card parties. In all the revelry, it also meant that perhaps-- just perhaps!-- another daughter might be disposed of by the means of blessed matrimony.
Mary was not inclined toward marriage. She harbored no illusions as to her beauty, nor did she cherish any daydream of handsome suitors coming to call. But Mrs. Bennet was nothing if not determined. Now that dearest Lydia was settled up north and Jane and Lizzy's alliances were happily secured, all of Mrs. Bennet's maternal machinations were bent upon a singular goal: to obtain eligible matches for her remaining two daughters. With Christmastide joy and and enough good claret, she said, all things are possible.
~~~
The drawing-room at Pemberley had been decorated in high style: garlands of ivy hung adorned every door and window, and on the mantle lay holly boughs bright with scarlet berries. A great fire burned in the hearth, and laid temptingly by it was a basket of chestnuts for roasting. On the sideboard were bowls of almonds and raisins, mince pies, fruit cake and plum pudding, and in the center was an enormous pheasant pie, cunningly decorated with layers of golden pastry leaves.
Mary Bennet appreciated none of it, for she was tucked into the window seat, endeavoring insofar as it was possible to conceal herself behind the curtain. It was Christmas Eve and scarcely two days into their visit, but Mary regarded it as an unmitigated disaster.
Firstly, at her mother's insistence she'd worn her new striped green muslin, a gown which brought out the sallowness of her complexion and accentuated what her Aunt Phillips had once unkindly described as a severe deficiency of bosom. Even the amiable Mr. Bingley could find nothing complimentary to say about it, and all of his wide-eyed stammering was even worse than Kitty's ill-disguised tittering.
Next, Mary's digestion had been assaulted at every turn. A thin slice of brioche with weak tea suited her well enough at breakfast, but such spartan fare would never do for dinner in grand company. Only tonight, she'd proven herself to be as susceptible as any fluttering female and allowed the dashing Colonel Fitzwilliam to press upon her a generous portion of rabbit à la Portuguese, followed by a rich celery ragout and not one, but two glasses of sweet Madeira! Mary shuddered as she recalled how blithely the Colonel had urged her to sample the apple tart and custard. When she curtly declined, he made so bold as to recommend some brandied apricots, or a bit of jelly. The fiend!
But after dinner when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room came even greater insult to injury. The accomplished Miss Darcy had won warm praise for her timid performance at the pianoforte while Mary's more technically formidable concerto had been received with only lukewarm applause. Surely even Napolean could not have prevailed in the face of such ignominious defeat! Clutching her sheaf of music, she fled for the relative sanctuary of the window seat to cool her injured pride.
Nothing could salvage the evening for Mary, not even the coffee served in delicate porcelain cups brought all the way from France. Her only consolation was the privacy afforded to her by a generous length of bronze-colored damask, bound with a silk tassel. Safely hidden, Mary hoped that her family might forget of her existence until it was time to retire.
Alas, It was not to be. The odious Miss Darcy struck up a lively country air, and Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice could be heard above the music asking Miss Kitty to honor him with the first dance-- and Miss Mary for the dance after that, if she could be found.
Mary withdrew even further behind the curtain, praying that her place of concealment would not be discovered. If only there was some distraction to be had, and she could slip away to the library! It seemed beyond hope that Mrs. Bennet might succumb at last to the heat and the immense quantity of mince pie she'd consumed, or that Mr. Bingley might suffer a convenient attack of apoplexy. Mary drew up her feet and retreated as far she could into the window seat, her back against the cold glass. She held her breath. Far be it for her to shrink from Society's demands, but she could bear the holiday amusements no longer. Mary was in sore need of a Christmastide miracle...
The sound of carriage wheels on gravel alerted her to a late arrival, and Mary peered near-sightedly out the window. The drawing-room offered a fair prospect of the grounds and the drive that curved around the front of the house. By torchlight, she could see a hackney-coach pull to a halt by the steps. Before a footman could descend to open the door, out popped her sister Lydia wearing a pink muslin far too thin for winter and an ostentatious bonnet with mint trim. The necklace of brilliants highlighted by her sister's low neckline were, noted Mary with her lips pursed in disapproval, almost certainly cheap paste.
Nonetheless, she was glad for Lydia's unexpected appearance; this was surely all the distraction necessary to contrive an escape. It was most provoking, however, that not even Elizabeth had thought to tell anyone of the invitation. The newly-wed Mrs. Wickham was still much talked of in Meryton, and not in such a way as to encourage her inclusion in polite company. But perhaps a small family party did not signify, thought Mary in resignation.
She was so caught up in the satisfaction of mulling over her sister's disgrace and tasteless display that she quite missed the tall, dark figure exiting the carriage closely upon Lydia's heels. When the torchlight fell upon his countenance, Mary gasped, for it was none other than the infamous Mr. Wickham!
Her sheaf of music fell forgotten to the window seat, and Mary clutched at the damask drapery for support. Her habit of listening at doors had made her aware of certain unsavory details concerning not only her sister Lydia's elopement, but also Wickham's involvement with a certain musically gifted young lady now related to her by marriage. Mary little knew her proud and aloof brother-in-law, but she was sure of this-- that such a scoundrel and scapegrace as Mr. Wickham should so boldly roam the halls of Pemberley was surely not to be borne.
Already there was a flurry of activity in the front hall as maids and footmen scattered this way and that. It would only be moments before the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham was announced and then... Mary gathered her music up with trembling hands. Her imagination, long dulled by hours of deliberate effort, flared to life like a spark falling upon dry tinder. With Mr. Wickham intruding on the family party, there might be a flaring of manly tempers, fisticuffs in the garden, or even a duel in the portrait gallery. Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam might gallantly offer himself as Mr. Darcy's second. He might even be wounded by a stray bullet and forced to remain abed, sustained only by the timely administration of gruel and smelling salts.
Chin held high and music strategically arranged in her arms to conceal any inadequacy of bosom, Mary twitched back the damask and prepared to make a grand re-entry. Her reluctance to take part in the recreation and amusement was only temporary, a weakness of character swiftly overcome. Her family might need her presence to close ranks upon this unwelcome outsider. Her sister Elizabeth would require the strong moral fortitude that was Mary's foremost accomplishment.
And perhaps-- beneath her insipidly green muslin gown, Mary's stays creaked under the pressure of her indrawn breath-- perhaps a certain Colonel would require the tender nursing such as only a learned and spiritually-minded young lady could provide.
Anything was possible. It was, after all, Christmastide.
~~~
Author's Note: Er... better late than never? :-}
Title: A Very Mary Christmas
For: slobber_neck
Fandom/Prompt: (Pride and Prejudice) Christmas at Pemberley, and the Wickhams crash the party
Rating: G
Wordcount: Approx. 1500
Plot Summary: Christmastide hijinks with Mary Bennet.
Author's Note: It took all my power not to put vampires in this, because I can no longer conceive of a Pride and Prejudice setting that doesn't involve blood-sucking and ominous allusions to the Dark Gift. Thank you, fandom.
The trouble with Christmastide, thought Mary, was the necessity of celebrating it in the company of all your relations. It would be a far more agreeable occasion if only one could spend it alone-- preferably in quiet study, or with an appropriately solemn book, such as Fordyce's Sermons. It had been her fondest hope to do so while the rest of her family were visiting her sister Elizabeth.
Mary had entertained wistful fantasies of having the library at Longbourn all to herself, eating plain bread and butter for dinner so that her digestion was not troubled by rich holiday fare, and reading late into the night without anyone to chide her for wasting candles. Mrs. Bennet, however, had other plans. Christmastide meant endless morning visits, balls and card parties. In all the revelry, it also meant that perhaps-- just perhaps!-- another daughter might be disposed of by the means of blessed matrimony.
Mary was not inclined toward marriage. She harbored no illusions as to her beauty, nor did she cherish any daydream of handsome suitors coming to call. But Mrs. Bennet was nothing if not determined. Now that dearest Lydia was settled up north and Jane and Lizzy's alliances were happily secured, all of Mrs. Bennet's maternal machinations were bent upon a singular goal: to obtain eligible matches for her remaining two daughters. With Christmastide joy and and enough good claret, she said, all things are possible.
~~~
The drawing-room at Pemberley had been decorated in high style: garlands of ivy hung adorned every door and window, and on the mantle lay holly boughs bright with scarlet berries. A great fire burned in the hearth, and laid temptingly by it was a basket of chestnuts for roasting. On the sideboard were bowls of almonds and raisins, mince pies, fruit cake and plum pudding, and in the center was an enormous pheasant pie, cunningly decorated with layers of golden pastry leaves.
Mary Bennet appreciated none of it, for she was tucked into the window seat, endeavoring insofar as it was possible to conceal herself behind the curtain. It was Christmas Eve and scarcely two days into their visit, but Mary regarded it as an unmitigated disaster.
Firstly, at her mother's insistence she'd worn her new striped green muslin, a gown which brought out the sallowness of her complexion and accentuated what her Aunt Phillips had once unkindly described as a severe deficiency of bosom. Even the amiable Mr. Bingley could find nothing complimentary to say about it, and all of his wide-eyed stammering was even worse than Kitty's ill-disguised tittering.
Next, Mary's digestion had been assaulted at every turn. A thin slice of brioche with weak tea suited her well enough at breakfast, but such spartan fare would never do for dinner in grand company. Only tonight, she'd proven herself to be as susceptible as any fluttering female and allowed the dashing Colonel Fitzwilliam to press upon her a generous portion of rabbit à la Portuguese, followed by a rich celery ragout and not one, but two glasses of sweet Madeira! Mary shuddered as she recalled how blithely the Colonel had urged her to sample the apple tart and custard. When she curtly declined, he made so bold as to recommend some brandied apricots, or a bit of jelly. The fiend!
But after dinner when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room came even greater insult to injury. The accomplished Miss Darcy had won warm praise for her timid performance at the pianoforte while Mary's more technically formidable concerto had been received with only lukewarm applause. Surely even Napolean could not have prevailed in the face of such ignominious defeat! Clutching her sheaf of music, she fled for the relative sanctuary of the window seat to cool her injured pride.
Nothing could salvage the evening for Mary, not even the coffee served in delicate porcelain cups brought all the way from France. Her only consolation was the privacy afforded to her by a generous length of bronze-colored damask, bound with a silk tassel. Safely hidden, Mary hoped that her family might forget of her existence until it was time to retire.
Alas, It was not to be. The odious Miss Darcy struck up a lively country air, and Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice could be heard above the music asking Miss Kitty to honor him with the first dance-- and Miss Mary for the dance after that, if she could be found.
Mary withdrew even further behind the curtain, praying that her place of concealment would not be discovered. If only there was some distraction to be had, and she could slip away to the library! It seemed beyond hope that Mrs. Bennet might succumb at last to the heat and the immense quantity of mince pie she'd consumed, or that Mr. Bingley might suffer a convenient attack of apoplexy. Mary drew up her feet and retreated as far she could into the window seat, her back against the cold glass. She held her breath. Far be it for her to shrink from Society's demands, but she could bear the holiday amusements no longer. Mary was in sore need of a Christmastide miracle...
The sound of carriage wheels on gravel alerted her to a late arrival, and Mary peered near-sightedly out the window. The drawing-room offered a fair prospect of the grounds and the drive that curved around the front of the house. By torchlight, she could see a hackney-coach pull to a halt by the steps. Before a footman could descend to open the door, out popped her sister Lydia wearing a pink muslin far too thin for winter and an ostentatious bonnet with mint trim. The necklace of brilliants highlighted by her sister's low neckline were, noted Mary with her lips pursed in disapproval, almost certainly cheap paste.
Nonetheless, she was glad for Lydia's unexpected appearance; this was surely all the distraction necessary to contrive an escape. It was most provoking, however, that not even Elizabeth had thought to tell anyone of the invitation. The newly-wed Mrs. Wickham was still much talked of in Meryton, and not in such a way as to encourage her inclusion in polite company. But perhaps a small family party did not signify, thought Mary in resignation.
She was so caught up in the satisfaction of mulling over her sister's disgrace and tasteless display that she quite missed the tall, dark figure exiting the carriage closely upon Lydia's heels. When the torchlight fell upon his countenance, Mary gasped, for it was none other than the infamous Mr. Wickham!
Her sheaf of music fell forgotten to the window seat, and Mary clutched at the damask drapery for support. Her habit of listening at doors had made her aware of certain unsavory details concerning not only her sister Lydia's elopement, but also Wickham's involvement with a certain musically gifted young lady now related to her by marriage. Mary little knew her proud and aloof brother-in-law, but she was sure of this-- that such a scoundrel and scapegrace as Mr. Wickham should so boldly roam the halls of Pemberley was surely not to be borne.
Already there was a flurry of activity in the front hall as maids and footmen scattered this way and that. It would only be moments before the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham was announced and then... Mary gathered her music up with trembling hands. Her imagination, long dulled by hours of deliberate effort, flared to life like a spark falling upon dry tinder. With Mr. Wickham intruding on the family party, there might be a flaring of manly tempers, fisticuffs in the garden, or even a duel in the portrait gallery. Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam might gallantly offer himself as Mr. Darcy's second. He might even be wounded by a stray bullet and forced to remain abed, sustained only by the timely administration of gruel and smelling salts.
Chin held high and music strategically arranged in her arms to conceal any inadequacy of bosom, Mary twitched back the damask and prepared to make a grand re-entry. Her reluctance to take part in the recreation and amusement was only temporary, a weakness of character swiftly overcome. Her family might need her presence to close ranks upon this unwelcome outsider. Her sister Elizabeth would require the strong moral fortitude that was Mary's foremost accomplishment.
And perhaps-- beneath her insipidly green muslin gown, Mary's stays creaked under the pressure of her indrawn breath-- perhaps a certain Colonel would require the tender nursing such as only a learned and spiritually-minded young lady could provide.
Anything was possible. It was, after all, Christmastide.
~~~
Author's Note: Er... better late than never? :-}