The Darcy children and dragon Friends return for another installment of Christmas chaos!

December 25, 1827

From his study window, Darcy watched the children playing on the frosty lawn with several of the shepherding drakes, waiting for the church bells to ring and signal them to walk to Christmas morning services.

His own childhood had not been bad, but it was lonely. He never encountered another dragon hearer until well into his adolescence. His whole entry into the Blue Order world had been challenging. Elizabeth was right, this way seemed much better. How much better Keepers and Friends this generation would be for having grown up with dragons and each other.

There, the church bells. Perhaps he ought to call the shepherding drakes to help gather the brood and get them to the parish church.

The drakes did indeed help herd the children to the church, but after that, the parents, nurses and dismayed vicar were on their own. While there were pews enough—barely enough—for all of Pemberley’s guests, the space seemed very confined for the amount of sheer exuberant energy the youngest members of the extended Darcy clan brought with them. Whisper flew from the pulpit, mid-sermon to the children’s pews offering to tell them stories in exchange for their quiet. But even that was not sufficient to quell Christmas morning excitement.

To that end, it seemed the vicar made his morning sermon very short. Whether that was due to wisdom or impatience, one could not guess, but the effort was appreciated. 

After church, Mrs. Sharpe, to whom the other nurses deferred, ushered the children to a nuncheon and some rest before the much-anticipated Christmas dinner.

*** 

Darcy made his way to the lesser drawing room early, in anticipation of a little calm before the storm that dinner with so many children entailed. It was wonderful to have Anne and Bennet back from school, and he relished his time with them. But there were moments when he longed for the calm that a formal dinner without the children would bring. That would come again, probably too soon, though. So, he resolved to enjoy the moments as they came. One of the treasured bits of wisdom Elizabeth had helped him to see.

“Am I intruding?” Richard peeked through the doorway. His fine suit draped over his broad shoulders, in a relaxed, comfortable sort of way, though the fine lines around his eyes seemed deeper than before.

“Come in.” Darcy waved toward one of the ivory and gold upholstered chairs nearest his. In the waning rays of sunset, with the candles and fireplace lit, the eggshell-blue walls seemed more green, more like the evergreen boughs that seemed to drape every surface, filling the air the with unmistakable scent of the holidays.

“I swear this room has not changed since we were boys.” Richard dropped into the chair like a bag of flour, his posture equally lax. “Do not give me that look or lecture me about how to sit properly in a chair. I know that very well, and when someone else comes in, depending upon who they are of course, I will revert back to being a proper gentleman.”

“How are you holding up?” Darcy asked.

“With respect to what? There are so many options to choose from.” Richard stared up at the ceiling.

“I was thinking of the matters of Matlock in specific.”

Richard snorted and cast a quick glare his direction. “I never asked for this Darce. I never wanted it. I never imagined it. And yet here we are.”

“How is Lady Fitzwilliam bearing up?”

“I am proud of her, to be honest. Though unexpected, I suppose this has been on the edge of my imagination for some time. But she? It has taken her completely by surprise and yet, she remains a bastion of good humor and good sense.”

“I am pleased and relieved—”

“And I thought we would be the first to arrive.” Elizabeth swept into the room with her sisters, Georgiana, Anne, and a flurry of fairy dragons, in her wake. “I hope we have not missed anything.”

“Not at all,” Richard stood and bowed. “It is we who have been deprived of your lovely company.”

“Still such a flirt.” Lydia laughed.

“Well, I think it charming,” Mary said.

“Of course you do, Mr. Collins is—”

“He has become a respected Keeper among the Blue Order and I will not have you speaking ill of him.” Mary harumphed, hands on hips.

How unusual, she was usually so soft spoken and easy tempered.

“Oh, but you must admit—” Lydia rolled her eyes. She had been doing that since her girlhood. Annoying?  Yes, most definitely. Likely to change? No chance at all.

Fluffy pink fairy dragon Heather launched from Mary’s shoulder to hover in front of Lydia’s face. “No, she must not, nor must any of us. You may keep your opinion to yourself.”

Lydia’s Friend, tiny black and red fairy dragon, Cosette, zipped through the doorway and nearly flew into Heather. “Yours is the opinion that needs to be held. No one asked you.”

Peace-loving white Pax tucked herself under Georgiana’s shawl, probably to keep herself out of the conflict entirely, while Anne seemed quite happy not to have a fairy dragon Friend to be involved in the squabble in the first place.

April launched from Elizabeth’s shoulder. “That is enough! Stop your bickering now.” She pecked each one on the top of the head. “Another squawk, and you shall not be welcome at my table.”

Darcy smirked, turning his face aside, lest one of the dragons take offense.

Among the dragons, being invited to dine at April’s table was nearly as prestigious as dining at Elizabeth’s. If anything would stop those two fussing, it would be the threat of losing that privilege. Still though, it was odd to see how fond Heather had grown of Collins, and how far Collins had come as a dragon-deaf Keeper. Far better than anyone could have expected. It was a shame his duties at Longbourn were keeping him away this yuletide, but heartening at the same time that he would take them so seriously as to miss a rather prestigious invitation. He had done them proud.

“Look, there is Mrs. Reynolds. Shall we proceed to the dining room?” Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eyes.

“I will tell the nursery to send down the children.” Cosette zipped away before any could contradict her.

Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm and led the way to the dining room. Yes, that was traditional and old-fashioned, but what better occasion was there to be so than Christmas dinner?

Evergreen boughs, tied with red ribbon, hanging from the walls, and draping every possible surface in the dining room, perfumed the air with the scent of yuletide. Candlelight glittered off mirrors and crystal, filling every dark corner with sparkling warmth. The table and sideboards groaned under the weight of the dishes heaped with fragrant offerings. The huge platter with a roast goose lay near Darcy’s place, waiting for him to carve it.

In the far corner of the room, a smaller table had been laid for the cold-blooded Friends among the guests—at least those whose table manners were not off-putting. Walker and Earl presided over a table in the morning room set for the less delicate eaters. Even after all these years, Darcy preferred not to watch Walker eat.

Darcy and Elizabeth took their places at either end of the table, while the rest spaced themselves to leave room for the children to sit near enough to helpful adults to ensure the meal went smoothly.

“I bring the children.” Cosette trilled and flittered to April’s table.

Behind her, Mrs. Sharpe led her dozen charges in. The three littlest ones had already eaten and were in bed, thankfully. Children at the dining table were one thing, children in leading strings at the dining table were quite another. Mercy and Truth, along with Little Anne’s Friend, May, followed, joining Cosette. Though technically not part of the family, ever since they had bitten Mrs. Bennet, who April despised, Mercy and Truth had a place at April’s table.

Little Anne sat beside her mother, and Bennet beside Darcy. Usually, the two were full of ill-contained excitement at such a time, but both seemed subdued, unnaturally quiet and still.

“Is there something wrong, son?” Darcy asked, leaning close to Bennet.

“No, sir. We were just hoping that nothing would go wrong during dinner.”

“Have you reason to expect that something would?”

“No, no, not at all, Papa. We just know how important this is to Mama and do not want her disappointed.” Bennet stared at his hands.

What sort of mischief had the children been up to? “Are you sure there is not something I need to be aware of?”

“I am sure.”

Bennet might be sure, but Darcy was not. Especially with Little Anne’s look of barely concealed melancholy and George and Frances twitching in their seats, trying to look everywhere at once.

Elizabeth rang a silver bell and the doors opened to admit a footman carrying a platter of roast boar’s head. Years ago, Mrs. Reynolds would have carried it in herself, but she finally agreed to help last year when the dish almost did not make it to the table. Elizabeth gave them a few moments to adequately appreciate the platter, then it was set on a sideboard to be carved and served from there. She announced the dishes, and there were many, as Darcy set about carving the goose.

The presence of a great deal of good food did much to alleviate the children’s odd behavior, at least until the second course was cleared and Mrs. Reynold’s circled the room, snuffing the candles one by one. Time for the Christmas pudding.

“Excuse me, Papa.” Bennet slipped from his seat and stood by Little Anne at the foot of the table. Soon George and Frances had joined them as well, all whispering together, clearly worried about something.

What was that? Sniffling—was one of the girls crying? Yes, Frances had broken into sobs while Bennet tried to console her. Anne did not look far behind.

“What is wrong?” Elizabeth asked softly.

“The Christmas pudding,” Little Anne forced out the stuttering words.

“What about the pudding?” Mrs. Reynolds came alongside the children and their mother.

“The one we made on Stir-it-up-Sunday—it is gone! Ring said it was gone without a trace. We tried to make another, so you wouldn’t be disappointed, Mama. We tried so very hard.”

“But I am sure it will be terrible, absolutely terrible.” George said.

“Ring was so gracious and tried to help us—” Little Anne spoke through her hand.

“But dragons are terrible cooks.” Bennet glanced back at Darcy. “And, though I know nothing about cooking, I am certain that what we made will be awful. None of us can eat that.”

Mrs. Reynold’s eyes grew wide, and she pressed a hand to her mouth as her shoulders quaked. Elizabeth mirrored the expression.

“Do not laugh!” Frances shouted. “That is mean and terrible. We tried so hard to do something nice for Christmas dinner, and now you are laughing at us How could you?”

“Oh, my dear girl.” Elizabeth pulled Frances into an embrace. “We are not laughing at you, not at all.”

Mrs. Reynolds giggled, “Dearlings, where did you get the idea that the pudding had gone missing?”

“Ring, he said he had been in the storage room and had not seen a pudding tied with a ribbon.” Bennet was so serious and straight faced as he explained.

“There is a reason for that. Pemberley makes many puddings, but the one for the family dinner is special because it has the family charms. I always set that to cure in the still room, away from all the others so it does not accidently go to the wrong house.”

“So, the pudding is not missing?” Little Anne’s jaw dropped.

“Not at all. It never was.”

Little Anne pressed her hands to her mouth, exclaiming something halfway between a giggle and a sob. “We will not be eating the one Ring helped up make, then?”

“Ring, as in the Ring Wyrm?” Richard all but snorted wine out his nose. “Pemberley’s pub-keeping knucker?”

Soft chuckles and snorts circled the table.

“Does he know anything about cooking?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.

“I copied Mana’s receipt for him,” Little Anne whispered.

“I can see how that might give him reason to believe that he could,” Elizabeth said, all seriousness and propriety. “Perhaps the next time, you should come to me or Mrs. Reynolds regarding such things.”

“We thought it might be Fern or one of the other pucks who took it. We didn’t want to get them in trouble.” George said.

Mrs. Reynolds patted his back. “Be that as it may, it is best that you leave such things—”

“To those to whose territory it belongs.” Elizabeth sat back and pulled her shoulders straight. “Now that the matter is settled, shall we not go ahead and serve the pudding?”

“By all means.” Darcy said.

Mrs. Reynolds doused the pudding with brandy, lit a taper from the one remaining candle in the room, then set it to the pudding.

Blue flames sprang up around the pudding and Mrs. Reynolds paraded it around the table, ending near Darcy.

“Mind the charms as you eat it.” Elizabeth worked hard not the look at any of the children, probably afraid she would laugh if she did.

“The dragon charms!” Frances clapped. “Will you tell us what they mean now?”

“If you get a charm, it is an omen of the kind of dragon you will meet this year.”

“I hope I get the firedrake!” George called.

“You already know Pemberley, you ninny—she is a firedrake. I want the amphithere.” Bennet said.

“You want to meet Barwines Chudleigh?” Cousin Anne said. “You know she has no tolerance for warm-blooded young.”

“But if I get the charm—”

“Why don’t you cut the pudding and see who gets charms in their slices?” Something about Anne’s expression suggested she did not care anything about the charms; having the family pudding was good enough indeed.

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