First Impressions: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Adaptation

Chapter 16.2

It had been a long time since it was so difficult for Darcy to get up and out of bed. He was used to the sleeplessness, the restless dreams, even the waking at early hours. At least then he could get up and stare aimlessly at his computer screen or a blank page for a few hours. That, at least, had some slight amount of productive feeling to it.

But, rather than helping his mood, somehow Georgie's presence had made it even worse. He didn't blame her—indeed, he had no idea why her presence was weighing on him so heavily. Or, perhaps, it was unrelated, some unlucky quirk that his depression decided to rise to a peak just at the time he could finally enjoy a few days with his sister.

When he looked out the window the morning of Christmas Eve, the sky was a flat, dull gray color, which he thought complimented his mood rather thoroughly. Just to indulge himself in the grayness, he struggled into a thickly knit gray turtleneck before he walked downstairs, his shoulders sloping all the way.

As if in direct defiance, Georgie was dressed in a hideous—and hideously bright—Christmas sweater. It was striped with alternating bands of snowflakes and piano keyboards, where the black keys had been knit with green instead. "Oh, you're up." There was something flat in her tone. It wasn't excitement or regret at his presence, but her words did hint at some additional thought.

He nodded, glancing around the room. "Oh, you found the tree."

"Yes. It's a bit sad, isn't it? But I guess it will have to do."

Darcy shrugged and sat. The tree was no more than two feet high, an artificial pine with built-in lights normally meant to be a secondary tree, perhaps set somewhere on a little table in the midst of many other decorations. It sat on one of the armchair side tables with a scrunched up, cream table runner wound around the base, approximating a tree skirt.

When the old Mr. Darcy was still alive, they had always had a real tree, usually some giant thing that he, usually accompanied by one or both of his children, would pick out personally. Then, they would festoon it with ornaments, ribbons, and strings of lights, before showing it off at a series of Christmas parties, some for business, others for friends, before culminating in a family party the night of.

But after he died, there hadn't been much point—in the tree or the parties. With Georgie in England, Darcy found himself spending most of his Christmases at the Fitzwilliam residence. He had had one, particularly underwhelming holiday alone and at home. The sad little tree was the only remnant of that night.

And they hadn't even bothered to put it up the previous year.

He was still staring at it when Georgie said, softly, "I was going to take Apple out for a walk. Do you want to come with us?"

"No." Once again, his tone was harsher than intended. "No," he quickly clarified, "I'd like to try and get some work done today."

Georgie sighed. "Oh, but it's Christmas Eve today... Shouldn't you take the day off?"

Darcy only shrugged and shook his head slightly. She sat quite still, staring at him for several seconds. He realized she wouldn't stop until he left, so he pushed himself out of the chair and left for the library, which he had usurped as his office long before he inherited the house. Even as a child, he had gone in there often with a notebook, scribbling out nonsense stories that had never again seen the light of day.

The library was down the hall from the main living room, the door just behind the stairs. It was a particularly large room, longer than it was wide. He had had his father's desk moved in, pushed towards the far end of the room. The shelves were built of dark wood, all antique or build to look that way, most of them from the original building of the house.