Read Mr. Darcy's Christmas Carol for Free Online

quite unlike himself. His heart and soul were in the scene and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, and enjoyed everything. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost and became conscious that it was looking full upon him.
    â€œWere you not bored?” asked the Ghost, as they followed the young men.
    â€œBored?” echoed Darcy.
    â€œI should think you would be,” answered the Spirit, “at an assembly such as that, with people of little character and no breeding. Cooks and milkmen, housemaids and bakers?”
    â€œIt was not the company,” said Darcy, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his Cambridge self. “Peterson could not bear to see anyone unhappy. The happiness he gave was to all who needed it, especially to those who were alone during the holidays; it mattered not if you were a Duke or a dust boy. All mingled at the Fuzzy Whig. Pretensions were not allowed.”
    He felt the Spirit’s glance and stopped.
    â€œWhat is the matter?” asked the Ghost.
    â€œNothing particular,” said Darcy.
    â€œSomething, I think,” the Ghost insisted.
    â€œNo,” said Darcy. “No. I should like to have behaved better at an assembly I attended in Meryton. That’s all.”
    His former self turned down the lane as he gave utterance to the wish; and Darcy and the Ghost again stood side-by-side, alone in the open air.
    â€œMy time grows short,” observed the Spirit. “Quick!”
    The address was again familiar to Darcy, a small house in an exclusive section of London. Darcy saw himself. He was older now. It was the Christmas dinner of a year ago. He was not alone, but sat across from a red-headed woman in a green dress. He was embarrassed that his mother should see him here.
    â€œIt matters little,” she said softly. “Very little. Another has displaced me; and if she can cheer and comfort you in the time to come, as I have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”
    â€œWho has displaced you?” he rejoined.
    â€œI know not, but you have not been the same since you came back from Hertfordshire.”
    â€œYou are mistaken,” he said. “There is no-one!”
    â€œAre you trying to convince me or yourself?” she asked gently.
    â€œThere is no-one,” he repeated. “I am not changed towards you.”
    She shook her head.
    â€œAm I?”
    â€œOur friendship is an old one. It was made when we were both in need of comfort and companionship. You were still grieving for your father and I was not grieving for my husband. Still, I had much to recover from.”
    â€œHe was not a gentleman,” he said quietly.
    â€œTrue,” she returned. “Marriage, that which promised happiness when I was young, was fraught with misery. I learned that a parent does not always know what is best for their child. A fine name, good income, and a grand home will never make up for a lack of character in its owner.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “I am not the child I was upon my marriage nor am I the pathetic creature that I was after it was over. You helped me more than I can ever acknowledge nor can I sufficiently express my gratitude.”
    â€œGratitude was never necessary,” replied Darcy.
    â€œI know that it is not, but it is what I feel. It is with much thanks that I release you.”
    â€œHave I sought release?”
    â€œIn words? No. Never.”
    â€œIn what then?”
    â€œIn a changed nature; in an altered spirit; the atmosphere of another who is ever on your mind; another hope as its great end. If the past had never been between us,” said the woman, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him, “tell me, would you seek me out now? Ah, no!”
    He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition in spite of himself. But he said