She handed him a strange little item—a doll, he realised—small enough to fit in his palm and fashioned from what looked like clothes-pegs. He took it, for he would never refuse anything she gave him, but he looked askance at her as he did.
“Her name is Hegarty. My uncle Gardiner made her for me that Christmas my father mentioned earlier. I had the measles, so I was sent to stay in London away from my sisters. It was the first Christmas I ever spent apart from Jane, and I was wretched. I thought she might cheer you up while you are away from Miss Darcy.”
Darcy looked at it, then he looked at her. He was eight-and-twenty years old, master of one of the largest estates in the north of England, and revered by half theton. And Elizabeth had given him a wooden peg-doll called Hegarty as a gift. She was also biting her lips against a smirk, her eyes sparkling as she watched him, and he knew she was anticipating his confusion, possibly even his contempt. What he would not give to be able to kiss away her misconception! His mouth fought for a broader smile than the slight one he allowed himself.
“You thought correctly. Thank you.”
She looked surprised though not displeased with this answer and, with a nod, settled back into her seat to take stock of the rest of the room as though catching up with what she had missed.
“Your uncle and mother are playing piquet,” he said quietly. “Miss Mary has been reading a book to your father, and the rest of your family is attempting to explain the plot ofOthelloto Miss Catherine, though I confess how that conversation came about quite escaped my understanding.”
These observations evidently surprised her as well, though she did not remark on them directly. She only smiled as she said, “Yes, discussions in this house can be rather convoluted. It can get a little lively at times.”
“On the contrary. It has been an agreeably peaceful evening.”
“Indeed,” Anne interposed to Darcy’s consternation, for it signified her having listened to all that had been said before. “We have been expecting the celebrations to devolve into raucous parlour games at any moment.”
Darcy shot her a furious look, but before he could think how he might civilly frame a reproof, Elizabeth had turned to address her over the arm of her chair.
“Alas, my father loathes parlour games, my mother is terrible at them, and my younger sisters do nothing but argue over who won and who cheated. We gave up playing them years ago, but I should be happy to request a bowl of raisins and a bottle of sherry from the kitchen if you would like a game of Snapdragon.”
Anne pursed her lips, and Darcy uncharitably thought to himself it was probably because she had not the wit to extract herself from the situation in which her own incivility had landed her.
“Perhaps another time,” Elizabeth said, more forbearingly than Anne deserved.
His cousin’s enmity towards Elizabeth gave Darcy an uneasy feeling. He wished to apologise for her ingratitude but could not while she eavesdropped his every word, though that problem, at least, was soon resolved. Miss Bennet moved to sit next to her and spoke with such patient kindness that eventually, Anne condescended to converse.
“Jane is very good,” Elizabeth said quietly. “If anybody can make your cousin feel more at ease, it is my sister.”
“I do not know why my cousin should feel ill at ease. You have all been extremely welcoming.”
“Oh, come now, sir,” she replied with a bewitching expression. “Miss de Bourgh has all the same reasons to feel uneasy as you have.”
He ought to have known he could not conceal his disquiet from Elizabeth, studier of character that she was. Still, she was not completely correct in this. “Not all.”
She looked perplexed, and Darcy felt a stab of alarm at having come far closer than he meant to an admission of his feelings.
“I have no doubt that your sister will be unperturbed by any surliness,” he said hastily. “She is one of the most serene ladies I have ever encountered.”
Elizabeth sighed unhappily. “Aye, though that composure of temper has served her very ill of late. Jane’s uniform cheerfulness hides a great strength of feeling, but once you know it is there, her unhappiness is plain to see. It is in the tilt of her head, and the brevity of all her smiles.”
This speech made Darcy inordinately glad to have written to Bingley, though he was not in a position to say anything on the matter. Instead, he asked, “What of you? How does one know when you are happy or sad?”
She seemed to accept the change of subject well enough. “When I am happy, I laugh.”
“And when you are unhappy?”
“That is the tricky bit, for I usually laugh then, too.”
“Not always. You were not laughing when you came out of the church earlier.”
Her smile faltered. “No, not always. But despite what you might think, my first object in life is not a joke.”
It took Darcy a moment to place the reference, but at length he recalled it from one of their debates at Netherfield. “I assure you I never thought that.” With a pointed look at his cousin, he added, “Yet, it would be to the advantage ofsometo joke more often. Regrettably, my cousin’s upbringing has not taught her much appreciation for life’s simpler diversions.” He wondered whether the same could be said of him. He hoped not.
“I had noticed, sir. But humour is a fickle creature, and we shall never all be diverted by the same things. It is good that you comprehend Miss de Bourgh’s nature. That will give you the best chance for happiness in the future.”
He was still frowning over this peculiar remark when a servant entered with two expresses, just arrived—one for Mr Bennet, and one for him. Both contained the news that Bingley was, at that very moment, unpacking his trunks at Netherfield. Mr Bennet and all his family were invited to dine there tomorrow. Better still, Darcy and Anne were invited to decamp from their various lodgings and move there that evening.
