What, precisely, was the matter with Mr. Darcy?
Chapter 4 – Smeared Fingers and Easter Eggs
One of the customs that the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh had followed at Rosings when he was still alive was Easter festivities according to German traditions. His widow had honoured his wish during the years following his death although she disagreed with the adoption of foreign customs. Notwithstanding Lady Catherine’s distaste for such practices, the servants were immersed in the task of preparing the house for the celebration. That was how, on Maundy Thursday, Miss de Bourgh and other ladies of the village—about a dozen of them—gathered together in the dining room of the mansion to paint the eggs that would be hidden around the gardens for the children and young ladies to find.
“What a lovely tradition you have here at Rosings, Miss de Bourgh,” Charlotte placed a freshly painted egg inside a basket. “We do not paint eggs in Hertfordshire; we simply attend services and meet our neighbours for an abundant breakfast.”
“My grandfather learned of this tradition during a visit to Germany in his youth, and my father continued it after his death. He always said it was the best way to end Lent and give the poor families on the island a chance to break the Lenten fast with a feast of food and merriment.”
“It was generous of him to do so, and in such an entertaining way,” Elizabeth said. “Pray tell, what other activities will there be on Easter Sunday, in addition to the egg hunt?”
“We play battledore and shuttlecocks, blind man’s buff, and many other summer games. Although my mother considers them a bit indecorous, we still maintain the custom. But tell me of your traditions. How do you and your family celebrate Easter?
“Nothing nearly as energetic as the egg hunts, although we have welcomed more than twenty families in Longbourn. Meryton’s society is extremely fond of social events, more so now that the militia is encamped in the neighbourhood for the season.”
At this, one of the young ladies sighed wistfully. “How I wish we had a regiment stationed here! It would make assemblies far more enjoyable.”
Another added with a giggle, “Men in uniform always lift one’s spirits—ordinary sailors cannot dance!”
The whole party erupted in laughter.
Elizabeth pursed her lips, recalling the officers quartered in Meryton: their bright uniforms, lively conversation, and eager manners. “They do make for agreeable company,” she said. “Though too many red coats in one room can lead to a good deal of mischief, especially when hearts are easily turned.”
That only drew more giggles from the younger girls, who were much more enthralled by the romance than warned by the danger.
“I should dearly love to see that,” Miss de Bourgh said, her voice edged with melancholy. “There are but few balls held here at Rosings. I am not permitted to attend even those hosted by our neighbours, for my mother deems such assemblies beneath our station, and quite unsuited to my constitution. I assure her I am greatly recovered, yet she will not be persuaded.”
Charlotte had told Elizabeth that Miss de Bourgh’s health had always been delicate. A serious illness in her youth had prevented her presentation at court, and ever since, she had been confined to the island, with little opportunity to broaden her social circle. No wonder she had grown so fond of Maria, whose lively disposition was an excellent counterpoint to the young lady’s habitual languor. There was a quiet eagerness in Miss de Bourgh’s manner, a wistfulness that suggested she longed for friendship, despite her mother’s efforts to discourage such attachments.
“And your cousins, do they not visit you often?” Elizabeth asked, already pitying Miss de Bourgh for her forced isolation.
“My cousin Edward usually comes for Michaelmas, and Darcy always visits at Easter. I am happy Richard was able to join him this time; last year his duties with the regiment did not allow him to travel.”
“You seem especially fond of your cousins.”
“They are most dear to me.” The young heiress’ smile broadened noticeably at the mention of the gentlemen. “Richard is most charming, and Darcy is also quite kind.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, “is far more accommodating when it comes to acquiring new acquaintances—unlike Mr. Darcy, who seems almost repelled by the demands of society.”
“Darcy was—is—a good man as well,” said Miss de Bourgh, with a thoughtful pause. “Though I wish he were not so serious. I recall him being much livelier before the death of his father. I imagine his duties as master have demanded much of his time. He has grown so quiet lately, so. . . so bitter and withdrawn.”
“I heard his estate is magnificent,” said Elizabeth, changing the subject.
“Pemberley? Oh, yes, it is.” Miss de Bourgh returned to her painting with deliberate grace. “I have never been there, but I have heard so much praise of it that I can almost testify to its beauty.” Her tone was wistful, though her fingers stiffened around her paint brush. “Still, I much prefer the sea breeze of Rosings to the hills of Derbyshire. I dare say Richard finds this place just as agreeable. He says the air here suits him best, and I like to believe that is not the only reason he returns.”
There was a pause in which Elizabeth waited for Miss de Bourgh to mention her tacit engagement to Mr. Darcy, but apparently, she found the subject unpleasant. Neither he nor she showed any sort of particular regard for each other beyond the kinship they shared, looking quite disquieted when the topic was even suggested. Truth be told, both seemed repulsed by the idea of marriage. Miss de Bourgh’s attachment to her other cousin was plainly evident—perhaps too much, given the circumstances—but Elizabeth was not certain her feelings were returned. The colonel for his part, showed no sign of partiality towards her, his manner uniformly cordial to all. Still, the lady spoke of him with such ease and fondness, almost as if she were planting the idea in the minds ofothers, subtly drawing connections where none had been formally declared.
Not much later, Mr. Darcy and the colonel entered the room, catching everyone’s attention.
Miss de Bourgh bolted to her feet. “Richard! Come, you must see what I have painted!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam approached her and looked at the baskets full of coloured eggs, pointing at the one in Miss de Bourgh’s hands. “These are exquisite. Thank you, ladies, for your efforts. Tomorrow we shall enjoy an excellent party!”
Maria, who had been copying Miss de Bourgh’s patterns on her eggs, asked what colours she should use next, and the lady showed her how to draw little blue flowers that looked like forget-me-nots. The conversation drifted towards various painting techniques, with Charlotte recalling how her younger brothers had once attempted a similar craft, only to make a terrible mess of it.
Mr. Darcy took a turn around the table, observing the ladies in their task. He stopped close to Elizabeth, his gaze lingering on her work. Her eggs were not as precise as Miss de Bourgh’s, so she spoke before he could comment.
“Do you mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming all this way to scrutinise my work? My talent may not rival your cousin’s, but I shall not be intimidated. My courage always rises with a challenge. With enough practise, I dare say I might even approach some measure of her skill.”
