“Not at all, madam,” he said with a smile that Elizabeth found quite becoming. “I find your drawings rather charming. Although, I should have expected such an unfair attack from you for I know you well enough to say that you are rather quick in forming opinions, especially regarding my person.”
Elizabeth raised a brow, feigning offence. “Yet I am rarely wrong in them, sir.”
Mr. Darcy bit his lower lip. “I hope you will make the effort to reassess, should new evidence present itself.”
“I have evidence enough, sir.” Elizabeth was full of playful defiance, and struggled not to laugh. “Do you wish me to tell our friends about your behaviour in Hertfordshire? I have knowledge that may shock them.”
“By all means, Miss Bennet. I am quite prepared.” His smile spread, his eyes glinting with amusement.
Miss de Bourgh’s eyes darted from Elizabeth to Mr. Darcy, her brush stilled in mid-stroke. A string of giggles echoed around the table. Elizabeth face tingled, but she would not succumb to the gentleman’s provocations.
“Pray, tell us, Miss Bennet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I demand to know how he behaves among strangers. We could all use new reasons to laugh at him.”
“According to his friends, Mr. Darcy cannot be laughed at,” Elizabeth said archly.
“That is one of the advantages of kinship, madam,” said the colonel in jest. “A cousin may make fun when a friend dares not.”
A chuckle arose from Mr. Darcy. “I fear I am being unfairly accused. I have been the subject of your teasing before, Miss Bennet, and I have never resented it. In truth, I find it quite charming.”
The colonel grinned. “Ah yes, so I gathered. You spoke of such talents more than once on our journey here.”
The gentleman cast him a warning glance.
“Beware, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said in caution to him. “Or you shall fall victim to his implacable resentment.”
“Fear not, madam—his implacability is mostly reserved for the fencing ring.” The colonel pressed a hand to his chest. “I still bear bruises from our last encounter. Believe me, although he takes great pains to conceal it, my cousin can be an amiable fellow. He simply does not give himself the trouble.”
The room was unusually merry that afternoon. Lady Catherine’s absence—she had confined herself to her apartments for the day, likely recovering from a bout of sherry—had left everyone in excellent spirits.
“I can attest to it,” Elizabeth said. “On the night of the assembly—his first among Meryton’s society—he refused to dance, and his obstinate reserve left several ladies without partners.”
“Cousin! Is this true?” Miss de Bourgh’s giggles echoed the colonel’s laugh. The other ladies exchanged glances, clearly astonished by Elizabeth’s easy manner with Lady Catherine’s most distinguished nephew.
“I knew no lady beyond those of my own party.” His tone was amiable.
“You might have asked for an introduction.” Elizabeth’s point was reasonable; Miss de Bourgh nodded emphatically. “I recall Mr. Bingley made the attempt, but you declined to be introduced to anyone and spoke only to those you already knew.”
“Yes. . . I ought to have judged better.” His gaze fixed on Elizabeth’s. “Though there is one dance in particular I regret having missed that evening.”
Elizabeth faltered for the briefest moment. He could not mean her. After all, she had been barely tolerable that evening—certainly not handsome enough to tempt him!
“I do not have the talent some possess for conversing easily with strangers,” he continued. “It does not come naturally to me.”
“Perhaps you have not tried hard enough. Successfully acting in society is a matter of effort and practice. Take myself as an example: I do not have the patience for drawing, and I consider myself an appalling painter. I despise the activity, for I am incapable of holding the brush without painting my fingers or staining my clothes. Yet here I am, nevertheless, overcoming my shortcomings, for I know that today’s discomfort will soon bring happiness to many.”
“It is most charitable of you, Miss Bennet.” He bowed. “Thank you for kindly giving your time and submitting yourself to such a dreadful practice for the amusement of all.”
Elizabeth stared at her fingertips smeared with paint. “Your praise is undeserved, sir. I confess that I am participating only because Miss de Bourgh requested my assistance. As much as I like to give joy to others, there is nothing I despise more than painting Easter eggs.”
For the first time in years, the sounds of laughter echoed through the passages of Rosings Manor.
What they did not know then was that it would be the last.
Chapter 5 – A Red Dawn
Easter Sunday began uncharacteristically warm for the spring season. A red sun had risen behind a bleary haze, leaving a golden tint across the morning sky. No wind, not even a soft breeze, was available for relief, and a humid warmth settled over the island. The villagers considered this a bad omen. Spring had never been benevolent in Rosings, and this uncommon stillness, as well as the red dawn and the unusual absence of seagulls in the skies was, for them, a sure sign that some evil would soon befall them.
Elizabeth, however, had more personal concerns dampening her spirits. Her excitement for the Easter festivities had been lessened with the arrival of Jane’s letter, the second she had received since coming to Wales. After many days without news from her family, her sister’s correspondence had finally reached her hands thanks to a villager who had returned from the mainland the day before and kindly delivered it to the parsonage early that morning. Although the letter was correctly addressed, it took several more days before finally making its way to Rosings.
