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.
Jane’s dejection was evident despite her efforts to conceal it.
She spoke fondly of their young cousins and mentioned a visit to a fashionable shop or two, but overall, the letter lacked the cheerfulness that usually characterized her natural prose.
It contained no specific complaints, no revival of sorrowful occurrences, such as Miss Bingley’s snub soon after Jane’s arrival in town, all of which made it painfully obvious that Jane was attempting to forget her heartache.
Elizabeth’s only consolation was that her visit to Rosings would end in about a fortnight and she would soon be reunited with Jane.
Surely, a few days of sisterly love would mend Jane’s heart.
The Easter festivities began with morning services in Hunsford’s church, with the entire village in attendance.
At Lady Catherine’s request, Mr. Collins’s sermon—filled with warnings of apocalyptic doom and divine punishment for sinners—added to the discomfort of the congregation already crammed into the small building.
The air inside the church was warm and stale, and even the incessant flutter of fans brought little relief.
Once the sermon was over, the villagers were invited to Rosings for the annual egg hunt, and afterwards, the most prominent families of the island would remain for the luncheon hosted by her ladyship.
The gardens had been pleasantly arranged, with large tables set out on the grass offering refreshments for the guests.
The family had a special place reserved for them in the shade, abundant with delicacies and spirituous drinks and Lady Catherine’s grand chair resembling a throne in a palace.
Merriment did not decline despite the heat or the ever-present look of displeasure on her ladyship’s countenance.
Some of the younger guests seemed intimidated at first, but their hesitation vanished when Miss de Bourgh proposed they play blind man’s buff.
“We need a handkerchief,” said the young heiress, looking around. “Which one of you gentlemen will provide us with such a precious piece of attire so we can play our game?”
With an elegant flourish, Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to his cousin.
“Your gallantry shall be rewarded.” Miss de Bourgh dropped a playful curtsey. “Would you do us the honour of being the first blind man of the day?”
“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he replied with a playful bow, winking at the group of young ladies gathered behind Miss de Bourgh.
She tied the handkerchief around his eyes, and the giggling troupe of unmarried girls circled him, excited to be chased by the dashing colonel.
Elizabeth, who had chosen not to participate, found mild amusement as the young ladies screamed and laughed, calling out to the colonel while swiftly evading his grasp.
Miss de Bourgh, however, was playing a different game.
Aware of her privileged position, she took liberties that others would not dare: teasing the colonel, poking his back, dodging just beyond reach, and circling him like a lioness taunting her prey.
“Ah, my dearest Anne, I could recognize the fragrance of your rosewater anywhere,” he said.
Miss de Bourgh laughed, barely out of reach. “You will never catch me!”
Then, in one swift movement, she rushed behind the colonel and shoved him forward—straight towards Elizabeth.
It happened too fast for her to step away, and suddenly she found herself an unwilling participant.
“And who might this be?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, taking her arm as laughter and claps erupted around them.
Elizabeth held her breath. Miss de Bourgh had done this on purpose.
“Mmh, I do not recognize this face.” His fingers traced lightly over her cheek. “Certainly, you are not my cousin.”
Uncomfortable, Elizabeth stepped back. “It is me, sir.”
The officer removed the blindfold. “Miss Bennet,” he bowed. “What a charming surprise. I believe you must go next.”
“Oh, no, I must decline. I had stepped to the side and was not playing. Perhaps Miss de Bourgh—”
The heiress grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, pulling her forward. “No, no, you have been caught; now it is your turn to be blinded.”
“Yes, Miss Bennet, those are the rules,” echoed Colonel Fitzwilliam, casting a quick glance in Miss de Bourgh’s direction.
Elizabeth had no choice but to comply, allowing the lady to spin her around.
“Miss Bennet!” cried one of the girls. “Over here!”
Elizabeth stretched out her hands, fumbling as laughter and rustling skirts surrounded her. On her third attempt, she managed to grab hold of someone—but instead of the soft fabric of a summer frock, her fingers closed around the woolly sleeve of a man’s coat.
“You must guess!” someone urged. “You must tell us who he is!”
To pursue the exploration of the gentleman who owned the coat might be considered improper, yet the game allowed for such liberties.
With cautious fingers and a heart that beat all too quickly, Elizabeth reached upward and brushed her hand over his chest. He was tall—remarkably so, for his cravat was near level with her face.
Only two men in the party could claim this height: Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hughes, one of Lady Catherine’s tenants.
Mr. Hughes had a moustache, so if this gentleman’s face proved smooth, then he could only be—
A firm hand caught her wrist, halting her. Startled, Elizabeth pulled off the blindfold.
“I believe you caught the wrong person, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said. “I am not playing.”
Elizabeth’s face burned. “Neither was I, yet here I am. It is your turn now; the rules are that the prey must become the hunter.”
“You know how much I dislike such games, madam.” His voice was steady. “And since I shall be an appalling player, I must decline my turn in favour of someone more suited to the merriment. Now,” he said, turning to the eager young ladies, “which of you will take my place?”
A flurry of excited voices answered at once.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, searched for Miss de Bourgh as a sudden suspicion crept into her mind.
But the lady was nowhere to be seen. The colonel had also vanished, and the coincidence was too glaring to ignore.
Their absence, unnoticed by most, unsettled Elizabeth more than she cared to admit.
Miss de Bourgh’s scheme, it seemed, had been far from harmless, and Elizabeth could not dismiss the feeling that more was at play.
Mr. Darcy took a step closer. “Would you care for some refreshment, Miss Bennet? You must be thirsty after such exertion.”
“A gentleman who dislikes games offering solace to a lady reluctantly caught in one? I find that rather ironic, Mr. Darcy.”
His lips quirked slightly. “Perhaps I am merely proving that I am not as ungallant as you might believe.”
She arched a brow, accepting his offered arm. “Oh, I have never believed you ungallant, sir. Only. . . indifferent.”
“Indifference can be a convenient disguise. But I do not always wear it well.”
“Then perhaps you should try discarding it more often.”
As they made their way towards the refreshment table, Elizabeth stole a glance at him.
He did not look at her, and a renewed sense of frustration overcame her.
The morning's letter from Jane still weighed heavily on her and she could not quite banish the suspicion that Mr. Darcy might have played some part in her sister’s disappointment.
If he sensed her agitation, he chose not to acknowledge it.
But Elizabeth was determined—she would not be charmed into forgetting.
A servant poured them two glasses of lemonade. “Despite your reluctance, Miss Bennet, you are quite skilled at engaging in lively activities. You prefer those that require a sharper wit, I assume?”
Elizabeth took a sip before replying. “I do enjoy certain pastimes, but I find those requiring observation and conversation far more rewarding than those that rely solely on physical exertion.”
“Ah, then we do share common ground. While I do enjoy engaging in sport, I have always preferred reading and discussion.”
“Yet I hear you are rather accomplished at fencing. Your cousin speaks of it with great admiration.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam enjoys exaggerating. He is a much better swordsman than I. I am merely competent. But I must confess, I do find the discipline of fencing engaging. There is a strategy to it, much like a well-matched debate.”
“A well-matched debate? I am certain you are not referring to our exchanges, sir, for you seem to hold little regard for contradiction.”
“On the contrary, Miss Bennet.” He gave her a measured look. “I find a well-reasoned argument invigorating. Provided, of course, that the other party is equally invested in reason rather than prejudice.”