Today actually is my son's birthday. So It is an odd day to be writing a Happy Birthday letter to a different (fictional) person.
Also, can you tell that I am a teacher from this letter? I'm not working this quarter for personal reasons, but when I do, I have a giant poster that says "Yet!" in my classroom that I point to when a student says "I can't do this."
"No breakfast at the parsonage this morning?" teased Colonel Fitzwilliam when he saw his cousin walking towards Rosings.
"As you see." Darcy did not mind his cousin's teasing overly much, but the Colonel seemed to have decided that Elizabeth was the only topic which he would tease about of late. It was growing rather tiresome.
"They are dining with us this evening." His cousin grinned at Darcy's surprised delight.
"That shall be pleasant," said Darcy after he schooled his features.
Happily, Darcy and Richard had numerous estate matters to settle and, as a result, had breakfast together in the rarely used study while they examined the household accounts. His cousin had very little time to tease him about Mrs. Collins' pretty friend, for they had put off the work for too long. Anne joined them near mid-day, as she needed to lean how to take on these tasks after the men left.
When they were taking a break from adding up rents and showing Anne how to cross-reference the ledgers, she asked Darcy how he got on with the letters.
"It is slow. I find it difficult to read more than one or two per day. I find I am coming to know my mother, though, in a way that I was never able to as a child." Darcy still had more than a dozen letters left to read, but already he was in wonder of the lady who was his mother.
"Have you heard from Georgiana about her letters?" asked Richard.
"I have not. I believe the rider should reach her today, though."
"Has it been such a few days?" asked Anne. "It feels much longer."
"We have not even been here a se'nnight." Darcy also felt like it was longer that he had been at Rosings, but that may have been because of all that had happened.
As soon as they finished tea, they were obliged to go back to work, so their conversation revolved around the tenants and their concerns instead of the ladies most important to Darcy. They worked diligently until it was time to dress for dinner, never once hearing the shrill tones of Lady Catherine.
After Darcy dressed for dinner, he clicked open the small box which held the letters, slid the one he'd read earlier back in, and retrieved another.
My dear William,
Happy fifteenth birthday. Remember, you get extra cake on your birthday because you get my piece as well. I wonder if you will still be called William by the time you read this letter, my dear boy. Perhaps you go by Fitz or Fitzwilliam or even Darcy? How odd it would be for you to be referred to as Darcy, as I can picture no one but your father when I hear that name. Of course, I knew your grandfather as well, at least for a short time, but he was always "Darce" not Darcy, to those who knew him well.
Since I have decided to write you a great many letters, I have decided that I must begin to organise my thoughts better, and perhaps stick to only one or two subjects per letter. Hopefully, I will choose subject matter that is timely to you. I also hope that I will not sound like a sermon, but if I do, you must forgive me, I am not trying to preach at you.
That being said, I want to remind you of something that I know I often have told you and that I hope you remember: Be brave enough to do things badly. My grandmother often told me this when I was beginning a new area of study or learning a new dance. Everyone is dreadful at new things in the beginning, unless they are a prodigy or some such. I do not know if you recall or not, but I speak five languages. Each began with me sounding out each letter of each word, stumbling over verb forms, and making comical mistakes, such as telling a Spanish servant that I needed a new bar of soup (sopa) instead of soap (jabón). The maid knew what I meant, but I was quite embarrassed when I learned of my error. However, this is how we learn. We must do things badly and put ourselves forward.
If you dare, you might ask your Uncle Francis if he still has some of my early paintings, particularly the portraits. I think there are still a few in the attics of Brawnstead. They are perfectly dreadful. I believe my Aunt Catherine — your aunt's namesake — was quite offended by my first attempt to paint her. Yet, I do not think I am being overly prideful if I say that my later attempts to paint portraits were much better. There is one of you as a very young child in my study, which I think is very good. Yet, I had to spend a great deal of time in lessons and practice, waste a great deal of canvas, and continue to persevere. My grandmother would never let me say "I cannot". It was always "I cannot yet" or "I need to practise this skill more before I can do this."
Therefore, I beg you to do the same, both in your studies and in the rest of your life. It is true that there is not time enough to excel in everything, but if you wish to improve in an area, you must be brave enough to do it badly first before you will be proficient. Do not say "I cannot".
Love,
Mamma
Darcy smiled, recalling the many times that his mother had made him rephrase statements with the word yet at the end. Now he did the same with Georgiana. There was the option to say "I do not wish to," but not "I cannot." It annoyed his sister exceedingly.
He put the letter back in the box and slipped it back into its hiding place. As he exited his room to go down to dinner, his smiled broadened, as he realised that Miss Bennet would be there very soon.
Upon arriving in the drawing-room, Darcy found his aunt and his cousins within. Lady Catherine was sitting in the largest chair, as was her wont, and lecturing about the importance of drinking water before every meal. Anne nodded sporadically throughout the lecture, giving the appearance of listening, which Richard examined his fingernails.
"Are your hands more interesting than my conversation, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" asked Lady Catherine exclaimed in her shrill manner.
"Of course not, Aunt," said Richard, meaning no such thing. "It is only that I was picking at one of my nails earlier and I should not have. Now it is in need of attention."
Lady Catherine changed the topic of her lecture to that of nail care, telling them all that they must ensure their personal servants had proper training in such things. She was interrupted before she could warm to her topic, however, by the announcement of the Collinses and their guests. Lady Catherine received them quite civilly, but it was clear by her manner that their company was by no means so acceptable as when she could get nobody else. She was, in fact, almost engrossed by her nephews, speaking to them, especially to Darcy, much more than to any other person in the room.
"Darcy, I have seen so little of you of late," she said after everyone was seated in the drawing-room.
"I have been busy with the estate matters, as Cousin Anne has asked me here to give such assistance." He then apologised if he had been neglecting her, which she reluctantly accepted. She continued to chastise him about various matters, however. Darcy found himself only partially listening, as his eyes were drawn to where Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet were conversing on the other side of the room.
Lady Catherine's attention was also caught by the conversation of the pair, so much so that she felt the need to address them. "What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."
"We are speaking of music, madam," said he, when no longer able to avoid a reply.
"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is, of all subjects, my delight. I must have my share in the conversation if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?"
Grateful to have a subject on which he might converse with some enjoyment, Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister's musical abilities.
"I am very glad to hear such a good account of her," said Lady Catherine, "and pray tell her from me that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a good deal."
"I assure you, madam," he replied, "that she does not need such advice. She practises very constantly."
"So much the better. It cannot be done too much. When I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account. I often tell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times that she will never play really well unless she practises more. Though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."
Mr. Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt's ill-breeding and made no answer. The announcement that dinner was ready intervened, rescuing them from having to continue the conversation, and they consequently relocated to the dining room.
