by Jayne Bamber
Despite our tranquility here at Darcy House, Richard and Uncle Henry have had a row, and Richard says he will be following you to Derbyshire ere long. I hope you and he shall lift one another’s spirits at Pemberley. I find myself worrying about you; it feels strange to be at Darcy House, knowing I have driven you out of it. I know not whether it pleases me or pains me to know that you have been as hard on yourself as I have been on myself these ten days, but I hope you will be content at Pemberley.
I accept your apology, on the condition that you likewise accept mine. I cannot reflect with satisfaction on how I spoke to you that morning at my uncle’s house, nor how I behaved myself. Your letter has given me some heart, for I believe you meant it sincerely, and thus I must show you equal sentiment.
I left Pemberley seven years ago because I did not fully understand my place in this world, or this family. I overheard a very serious conversation and misunderstood the particulars of what happened on the day of the carriage accident – in short, I came to believe that I was responsible for it, and that our family had been cursed as a result of it. I felt myself unworthy to take the Darcy name, which had just been offered to us – unworthy of anything from the Darcys. My uncle allowed me to be governed by my unchecked, juvenile emotions. I do not blame him; I have always known that he needed me, and it pains me to think that I could almost regret the choice I made, which brought him so much comfort.
Only Richard and Charlotte knew of my despair – and the adults – Jane has only just learned of it, and Mary has never asked me for any explanation. It has been a burden I have remained perversely determined to carry with me all these years, but I shall let it bind my heart no more. What I am attempting to say is that my behavior toward you, both at the ball and the morning after, was simply the inevitable boiling over of so many years of strife in our family. That you did not know me cemented my conviction that you did not want me, that my position in this family is as precarious as I feared.
I have examined my own actions, my own heart, and the anger I showed you is a mere veil covering a devastating need for acceptance. You said at the ball you have two sisters; imagine what I felt on discovering it was you who spoke those words. I have wielded my dislike and distrust of you as a shield, and it has not served me well, for I have still been wounded. I have been determined to refute the idea that I might actually desire your good opinion, and knowing that I only ever had it when you did not know me has been a difficult discovery, but I am willing to forgive everything if you are in earnest.
I hope you will write soon, and that we might be friends.
Elizabeth Bennet
***
Pemberley, Derbyshire
23 January, 1812
Dear Elizabeth,
Thank you for your letter. I received a packet from Jane, Mary, and our mother a few days ahead of your letter, and was disappointed not to find anything from you. Having now received your letter and read it several times through, I can see you must have put considerable time and thought into it, and I can only thank you for having the generosity to believe that I am worth the effort.
As you have so graciously accepted my apology, I can do no less for you. I have spent the better part of the last fortnight thinking over my own shame; to own the truth, it is not a thing I have ever done to such a degree in the whole course of my life, and therefore very long overdue.
Despite the rancor of our argument, I believe I was already aware of my own boorishness as soon as I left your uncle’s house, and though my apology was sincere, I have since then wallowed in a rather selfish style of repentance, chiefly occupied by the dismay of having made such a fool of myself. I have begun a more fruitful manner of introspection, and I hope you would be proud to know that it is all your doing.
I often think of my conversation with the starling – that is, the Elizabeth I was able to speak so easily with. The minute our dance had ended, I desired to already be speaking with that woman again, and I am wishing every day for such conversation. Is that not strange that I saw you more clearly through your mask, than I ever have before?
I hope we might reach such an understanding again, and I fear I have expressed myself rather poorly by suggesting that it would only be for the benefit of our family; I wish for myself that we might be friends, as you say. As it was when we were masked, while I am at such a distance in my self-imposed exile, I am able to say to you what I truly think and feel.
It was brave of you to tell me why you left Pemberley, and I only wish I had known sooner. Richard arrived at Pemberley this morning, and has told me how he came to know of it so long ago. Dearest Elizabeth, how I wish I had been the one to speak with you that day, to allay your fear and guilt. It breaks my heart to think of you carrying such a burden, and I believe I must join the rest of our family in reminding you that it was not your fault – you were an innocent. You are not cursed, not unless you choose to persist in believing that you are. To know that you have carried such a burden for these seven years, when I might have prevented it merely by being a more attentive brother from the beginning – I cannot express the pain I feel at my own part in your distress.
I hope by now you have made amends with Mary, for though she was cross with you at the ball, she has long been your champion; last autumn at Pemberley she was so determined we should all be a family again, and after all her years of reading us your letters and singing your praises to us, I cannot bear for you two to be at odds now.
Richard is waiting in the doorway, now – he bids me send you his regards, and to tell Mrs. Reynolds that he has wheedled her gooseberry tart recipe from my cook to give to his own. I shall write you more when I have flogged him for his insolence, and gotten through the dinner – even now he is reminding me of the myriad matters we must discuss.
For now,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Postscript,
I shall have to delay the sending of this missive a few days yet, but the recompense shall be in the delivery, for Richard means to return to London the day after next. I would ask you for a favor, that you keep an eye on Richard when he returns. He is in low spirits, and though he would confess to nothing, I suspect him of being rather lovelorn. I have my suspicions, but I leave it to your judgement, which I shall own is rather superior. I should wish to hear anything you choose to share of your time in London, as I shall be very dull at Pemberley, with only matters of business to occupy my time, and perhaps the library.
***
Darcy House, London
1 February, 1812
Dear William,
I beg you would not seek to assuage my guilt by taking any of it on yourself. I think it unfair for you to blame yourself for not being the one to offer me comfort when I learned the details of the accident, though the sentiment is generous. I believe you are growing into quite a philosopher at Pemberley, and I shall decorate the margins of this letter with some small sketches of how I imagine your ponderous pose, like the Greeks of old.
You may also imagine my chagrin, after such shocking speeches as I have made about you, to discover you possess such hidden depths. We are to be friends, and I cannot tell you how it pleases me. There is much truth in what you wrote last, that just as I spoke so candidly to you from behind the mask, I might do likewise in a letter. Like you, I have thought nearly daily of that night, of our dance together, and even of our brief conversation at Christmas, when you thought I was Rose. You thought Rose was me, because you saw only what you expected to see, and when we danced together I suppose neither of us expected we might ever speak so openly.
I must mention Richard, for I have done as you asked in observing him. I took a different meaning from the request when first I read it; he has been a caller daily at Darcy House, and I have begun to wonder just what you were asking. In truth, I suspect some partiality between Jane and Richard. I suppose it must not be what you wish to hear, as I know you desired Jane should prefer Mr. Bingley. I beg you would not mention it to anyone just yet – it is a new develop
ment, and even Jane herself seems unaware of it. I have seen the looks they exchange, and I can only hope you would approve.
I have had some opportunity to observe Jane with Mr. Bingley as well, these three weeks. William, she is quite at a loss to keep up with his boundless energy, despite her being genuinely happier than she has been in so long. She is doing well, and I believe her time in London has lifted her spirits already, but she shall never be so gregarious or optimistic as Mr. Bingley – though I suspect he might know another lady who is.
Mr. Bingley has been a frequent guest at Darcy House since my coming here, and he is often bringing his mother and sister, as well as his friend, my cousin Collins. Though Mr. Collins’s company is very agreeable, Mrs. and Miss Bingley are not my favorite acquaintances. I am winking at you from afar, for surely you must know me capable of saying far worse, but I am determined to exercise some restraint, and leave the full extent of their churlishness to your imagination.
On the subject of disagreeable mothers and daughters – forgive me – I must mention our Aunt Catherine and Cousin Anne. They were very cross with you for leaving London so suddenly, and I take the liberty of disparaging them just a little, because I know Lady Catherine vowed to write you, and I am so very curious – I imagine she was so severe! Poor Cousin John! He begins to fear Cousin Anne will begin to think of him, a fate he deems worse than the admiration of Miss Bingley!
Do write again soon, if you can bear my impudence. Until then, I shall be shamelessly enjoying some gooseberry tarts!
Elizabeth
***
Pemberley, Derbyshire
9 February, 1812
Dear Elizabeth,
Thank you for your last letter. You have confirmed a suspicion I have held since Richard’s visit, and you need not fear I shall interfere – I am pleased to hear of it from you, for I have received far more discreet accounts from Mother and Jane. I shall keep my knowledge a secret for now, with a hope that you will keep me abreast of any further developments.
I confess I had once believed Richard’s interest to lie elsewhere, and had genuinely thought Bingley a good match for Jane, but someone I admire very dearly has inspired me to leave it be. Jane was cross with me after I left London, but the tone of her letters has grown more cheerful, and I do wish for her happiness, even if she does not find it in the way I had wished. I would, of course, wish the same for Bingley, and for you, Elizabeth.
As to the letter from Aunt Catherine, I am torn between my wish to satisfy your curiosity, and proper decorum – the letter was harsh, unsurprising, and upon reading it I was embarrassed on her behalf. She seeks to press me into making an offer I could never desire, arousing false jealousy by mentioning Cousin John, though I cannot imagine that should John truly wish to make Anne his viscountess, Aunt Catherine would still think me a better prospect.
I am much occupied in estate matters – and, yes, the reading of some philosophy in the very postures your amusing drawings depicted. Being separated from my family is rendered more bearable not only by the satisfaction of my own productivity here, but in looking forward to your letters. I imagine all the ladies I hold dear, so happily ensconced in Darcy House, breathing life into the place after so long. It is just what I would wish.
I look forward to your next.
William
***
Darcy House, London
14 February, 1812
Dear William,
It is kind of you to anticipate my letters as eagerly as I await yours. And how much I have to write!
Things are progressing well with Richard and Jane – I shall not betray any confidences, but if you are indeed in favor of the notion, I think you need not fear being disappointed. You were not incorrect in suspecting Richard’s interests once lay elsewhere, but they have taken a turn, to everyone’s satisfaction – and relief!
Our Uncle Henry has relented a great deal in his matrimonial designs for us all, and though I have come to understand his motives better, I am still relieved that he has taken a more laissez faire approach. Poor Uncle Henry – I think Mamma and our lady grandmother have rather given him the business about his desire to see us all wed, and he has promised not to force anything – much to Aunt Catherine’s dismay! She only calls at Darcy House to press for news of you, and Cousin Anne is far from pleasant on such occasions. She has made the connection between my presence at Darcy House, and your absence. I think she means to punish me with her haughty incivility, but she fails to realize how well I like to laugh at human folly.
The Bingleys and Mr. Collins continue calling often on us, and we are quite as snug as you might imagine. Miss Bingley is making significant progress toward capturing John’s… heart? I must admit it has made her vastly more pleasant company. I had supposed her cool civility toward me to result from her awareness of my falling out with Jane years ago, but I think I have grown enough these last several weeks to admit to a change in my opinion of her.
Her mother is a different case entirely. Mrs. Bingley, we have discovered, is an old acquaintance of my Uncle Edward’s, and though he is on affable terms with her, Mamma dislikes her tremendously and will say nothing about it to us. Perhaps you might pay me back in kind, and attempt to discover the truth?
Uncle has another most unexpected admirer – Mr. Collins! Cousin Will has been so attentive to us all, but I have begun to tease him that he comes to Darcy House only hoping for a chance to see my uncle, for they are often speaking together to the exclusion of everyone else! They speak of business – Miss Bingley thinks it very odious! – and even our lady grandmother declared it quite infamous when Cousin Will declared he should like the life of a merchant over that of a landowner. She still teases Uncle – her ‘old beau’ – and I think ere long she will have a new follower in Cousin Will.
I wonder if you have had any letters from Mr. Bingley since you went away? Cousin Will has told Mr. Bingley of an estate near his own, and though Mr. Bingley is most interested in the prospect of Netherfield Park, he says he shall not act until you can advise him on the matter. He seemed not to know when you shall return, but none of us really know your plans.
I hope whatever occupies your days is pleasant enough. I had intended, on speculating that you had become a philosopher, resolved to begin reading some weighty tomes myself, but alas, Mary has been plying me with novels that we might discuss them together. She has always been a bluestocking, but now she is a romantic besides! We shall begin Udolpho next week, though Charlotte has told me already what lies behind the black veil, and I gave her quite a pinch for it.
Your novel-frenzied friend,
Elizabeth
***
Pemberley, Derbyshire
20 February, 1812
Dear Elizabeth,
Your last letter was a balm to my spirits. I confess I have put aside my philosophical tomes for a reading of A Sentimental Journey, and certain passages have drawn me into such a pensive reverie. I hope I am right inferring from your letters that my beautiful starling no longer feels trapped in her cage.
To hear that you are happy at Darcy House, to imagine my dear ladies so flooded with happy visitors warms my heart, and assures me that I have done right in returning to Pemberley for some weeks of personal reflection. In truth, I ache at the thought that I might never have been out onto such a path of self-improvement, were it not for the pain I caused you, and though I regret our quarrel, I find myself grateful at how my eyes have been opened.
I must apologize for our cousin Anne’s behavior toward you. However she came to the conclusion that you are to blame for my absence, I hope I have made it clear to all of our family that it was my own conduct that drove me to Pemberley. I cannot give you any firm answer as to when I might return, for it depends upon a matter of some delicacy. I am content enough to pass my days visiting the tenants and their families, surveying the estate and grounds on horseback, and attempting to be a dedicated master of Pemberley as my father was.
Until I return,
I hope you will continue delighting me with your letters.
William
***
Darcy House, London
26 February, 1812
Dear William,
I have crumpled up half a dozen letters to you this morning. I fear I may disappoint, for though I have much to say about our friends and our family, and should wish to indulge your request of a delightful letter, I have not the spirit to put anything to paper.
We are happy enough, to be sure, but it is not the same at all, telling you of all our happy times together, when you are not here to enjoy it all with us. I know not what delicate matter keeps you away, nor have I any right to ask, but I do wish you would come home. I know I am not alone in such a wish, though I am a selfish creature and ask only for my own sake, and yours.
Mamma and Jane and Mary will likely be writing to you soon, for John has made Miss Bingley an offer, and we are all in uproar. Lady Catherine has been in high dudgeon, and used some language to Mrs. Bingley that was at once quite shocking, and marvelously impressive – yet another sight I wish you were here to see, for I am sure we should all be laughing together.
But I must leave it for now, for the thought of describing such merriment to you while you remain in your self-imposed exile begins to give me pain, and I fear I might be paining you as well. I shall leave off for now, and attempt a more diverting letter another time.