Letters From the Heart

by Kay Bea

  Christmas 1811

  Ashford Lodge, Derbyshire

  Fitzwilliam Darcy had been in residence at Ashford Lodge, his uncle’s country estate, for three days when his cousin finally sought him out. Darcy had once again ensconced himself in the library, far from any of his relations, and he was busy pretending to read when his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam intruded on his privacy.

  The colonel poured himself a snifter of brandy and settled comfortably into the chair opposite Darcy’s in front of the fire. “You do realise we, or at least I, had anticipated your journey to Hertfordshire to result in rather more of an improvement in your disposition. Instead, you have returned in an even more dour mood than when you departed. I’ve had to reassure Georgiana that your morose brooding has naught to do with her.”

  Darcy set his book aside and turned to face his cousin, “Nonsense, Richard. I am precisely as I have always been.”

  “Yes, and I shall soon replace Wellington. Now, tell me what happened in Hertfordshire,” the colonel insisted.

  “Bingley fell in love,” Darcy supplied. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not fail to note the subtle shift in Darcy’s posture nor the shadow that crossed his face.

  “Your Cambridge friend? The one with roots in trade and the terrible sisters?”

  Darcy raised an eyebrow at the reminder of Bingley’s roots. “The very one.”

  “Is he not often in love?” The colonel stretched his legs before him as he awaited an answer.

  “More often than is healthy, to be certain,” Darcy replied.

  “And what has young Bingley’s latest affaire de cœur have to do with your present agitation?”

  “Very little, I suppose, except that I was once again obliged to intervene before his honour was unwisely engaged.”

  “If you have saved him from an objectionable match, I should wonder why you are not pleased,” the colonel observed. “Though I fail to comprehend why you do not allow him to make his own choice. He is a man grown after all, not a boy in leading strings.” There was silence for a moment before the colonel spoke again, “Aha! I know! ’Twas not only Bingley who fell unwisely in love!” Though he meant only to tease, it took naught but a moment for Colonel Fitzwilliam to realise he had inadvertently happened upon the truth of the matter.

  “Nonsense, Richard,” Darcy denied the accusation, but his cousin and boyhood friend was not deceived.

  “Tell me, Darcy, about this creature you do not love,” the colonel insisted.

  The invitation to describe Elizabeth Bennet was too tempting to withstand. Darcy drew a breath and said, “She is the younger sister to Bingley’s newest love. She is kind, thoughtful, and terribly impertinent. Miss Bingley thinks she is possessed of a conceited independence, but I found her to be refreshing, not at all like the simpering daughters of the ton. She is, perhaps, too free in giving her opinions, but she most often manages not to give offence. She is also prone to debate simply for the sake of it. She is passionate”—here he thought of her defence of Wickham and was frustrated again—“even when she is mistaken.”

  Putting aside his anger, he pictured her face that night and on the other occasions they had spoken. He continued softly, “She has the most expressive eyes I have ever seen. They dance when she laughs and burn when she is angry.” He stopped speaking and turned to gaze into the darkness beyond the library window.

  “She seems your ideal match, then. Why are you not in Hertfordshire wooing the lady rather than sitting here with your dusty old relations?”

  Darcy shook himself and turned to face his cousin. “Woo her? No. She is entirely unsuitable. ’Tis better that I left the country when I did.”

  “And what makes this kind, impertinent, passionate woman unsuitable? Is she a servant?”

  “Do not be ridiculous!” Darcy snapped in offence.

  “A shopkeeper’s daughter perhaps or a tavern wench?” the colonel teased his cousin.

  “Give me some credit, if you please!”

  “The squire’s daughter?” Darcy’s face darkened at his words, and Colonel Fitzwilliam knew he had come to the point. “That is it then,” he continued before Darcy could speak. “You fell in love with the squire’s daughter. Her father is at least a gentleman then, so tell me, Darcy, how is she unsuitable?”

  “It is not she so much as it is her family! The two eldest sisters were the only decent members of the entire group. Five daughters, all out at once and not a decent dowry between them. A vulgar, grasping, harpy of a mother. An indolent father. And an estate that is entailed to Lady Catherine’s parson of all people! That is to say nothing of her mother’s relations. An uncle who is a country attorney and another in trade. How could I possibly rejoice in the prospect of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own? The match was in every way impossible! I would not have my life made the subject of insipid gossip and speculation!”

  The colonel made a rude noise and said, “When did you become Lady Catherine?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Darcy asked indignantly.

  “You heard me. Good lord, Darcy! ‘How could I possibly rejoice in the prospect of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?’” he mimicked cruelly. “You’ve not cared one whit what anyone thinks of your choices before. Why does it matter now?”

  “I—” Darcy started, then stopped, and began again. “I must consider Georgiana.”

  “You have always needed to consider her. Do not use your sister as an excuse for your own arrogance. You have picked a poor time to begin caring for the whims of society. I only hope you were not foolish enough to let your disdain for her family show in your interactions, else you may never repair the damage.”

  “Why should I wish to?” Darcy asked.

  “Because you are in love, my friend, and that should matter.” Richard said nothing more on the subject before leaving the room some twenty minutes later.

  January 7, 1812

  Darcy House, London

  Dear Richard,

  You will be surprised to know that Georgiana and I have journeyed to London rather than Derbyshire. There is but little which could persuade me to be in town, particularly at this time of year. You should not take my presence here as in any way acknowledging your advice of Christmas. I will say that, upon reflection, I may have acted with too much haste as regards Bingley and his lady.

  Therefore, I have decided to persuade Bingley to reopen Netherfield. It should be the work of only a moment as he has spoken of naught but his Miss Bennet these past weeks.

  I have not yet decided whether Georgiana will accompany me as I do not care to encourage the presence of certain ladies. Perhaps Miss Bingley will not relish the idea of winter in Hertfordshire. I can only hope her desire for the entertainments of town will outweigh her interest in this affair.

  Though I take exception to your characterisation of my disposition of late—a Darcy is never morose and does not brood. I know I have not been myself. I suppose I should thank you for reminding me that this is an odd time to suddenly begin caring for the opinion of society, but I will not give you any such measure of satisfaction.

  Your cousin,

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  January 14, 1812

  Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire

  “No, Bingley, we cannot just pop over to visit Longbourn! We are both covered in mud and filth and who knows what else from our journey! At the very least, we must change from our travel clothes! Surely you do not wish Miss Bennet to see you looking as though you pushed your own carriage from the mud?” Darcy spoke even as he handed off his mud-covered outerwear to a servant.

  “As I did push my own carriage from the mud, I hardly see why it signifies!” Bingley retorted.

  “Bingley,” Darcy said with an exasperated sigh, “You did no such thing. You stood in the middle of the road and observed as your driver and I did the pushing.”

  “Well, I did give him direction,” Bingley contended.

  “Off with
you! Change your clothes so you may call on your Miss Bennet,” Darcy insisted even as he considered how to begin making amends to his own Miss Bennet. His cousin’s admonishment at Christmas gave him sufficient cause to review his actions when last in the area, and he did so with no small measure of shame. He considered it would take a good deal of effort to convince Miss Elizabeth and her family of his good intentions.

  By the time both men were in a fit state to be seen, calling hours had long since passed, and they were obliged to wait until the following morning to call on the ladies of Longbourn. Darcy spent much of the evening in silent reflection. He wondered whether he should have brought Georgiana. Being of an age with the youngest Bennet sisters, she might find them more tolerable than he himself did. That her presence might render him less dour could not be discounted.

  January 15, 1812

  Longbourn, Hertfordshire

  “Jane! Jane! A visitor is come! They are even now coming up the drive,” Lydia called out from her place near the parlour window. She had taken to sitting there in recent days, as though staring at the road would bring forth the sister who had so recently departed using that same path.

  Jane looked up from her needlework to say, “We are certainly not expecting any visitors. I wonder who it might be.”

  Kitty leapt up then to join Lydia at the window, “Oh, Jane! I think it is your Mr Bingley, and he has that other man with him—the tall, proud fellow that was always staring at Lizzy!”

  Jane scarcely had time to consider her reaction to the news when their mother burst into the room. “Jane! Jane! I knew how it would be! I knew he would come! Now, you must go upstairs and change into your blue gown for it is most fetching and you wish to appear your best!”

  Mary chose that moment to add, “If you knew he would come, I wonder that you were so eager to send Elizabeth away.”

  “What has Lizzy to do with it? Mr Bingley is come for our dear Jane!” Mrs Bennet declared. “It is likely he heard that Lizzy is no longer in the country, and not having to worry about being embarrassed by her wild behaviour, decided to return.”

  To this, Mary made no reply. She returned her attention to the copy of Fordyce she had been reading and determined to say nothing further until the gentlemen had departed. She had read no more than a few words when Mrs Hill entered the room, “Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley, ma’am.”

  Darcy allowed Bingley to enter the room first, needing another moment to compose himself before he saw her. His disappointment was severe but fleeting as he saw, almost immediately, that she was not present amongst her sisters in the drawing room.

  Mrs Bennet was first to speak to the gentlemen. “Oh, my dear Mr Bingley! I knew you would return. I knew you would not forget your promise. You are quite in my debt for a family dinner. I have not forgotten.”

  She then turned a cold eye to Mr Darcy and said, “And of course, you may come as well, Mr Darcy.”

  Darcy observed the slight but replied civilly nevertheless. “I would be honoured, Mrs Bennet. Your generous hospitality is known even to me.”

  Mrs Bennet blushed and stammered for a moment before recovering herself. “You are too kind, Mr Darcy. It is unfortunate you were not able to join us sooner. Then you might have enjoyed the wedding breakfast.”

  Darcy could not account for his sudden unease and asked, “Wedding breakfast, Mrs Bennet? I fear I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”

  “Yes, yes, but come, sit, for you are just in time for tea.”

  The gentlemen obliged her request, and Mrs Bennet scarcely took time to serve her guests before she continued, “Indeed, I daresay it will be much talked of. You see, Elizabeth is lately married to our own dear Mr Collins! My brother Philips arranged it all. Of course, the wilful girl showed not the least bit of gratitude. But she will be made to see reason, and then she will understand that I have secured the future for us all. And now she is gone, there are no further hindrances to Mr Bingley pursuing my dear Jane. Yes, yes, I knew how it would be.”

  It was fortunate for Darcy that the others in the room were much occupied with their own pursuits, and therefore paid little attention to his reaction to the unwelcome news. While Darcy grew pale and unnaturally still, Mary resumed her attentions to her book, Kitty and Lydia whispered furiously together, and Jane and Bingley only had eyes for one another.

  As Mrs Bennet continued to prattle on regarding her own success where Mr Bennet had failed, Darcy clutched his rapidly cooling teacup as if doing so might save him. The others continued to converse around him, but he was scarcely able to participate. Never had he been more grateful for his reputation as taciturn and withdrawn, for never had he less desire to pretend happiness or even interest in the concerns of others. Only one thought consumed his mind:

  I am too late, and all is lost.

  January 16, 1812

  Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire

  Dear Richard,

  Your mother and my staff inform me you have decided to stay at Darcy House whilst you await your new orders. You have only yourself to blame if your father’s stock of brandy is somewhat diminished. Have a care and do not consume all of mine. It is deuced hard to come by.

  We have now been two days at Netherfield. To my relief, the sisters remain in London and it is only Bingley and myself in the house. Though I am sorry to have left Georgiana behind, I cannot regret the relative solitude. I shall not bore you with details of our journey hence. The roads were precisely as one would expect for winter in these parts. Our travels were made somewhat worse by a certain gentleman’s insistence on proceeding with the utmost haste. In consequence, we were delayed for a time when the carriage had to be pulled from a particularly muddy bit of road.

  Bingley could scarcely wait to call upon his Miss Bennet once we were arrived. The younger sisters are much as they have always been; however, I find I can look on them with more amusement and less mortification than before. They are lively and I find I would not discourage a friendship if Georgiana joins me next month.

  Bingley has resumed his attentions to the eldest Miss Bennet. He seems as much in love with her as ever, and I expect they will have an announcement soon. He will have to petition the uncle in Meryton for his lady’s hand as Mr Bennet is quite ill. He is expected to recover eventually but for now remains abed and unable to manage his household.

  I suspect it will go rather easily for my friend. The uncle appears predisposed to follow the wishes of Mrs Bennet, and she does not oppose the match. He has, in fact, already assisted in the marriage of one daughter. Miss Elizabeth married her cousin Collins, Lady Catherine’s parson, and departed for Kent a se’nnight past.

  To stay in this place, where every shadow holds a memory of her, is suffering beyond imagining. I wish for nothing more than to flee to the safety of Pemberley.

  Your cousin,

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  February 1, 1812

  Hunsford Cottage, Kent

  Dear Jane,

  I must first apologise for being so long in sending news. My only excuse can be that I have been excessively busy in setting up our home and adjusting to the ways of marriage. This morning, however, my cousin is away and I find myself quite at leisure. I can think of nothing I would like better than to share a cup of tea and pleasant conversation with you, my dearest sister. Alas, as we are much too distant for such an occurrence, I shall settle instead for the poor substitute of pen and paper.

  Allow me to start by wishing you joy. I cannot begin to relate to you my pleasure in knowing that Mr Bingley returned and was as much in love as I ever thought him to be. You will know such happiness in your life. Of course, you are released from your promise to visit as I am certain the company of a sister is nothing to that of a lover. Please tell Mr Bingley I am happy to call him brother.

  There is so much with which I would like to acquaint you that I hardly know where to begin. I suppose I should first speak of our cousin. I find that he is quite attentive to my every action. I often despair
that my natural impertinence will lead to unhappiness between us, but he is determined to assist me in becoming a wife fit for his station in life. Little though I hope for success, I shall endeavour to be compliant for the sake of harmony.

  Allow me to tell you of my home. It is comfortably situated, and the surrounding park is beautiful. There are enough paths and woods to satisfy even me. I do not walk so much as I would wish. I have been informed it is not becoming for a married lady. Instead, I have begun to learn to draw. It is an appropriate occupation that none can despise, and it gives me a reason to be out of doors. Perhaps I shall send you a sketch for your wedding.

  As for the great lady, I must say that her interest in my character is second only to that of my husband, if perhaps less involved. I do think, however, that she is not entirely unhappy with my manners. I believe I have more than once seen a spark of humour in her eyes when she speaks to me. She is a veritable fountain of advice on everything from the floors to the attics, and she has even condescended to advise me on how to best manage our servants and plan our menus. There is, I think, nothing beneath her notice.

  Do not worry for me, dearest. I am still quite myself. I must leave you here if I am to post this letter today. Please give all my love and best wishes to my sisters and especially to my father when he is well enough to receive them. Aside from you, it is him I miss the most.