“My dearest Elizabeth,” she read aloud. “Thank you for your thoughtful response. I imagine you were as cautious as I in choosing the correct words, ones which offered no commitment and no evidence of our previous interactions.”
In spite of her best efforts to ignore Mr. Darcy’s audacious confidence, Elizabeth smiled.
“It is a true shame the man and I are of a like mind. Such knowledge would make our joining an interesting endeavor.”
Therefore, I propose another compromise. Could we simply speak honestly? Let us talk of politics, estates, books, the latest on dits, family…whatever is upon our minds. Tell me of your day: The frustrations and the humor and the tenderness. Likewise, I will speak of mine. Speak to me of Bingley and Miss Bennet, what has occurred in Meryton, and of the Lucases. I wish to know more of Elizabeth Bennet, and it appears imperative that you should know something of Fitzwilliam Darcy beyond the image of the Master of Pemberley.
“A bold move, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth murmured. “Perhaps I shall discover more to despise than to admire.”
Assuming you will agree, I would like to revisit our earliest encounters. In truth, your rebuke of my attentions at Hunsford Cottage was a slap to my pride, but upon reflection, I discovered you said nothing of me that I did not deserve, and although your accusations were ill founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behavior to you at the time merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.
I know you will offer your forgiveness, but I am not so easily reconciled. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, and my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I will never forget –‘Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner,’ those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.
“Could Mr. Darcy value my opinion so?” Elizabeth sat in awe of his early devotion to her. She could barely recall what she said in anger, but Mr. Darcy knew pain from her remarks, so much so that Elizabeth regretted her impulsive tongue.
“Proclaiming Mr. Darcy less than a gentleman stung the man’s conceit. How did I not see that my retort would act upon Mr. Darcy’s scruples so profoundly?”
At the time you thought me then devoid of every proper feeling. I am certain you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.
“Dare I tell Mr. Darcy that I have long been most heartily ashamed of my actions?” Elizabeth whispered.
I pray the letter I so unceremoniously pressed into your hands the morning after your rejection had you thinking better of me. Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents? I would know your opinion, Miss Elizabeth, if you would indulge me. I realize what I wrote must have given you pain, but I pray not so much pain that exculpation cannot be presented. I hope you destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions, which might justly make you hate me.
“Hate you?” Elizabeth murmured as tears flooded her eyes. “I learned to care most deeply for you, and as to the burning of that letter, it shall never happen.”
When I wrote that letter in Rosings’ chambers, I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. No doubt, you will speak to me of how you, too, acted in reproach, but I cannot place the blame upon your shoulders. You acted well in the matter.
“As noted previously, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth observed, “you hold yourself to impossibly strict standards. Doing so makes the fall more overwhelming.”
But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. To be more affable toward others. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately, as an only son, (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who though good themselves, (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable) allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. What do I not owe you? You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.
“Oh, my!” Elizabeth’s heart quickened. “Could it be so?” She reread the last few lines. “Whether I care to hear it or not, Mr. Darcy always speaks the truth. Is there a chance we might know happiness?”
As I look to my future–to our future–I wish not to know the regret of a million opportunities, which I permitted to pass me by, especially the opportunity to place you safely in my embrace.
Yours, Darcy…
And so it began. Elizabeth’s next letter to Mr. Darcy contained her assurances that she long since accepted his innocence in his dealings with Mr. Wickham before adding that he spoke too harshly of his foibles, but did not speak of the expressions of affection obvious in the gentleman’s letter. Instead, Elizabeth followed his suggestion. She wrote of her day. She did venture to tell him of her most recent insights regarding her mother and her sister Mary. If Elizabeth were to agree to marry Mr. Darcy, she wished him to know of the dire straits, which could plague her mother and sisters if Mr. Bennet passed suddenly. She would not deceive Mr. Darcy in such matters.
Unsurprisingly, Mr. Darcy offered his opinions of what she disclosed, but no censure, and then he shared some of the lessons he learned from his parents.
Over the weeks that followed they debated the value of “The Borough” by George Crabbe. While Elizabeth advocated for another form rather than the heroic couplet used by Crabbe, Mr. Darcy extolled the value of the couplet in bringing the stories to the reader. They both thought Crabbe’s depiction of borough life held value.
Mr. Darcy’s description of Lord Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” had Elizabeth wishing she read it so they might discuss Byron’s ideas upon life.
Surprisingly, Mr. Darcy was equally enthusiastic over Sir Richard Colt Hoare’s study of The Ancient History of South Wiltshire. When Darcy told her of Samuel Darcy, a famous archaeologist, being a cousin, Elizabeth, who had seen many of the gentleman’s artifacts at the museum on a previous trip to London, knew admiration.
One rotation of letters held their thoughts of the May assassination of Prime Minister Spencer Perceval and the execution of John Bellingham, Perceval’s killer. Both expressed their concern for England if the Prime Minister could be brought down.
But what Elizabeth cherished most were those moments when Mr. Darcy spoke of family and the possibility of their joining.
“I have thought much of the subject of late,” he wrote. “And I believe loving another gives a person courage to face the world.”
To which Elizabeth added, “I would think love makes a person strong when he encounters disdain.”
As the weeks passed, Elizabeth found she looked forward to the arrival of Mr. Darcy’s letters and knew disappointment when one did not arrive as timely as she expected. Often their letters overlapped.
“Another letter?” her father said with a lift of his eyebrow.
Elizabeth handed him her latest response to Mr. Darcy’s correspondence.
“Yes. Please send it out in the next post.”
The corners of her father’s lips turned upward.
“Quite an expensive courtship your gentleman set before us.”
Still feeling the glow of Mr. Darcy’s flirtatious words, Elizabeth smiled largely.
“I forgot to tell you: Mr. Darcy transferred funds to your man of business to cover the cost of the additional posts.”
“He did, did he?” The amusement in Mr. Bennet’s tone spoke of his affection for her. “Incidentally, how long am I to anticipate this exchange to last before one of you decides to end it?”
Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth frowned. She did not wish the letters to end, but neither did she wish to encounter Mr. Darcy again. In their letters, they were friends and real affection blossomed, but when they were face-to-face, they said ill things to each other.
“I fear I cannot say. It is not as if Mr. Darcy can call at Longbourn. Only you and I know the gentleman and I correspond.”
“Have you not spoken to Jane today?” her father asked.
The change of subject confused Elizabeth.
“Not since we broke our fast. Is something amiss?”
“Nothing we did not expect. Mr. Bingley called upon me this morning. I must say I am pleased Jane brought her young man’s toes to the line. The news sent Mrs. Bennet from the house to spread her joy about the neighborhood. I do not expect your mother’s return until supper.”
“I am delighted for the union!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I must find Jane and wish her happy.”
“You should know, Lizzy,” her father said as she reached the door, “that Mr. Bingley means to ask Mr. Darcy to stand up with him. Your ‘friend’ will be returning to Hertfordshire soon.”
Elizabeth felt the panic claim her breathing, but she kept a smile upon her lips.
“I am anxious to hear Jane’s plans.” She would not permit her father to shake her composure. Elizabeth turned back to deliver a challenge. “Have you thought, Papa, of what you will do when all of your daughters marry and settle elsewhere? Mrs. Bennet will no longer have a reason to go to Meryton. You will be Mama’s entire world.”
With that, Elizabeth made her exit, but she heard her father call after her.
“Elizabeth Bennet. I did not find your observation amusing!” A burst of laughter followed Elizabeth down the hall.
* * *
Darcy did not expect two letters arriving at the same time, nor did he anticipate the familiarity the shorter one held. In the first, Elizabeth shared more of the experiences, which marked the woman she had become. In this latest one, she told him of falling from a tree limb when she was nine and how she no longer cared for heights. She also shared information on a scar, which marked her knee–a result of the fall. Afterwards, Darcy fantasized on the delight of kissing the scar and enjoying Elizabeth’s response. The woman tangled him into knots and brought out the desire Darcy never thought to know.
The second letter began with a familiarity not found previously.
Darcy
Reading the salutation, it was all Darcy could do not to shout with triumph. Nearly a month passed since they began this written wooing, and this was the first time Elizabeth addressed him with anything other than “Mister Darcy.”
“It is a step,” he whispered to his empty study before continuing to read…
Darcy,
I suppose you learned of the engagement of my dearest sister Jane and Mr. Bingley. I am certain you share my good wishes for the happy couple; yet, you must know the prospect of your return to Hertfordshire frightens me.
“A bit difficult to realize the woman for which you yearn does not look forward to the prospect of beholding you again,” Darcy murmured in cynicism. “Yet, this is not the time to abandon the chase.”
What if we find we do not suit? I do wish our discussions to end. What if when we meet again, we say things, which are meant to destroy each other? I could not bear it.
E.
Darcy knew his response must be carefully worded. “My words must win the lady’s heart and her cooperation.”
* * *
Elizabeth lingered in the passage near her father’s study for two days before Mr. Darcy’s letter arrived. While she waited, she cursed her decision to write of her qualms to the gentleman.
“What if Mr. Darcy terms me gormless? What if my letter proves I am not the woman the gentleman thinks me to be?”
At length, his letter arrived. Snatching it from her father’s hand, Elizabeth raced to her quarters to read her fate. Settling on her bed, she ripped at the wax seal bearing the imprint of his signet ring.
My dearest Elizabeth,
Your letter brought me great happiness for, like me, you recognize the beauty of what we have achieved in so short a time. You have no idea of the joy I receive upon the sight of your now familiar script upon the page. Each of your letters is unique, and I spend countless hours reliving the moments you describe and deciphering the meaning behind the words. I cherish them for they hold your scent and the warmth of your hand. And I am quite of the nature to think a person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill.
That being said, as enchanting as your letters are, we cannot continue this exchange forever. It would not be fair of me to claim such a hold upon you. You deserve a husband who reveres you. You deserve a family who looks upon you as the center of their world. Even if continuing our correspondence would not go against propriety, we both know we cannot communicate as such if no betrothal exists; and as much as I adore your tales, I hold a duty to my estate. A betrothal must lead to a marriage, or it must be broken.
Elizabeth knew Mr. Darcy correct, but the thought of losing what was now within her reach shook Elizabeth to her core. Could she abandon the hope of finding something few women of her time knew?
We are born alone, and for many of us we remain alone. Even when a hundred people surround us, loneliness claims our hearts. Yet, when I took your acquaintance, something inside me said, “You can find happiness here.” In truth, it took me many days to cease hushing that inner voice, but since accepting the thread, which ties me to you, I know the thing for which my heart covets most bears the name “Elizabeth.”
Surely you must know what we share is more formidable than any force upon this earth. It can transform two souls yearning to know each other.
“Yet, what of our disagreements, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth whispered through the tears forming in her eyes. She desired what Mr. Darcy described, but Elizabeth feared failure.
So, you must decide, Elizabeth, what you will choose. Even after my earlier perfidy, Bingley asked me to stand up with him, and I pledged myself to do so. I will not write again. Instead, I will await your choice at Bingley’s festivities. I pray you will choose to replace the pain of our earlier battles with a loveliness that will forever remain in our hearts.
D.
Chapter Fourteen
Three weeks passed, but Elizabeth knew no peace. She went about her days as if nothing unusual occurred; yet, every breath she took held the sadness of losing Mr. Darcy, for Elizabeth was certain they could not know the perfection Mr. Darcy’s letters promised. No marriage could sustain such excellence. She resigned herself to meeting him again at Jane’s wedding, but Elizabeth planned to avoid Mr. Darcy as much as possible. She even planned a pretend illness if she could not evade the gentleman.
“Better we part with amiable feelings toward each other than to know the blemish of harshness again,” Elizabeth repeated, hoping her caution would stick.
“Mr. Bingley means to host an engagement party at Netherfield,” Jane announced Thursday last.
Elizabeth’s breathing hitched tighter.
“What a lovely idea!” she exclaimed. “When?”
“Saturday next,” Jane explained. “The weekend before our nuptials. A full moon is expected to aid Mr. Bingley’s guests in their travels.”
Elizabeth swallowed the rush of panic claiming her chest.
“But I thought Mr. Darcy could not return to Netherfield until the day before the ceremony. Would Mr. Bingley host a ball
without his friend? The wedding is five days removed from the ball.”
“I am certain Mr. Bingley does not require Mr. Darcy’s permission to host a ball in his own house,” Mrs. Bennet declared in disapproval. “Bingley wishes to claim Jane before his neighbors. I find Bingley’s actions exemplary.”
Elizabeth shot a pleading glance to her father who shook off her look of despair.
“Bingley told me again only this afternoon that Mr. Darcy had business in London and would not arrive until the wedding.”
Mr. Bennet remained the only one who knew of Elizabeth’s deep connection to Mr. Darcy, and even her father did not know of Elizabeth’s greatest alarm: that Mr. Darcy would arrive and depart without her. One moment she feared the man would look elsewhere for a wife, and the next, Elizabeth convinced herself his withdrawal was for the best. All Mr. Bennet knew was the letters stopped: She supposed her father thought Elizabeth ended the understanding she held with the gentleman.
“Certainly we shall all celebrate our dearest Jane’s triumph,” Elizabeth insisted. “Our sister will be the most beautiful bride ever.”
* * *
Much to Elizabeth’s chagrin and her relief, Saturday and the ball arrived with no word of Mr. Darcy’s presence, and she did her best to place a smile on her face for Jane’s sake. Netherfield overflowed with the local gentry from miles around. Without either of his sisters present to serve as his hostess, Mr. Bingley pressed Lady Lucas into service. He pacified his future mother in marriage by telling Mrs. Bennet that she held great responsibility with the wedding breakfast and preparations for Jane’s bride clothes, and he wanted Mrs. Bennet to enjoy the ceremony without the pressing difficulties of hosting a ball to complicate the matter. Elizabeth thought Bingley handled the situation quite well. She realized with Bingley and Jane only a three miles trek from Longbourn, Bingley would often know Mrs. Bennet’s interference, and it was best for the gentleman to set a standard response.
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