Dear Mr. Darcy: A Retelling of Pride and Prejudice

by Amanda Grange

  PD

  Mr Darcy to Mr Philip Darcy

  Darcy House, London, May 20

  My dear Philip,

  Ashamed as I am to admit it, I have not been able to forget Elizabeth, though God knows I have tried. I have thrown myself into the Season and I have never been at home. By day I attend to business—and I have started several new works in order to fully occupy myself, including commissioning a new orangery at Pemberley—and when I am not dealing with business affairs I am riding or boxing or fencing; either that or escorting Georgiana on pleasure trips. By night I go to soirées, balls—indeed, any entertainment rather than remain at home and give myself time to think. But try as I might, the thought of her haunts me. I see her everywhere I go. I catch sight of the back of a woman’s head and think: Elizabeth! Then the woman turns and I see it is not she, and I am disappointed, even though I should not be; even though our time together was categorized by verbal sparring and not by pleasantries, and should be easy to forget. But the memory of her lingers. The day I proposed in particular will not leave me. I said some things to her that were, perhaps, better left unsaid. Even worse, I cannot forget her face as she told me I was the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry.

  It used to make me angry when I thought of it, but now I find myself doubting, and wondering whether I deserved her anger. I have been too used to having my own way, perhaps. It was not well done of me to throw the inferiority of her connections in her face, nor their behaviour. She has no control over either and so of what use was it to mention it, save to show my own magnanimity in overlooking them? And that was not only condescending but arrogant of me. I am beginning to understand why she refused me, and to think that if I had managed things better…but no, I said so at the time and she returned that I could not have offered her my hand in any way that would have induced her to accept it.

  I feel myself growing angry again as I think of it…but also to admire her. How many women would have refused me, even if they did not love me nor even like me? I cannot think of one. But she refused me, even knowing she was turning down Pemberley, my fortune, my position, everything that goes with being my wife. There are few enough people with principles in the world, and even fewer who stick to them when temptation to abandon them offers, but she is that rare person, a woman of honour and integrity. And I have lost her. By my own arrogance, conceit and pride, I have disgusted her.

  But I was not intending to think of her, let alone write of her. Your invitation comes at a good time, you see. A change of scene will perhaps encourage a change of thoughts. I will be glad to come to Wiltshire and I will bring Georgiana with me. You will be very pleased with her; she is quite lovely.

  I have to be back in London in a few weeks—I have already sent out invitations to a picnic, or rather, Georgiana has—but you may expect us on Saturday.

  Darcy

  Miss Lydia Bennet to Miss Eleanor Sotherton

  Hertfordshire, May 21

  I am going to Brighton! I am going to Brighton! Lord! What a lark! Harriet is a darling! I knew she would invite me. Mama is delighted. Kitty is jealous and says she should have been invited because she is older than me, but Harriet is my particular friend. La! The streets will be paved with officers and I will be able to flirt to my heart’s content. There will be Denny and Pratt and Wickham and all the rest. They dined with us last night and Kitty was wild when we all talked about Brighton. Wickham spent a great deal of time talking to Lizzy about her stay in Kent as well, but he did not seem to like what he heard. I dare say he did not like to hear that Mr Darcy had been there. Who would like to hear about Mr Darcy? He does not even have a red coat.

  You must write to me every day in Brighton, though I am sure I will be too busy to write to you. But I will write when I can. Tell your mama she must take you to Brighton—I am sure you can live there as cheaply as Bath—then we will have fun together. I am writing this in haste from Colonel Forster’s house because we leave here early tomorrow.

  Love,

  Lydia

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Miss Susan Sotherton

  Longbourn, Hertfordshire,

  May 22

  Dearest Susan,

  The house is much quieter without Lydia, and Meryton seems deserted without the officers. Mama gave a last dinner for them and I had a chance to speak to Mr Wickham. The more I saw of him, the more I was convinced that Mr Darcy spoke the truth, for there was something alarmed in Mr Wickham’s eye when he saw that I had heard about the conditions attached to the living he was left, and he coloured when I said that I understood Mr Darcy better than I had done. I could not repress a smile when he said that Mr Darcy must have been on his best behaviour in front of Miss de Bourgh, as he wishes to marry her! But all in all I am not sorry that Mr Wickham has left us—a state of affairs I could not have guessed at a few short weeks ago.

  As for Mr Darcy, I find that I view him with more compassion and respect than formerly, but I cannot forgive him for wounding my sister, and I am glad that he shows no signs of returning.

  Although I am glad to see the regiment go, I must confess that our lives are much duller now. Our parties are less varied and we go out less often. I find myself looking forward more and more to my trip to the Lakes with my aunt and uncle.

  Your friend,

  Lizzy

  Miss Lydia Bennet to Mrs Bennet

  Brighton, May 27

  Mama, you will never guess what we did yesterday: we went first of all to the library, where Denny and Wickham attended us, and where I saw such beautiful ornaments as made me wild. I have ordered a new gown and bought a new parasol, it is the darlingest thing, only I can say no more, Harriet is calling me, we are going out again!

  Give my love to my sisters,

  Lydia

  Miss Lydia Bennet to Miss Kitty Bennet

  Brighton, May 30

  Kitty, you would die if you could see what we have all been up to here, we have been sea bathing, Harriet and I went in our underwear, DO NOT LET MAMA OR ANYONE ELSE KNOW. Things are different in Brighton, not so stuffy as they are at home. Lord! What fun we have. The men are all wild for me, I have a dozen different flirts. There are parties every night and I went to one last night dressed as a man. I borrowed Denny’s coat and breeches and wore a piece of wool as a moustache, I thought I would die laughing. Wickham was in on the joke, he laughed as much as anyone. There are a lot of new officers here, Jakes and Little and Madison, and a whole host of others, all laughing and joking and teasing and dancing and flirting; well most of them anyway. Some of them are ancient, friends of Colonel Forster’s who are here on leave, and all they talk about is the war. I am glad I am not married to Colonel Forster, he is far too old and stuffy, poor Harriet! She should have married Denny. Lord! Was there ever such a place as Brighton? Tomorrow we are going to have a bathing party by moonlight, I have bought a new bathing dress, it is quite scandalous. DO NOT TELL ANYONE.

  Lydia

  JUNE

  Colonel Fitzwilliam to Mr Darcy

  Brighton, June 2

  Darcy, I am home on leave and am visiting friends in Brighton before heading north. Colonel Forster is here and asks me to remember him to you. His wife is here, too, and a prettier creature it would be hard to imagine. She is young and gay and it is a pleasure to see her enjoying herself. She has a friend with her, a Miss Lydia Bennet. I cannot help wondering if she is any relation to your Miss Elizabeth Bennet—though perhaps I should not call her your Miss Elizabeth, as I am sure you will have overcome your feelings for her now. I have not yet seen Miss Lydia so I do not know if there is any resemblance, but I mean to ask her if there is a relationship when we meet.

  Another acquaintance is here, and one less welcome: George Wickham. He bowed when he saw me but looked uncomfortable, as well he might. I was tempted to call him out but did not want to cause a scandal: any action I take against him would lead to speculation and that is something I am determined to avoid. If not for this, I would gladl
y run him through.

  How is my ward? Growing more beautiful every day, I am sure. I hear you are in Wiltshire at the moment: Mama knows everything! She and Maud are hoping for news of Philip’s intended, so you must write to them and let them know your opinion of her. Philip will have chosen some paragon, I am sure, but what is she really like? We rely on you to tell us.

  My sister Maud will soon be presenting you with another godchild, so you must look about you for a christening present.

  I do not believe I will have time to call in at Wiltshire on my way north to see my family, but I hope to see you in London, either on my way up to Cumbria or on my way back down again. When will you be leaving Wiltshire? I must be back with my regiment in a few weeks’ time. I would be there now if not for this confounded injury. With the French advancing towards Turin my place is on the Continent, not here, but I am little use as I am. I cannot sit a horse nor walk for any length of time and my right arm will not do my bidding. I only hope the Austrians throw Napoleon out of Italy and save me the trouble.

  Your cousin,

  Henry

  Mr Darcy to Colonel Fitzwilliam

  Wiltshire, June 4

  Henry, it is good to hear from you, though frustrating for you to be home at such a time. The war shows no sign of ending and if not for the troops stationed at Brighton and other likely landing spots, we would be in some danger of Napoleon invading these shores. But the Channel protects us, as it has done before.

  I did not know you had been injured. Would you like my physician to attend you? I can send him down to Brighton if you think he would be of use.

  I will be returning to London in a few days’ time. Georgiana is hosting a picnic on the seventh and we must be there for that. You are welcome to join us. If you will not be returning to London so soon, then call in at Darcy House whenever you arrive; you know you are always welcome.

  You ask about Philip’s intended bride. She is everything you imagine: beautiful, accomplished, elegant, well-bred, and yet—Henry, it is not enough. It is enough for Philip, he is pleased with his choice and she with him, but it is not enough for me. There are two similar females here, they possess everything a man could require of a wife, and yet I have no wish to marry either of them. I am happy to escort them in to dinner, to dance with them and converse with them, but to spend the rest of my life with them? No. I already know everything about them. There is nothing to discover, nothing to intrigue or stimulate. They never change. Their thoughts and feelings are what they were a year ago, and will be the same when another year has gone by. Marriage to either one of them would be like bathing in tepid water: nothing to complain of, but nothing to desire either.

  You will tell from this that I have not forgotten Elizabeth. I have tried, but the more I see of other women, the more I know that Elizabeth is the only one I have ever wished to marry. She is not perfect—far from it—but it is her flaws and imperfections that entrance me—those, and her eyes. I want to see them looking back at me across the breakfast table; I want to see them sparkling with mischief as she teases me; I want to see them widen as I show her all the delights of Pemberley and offer them to her, not with arrogance but with humility.

  But it is pointless to think of such things.

  I am beginning to wish I had not encouraged Bingley to leave the neighbourhood. But of what use would it be for me to return there? Elizabeth made her feelings for me clear; though perhaps it would lessen her ill opinion of me if she could see that some of her reproofs have been attended to.

  But this is idle speculation. I will torment myself with it no more.

  Come to us as soon as you can in London; Georgiana is longing to see you.

  Your cousin,

  Darcy

  Colonel Fitzwilliam to Mr Darcy

  Brighton, June 5

  I will not be in town in time for your picnic, alas. I am here with Wilkins and I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases: the privilege of wealth! I do not think we will remain here very much longer, however, and I hope to join you in London soon. I will be glad to see you again but I will be sorry to leave Brighton. The sea breeze is refreshing and the fishermen’s nets set out to dry on the Steine give the place charm.

  You must bring Georgiana here for the summer, Darcy; the sea air will do her good and the south coast will not have the unpleasant memories for her that the east coast must have. The pleasure gardens, the promenades and the libraries will amuse her. They are all flourishing, thanks to the patronage of the Prince of Wales, who spends more and more of his time here. They say he means to leave London altogether and live in Brighton permanently. It is certainly possible; he is enlarging his marine pavilion and making it fit for a prince. It is a very handsome dwelling, but even so I think he is in error for spending so much on his amusements when the country is at war. He ought to be retrenching so that he can better equip the troops. I said so only last night to Colonel Forster when we dined together.

  By the bye, Forster’s wife’s friend, Miss Lydia Bennet, is indeed a relation of your Miss Elizabeth, a sister. I have seen her only once, briefly, as she was going out with Colonel Forster’s wife, but I had a chance to speak to her and ascertained that her family were well before she set off for the shops with Harriet. It amazes me that women can spend so much time shopping, but Lydia and Harriet look very well on it.

  Look for me on the sixteenth.

  Henry

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Miss Susan Sotherton

  Longbourn, Hertfordshire,

  June 20

  Dear Susan,

  It is very quiet here at Longbourn. Kitty has at last given over lamenting her absence from the Brighton scheme and consoles herself with reading and re-reading her letters from Lydia. She keeps them close and runs out of the room with them if anyone draws near her. I dread to think what they contain; stories of flirtations, most likely, and the names of a dozen officers. The letters are all so heavily underlined it is a wonder there is any paper left to write them on! I laugh, but all the same, I wish my father had been more sensible of the dangers to Lydia of such a trip. She is heedless and headstrong and loves to be the centre of attention, and I fear this trip will be the death warrant of all possibility of common sense for her. To put such a girl, at the tender age of fifteen, in the way of dozens of young men who are all bored and away from home, is to put temptation in her way, and Lydia has never known how to resist temptation. Her behaviour in Meryton was abominable; how much worse must it be in Brighton, with no one there to curb her worst excesses? I can only hope that the young men are better able to control themselves than Lydia is, and that my father is right when he says that Colonel Forster will see that no harm comes to her.

  Mary continues to try Mama’s nerves with her constant practise on the pianoforte, and if not for Jane I would not know what to do. But with Jane’s companionship I can bear anything. How she came to be so different from my other sisters I do not know, but she is everything Kitty is not. She bears her disappointment without complaint and busies herself about the house, treating Mama with her usual calm patience and providing me with a confidante when I feel I must talk of Mr Darcy or burst. How can I have been so wrong about him? How can I not have seen him for the man he is, and instead seen him for a man he is not? I thought myself so clever when I teased him, and yet I could not have been more mistaken. But I am well rewarded for it, am I not? For I never think of him now without mortification and shame, and I cannot help thinking of what might have been…that is, until I remember that he parted Jane and Bingley, and then I regret neither him nor Pemberley nor his ten thousand a year! You see, I can laugh at myself still, and a good thing, too, or I fear I should go into a decline!

  Mama, I am sure, would be very pleased if I did—it would add to her consequence to have a daughter who was brought low by love. As it is, she continues to lament the absence of Mr Bingley, saying that she will never mention him again and then talking of him in the very next breath. I spare Jane
from these outbursts as often as I can by listening to them myself and by turning Mama’s thoughts into a happier direction, though unfortunately that direction is always towards Lydia and how many flirts she has in Brighton. I am not surprised that Papa has retreated to his library and emerges only at mealtimes.

  And so now I am looking forward to my trip with my aunt and uncle. We cannot go to the Lakes as we planned, for my uncle cannot spend so long away from his business, and my aunt has suggested that we go to Derbyshire instead. I was taken aback by the suggestion, but I did not hesitate for long before writing and agreeing to the change, for I might venture into Derbyshire, I think, without meeting Mr Darcy. It is a large enough place. And a good thing, too, for what would I say to him if I were to meet him again? It would be humiliating. And yet I cannot help wishing that I had had a chance to speak to him after receiving his letter.

  And that, my dear Susan, is all my news.

  Your loving friend,

  Lizzy

  Mr Philip Darcy to Mr Darcy

  Wiltshire, June 24

  Darcy,

  We have set a date for the wedding: December 4. You will be receiving an invitation any day now. It will be a grand affair held in the cathedral and we look forward to seeing you there.

  PD

  Mr Darcy to Mr Philip Darcy

  Darcy House, London, June 26

  My dear Philip,

  I am glad your affairs are prospering and I look forward to seeing you married. It is good to know that at least one of us will be continuing the Darcy name. I only wish my own affairs were going half so well. I have tried to forget Elizabeth Bennet but there is always something to remind me of her. Only yesterday Henry dined with me—he is in town once again after a spell in Brighton—and I learnt something disastrous to my peace of mind. When I revealed that I regretted my interference in Bingley’s affairs, Henry said that I agreed with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, then. When I looked surprised, he said that he had mentioned the matter to Elizabeth when they walked together at Rosings. Oh, not by name, nor in any great detail: he said only that I had saved a friend from the inconveniences of an imprudent marriage, and that there were strong objections to the lady. He meant to show me in a good light, never suspecting that Elizabeth was a relative of the lady involved, but she must have guessed that the friend in question was Bingley and that the lady was her sister. Small wonder then that she was angry, both when speaking to Henry—she told him that I had had no right to interfere—and when rejecting me. I admire her for her anger, and for her partiality, though at first it exasperated me, for what kind of woman would she be if she could stand by and hear a beloved sister abused in such a way? It cannot have been pleasant for her to hear of the matter spoken of in such a casual way, nor can it have been pleasant for her to think that anyone could object to her sister. I confess that as to Miss Bennet herself, there cannot be any rational objection. She is a very pretty girl, sweet natured and good-hearted, and singularly untainted by the vulgarity of the majority of her family. Moreover, she has an optimistic temperament that suits Bingley’s own. If he seems no happier in another month then I mean to give him a hint that a return to Netherfield would not be a bad thing. I once thought he would make a good husband for Georgiana but I no longer think they will suit.