Letters From the Heart

by Kay Bea

  I was no less surprised to learn Miss Darcy is also in residence at Netherfield and has been encouraged to know all my sisters. I had rather thought Mr Darcy did not approve of our family. Pray tell me, how did such a thing come to pass? I am most pleased to know you are venturing forth from home more often and that you find Miss Darcy’s company to be worth the trial of Miss Bingley’s occasional attendance. It can only benefit you to hear fewer of your mother’s slights against your person and character. I wish I had not been so wilfully blind to such things before, and I hope you will one day forgive me.

  I am given to understand you have been a most diligent chaperone for our sister, and while your concern for her virtue is admirable, might I suggest you allow the couple some few moments alone on occasion? Surely Jane is so good and Bingley so well mannered that neither one would risk her reputation this close to the wedding. Do not roll your eyes at me, Sister. For I well know you are not likely to share my opinion in this. I do not ask that you agree—only that you consider.

  I find my life in Kent to be rather different from the one I had imagined. We are very quiet here with only Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh for company. My cousin is not inclined to entertain and rarely accepts invitations lest he not be available to his patroness. How she feels about such loyalty is uncertain. Lady Catherine remains a bit of a mystery. Though on first acquaintance she gives the impression of being rather imperious and demanding, if one both watches and listens carefully, there is more than a hint of mirth to be observed. I begin to think she delights in finding those who might see through her façade. Miss de Bourgh is a rather petite lady but seems to be in good health despite her mother’s protestations to the contrary. She is a lovely and gracious companion, and I find I quite look forward to her occasional calls and invitations.

  Oh, Mary, how I miss you! Indeed, I miss all my sisters. Your excellent description of an afternoon at Netherfield left me feeling as if I were in the room. I could see Jane’s blush as she whispered with Mr Bingley and hear Lydia’s exclamations and Kitty’s laughter as well as your own voice attempting to be serious but betraying amusement at their antics. From your description, I shall surely recognise Miss Darcy should I ever have the good fortune to meet her. Poor Miss Bingley—how hard it must be to suffer the headache so frequently and miss such delightful company.

  I fear I must close if I am to post this letter before my cousin returns. I do love you, Mary, and I shall see you very soon.

  Your affectionate sister,

  Elizabeth Collins

  March 19, 1812

  Darcy House, London

  Dearest Georgiana,

  I am safely arrived in London, and as I told you before I left, I shall remain here for several days. I apologise for departing so very early, but it seemed the only way. You will, I think, be happy to know I have dined with Aunt and Uncle Fitzwilliam as well as Richard and Hargrove. Lady Harriet was also in attendance, and I think I am correct in saying you will like her very much. She is not terribly young, but not nearly so old as to be considered on the shelf. She is perhaps the same height as our aunt and seems amiable enough in her conversation. I am no judge as to whether her heart is engaged, but the match seems agreeable to both parties. I am bid to pass on to you her affectionate thanks for your kind wishes. Our aunt also sends her regards and begs you to reconsider having your season next year. Do not pay her any mind. There is no need for you to have your come out quite so soon as that. I have only done my duty in passing on her words, but they are in no way similar to my own wishes.

  I am quite proud of you, dear sister, and perfectly content to remain your nearest connexion for as long as you would like. I am even reconciled to sharing your affections with your new friends in Hertfordshire—so long as I remain your favourite brother.

  I believe I shall have some free time on the morrow and shall utilise it to seek out the music you requested. Do not concern yourself that I did not understand your many suggestions of gifts for your new friends. I have made careful note of all your requests and shall attempt to make those purchases with your happiness and approval in mind. I am also of a mind to add to Bingley’s library, if only for my own sake. Richard and I shall attend the theatre tomorrow night. There is to be a production of “Twelfth Night,” and I find myself desirous of some levity.

  I shall send word again from Kent, and I am sure to include some few lines from your cousin.

  Your affectionate brother,

  Fitzwilliam

  March 20, 1812

  Darcy House, London

  Dear Bingley,

  I think I must apologise for the nature of my departure. I know we had discussed my leaving after a morning ride; however, I found the only way to effect a safe exit was to do so while your youngest sister was still in her rooms.

  As it has come to that, I shall say now what I intended to say that morning. Miss Bingley is becoming desperate in her attentions, and I have ceased finding any humour in the situation. Really, you must speak with her. For the sake of our friendship, I shall not miss your wedding, but once that is done, I shall have to insist Caroline not be included in any future invitations to either Darcy House or Pemberley. Additionally, if she continues to reside with you after your marriage, I shall necessarily find other lodging whilst visiting.

  We leave London in a few days, and I shall remain in Kent until it is time to return for your wedding. If I can be of any service to you or to the Bennets, please direct your requests to me at Rosings. I think I must say: if your request is urgent, you might best ask Georgiana or some other member of the household to write on your behalf. Your script is near impossible to read, especially if you are agitated.

  In friendship,

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  March 1812, Rosings Park

  “Tell me again, Darcy. Why are we calling at the parsonage?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked as he walked with his cousin along the path from Rosings Park to Hunsford Cottage.

  “Because I have been entrusted with letters for Mrs Collins from her sisters, and I bring news of her father that I am certain she will wish to hear,” Darcy replied.

  “And none of this could wait until our aunt invites her parson and his wife to dinner later in the week?”

  Darcy gave his cousin an exasperated glance. “No, Richard, it cannot. I am determined to call on the parsonage today. If you are so opposed to the act, then you are certainly free to remain at Rosings and entertain our aunt. I am certain she will only ask you once or twice per minute where I have gone and when I can be expected to return.”

  “Really, Darcy, there is no reason to be cruel,” the colonel groused. His cousin did not deign to reply.

  Several minutes later, Darcy raised his hand to the door of Hunsford Cottage. Hope swelled along with despair as he allowed the knocker to drop, once, twice, thrice. He shifted on his feet and forced a swallow through his suddenly dry mouth. Perhaps Richard was correct; perhaps he should have waited. After all, their slight acquaintance could not account for his calling so soon. Then the door was answered, the cousins were announced, and the time for changing his mind had passed.

  The visit did not go at all as Darcy had hoped and was certainly worse than he had feared. His first reaction on finally seeing the object of his desire after so many long months was utter shock. Elizabeth was, in so many ways, diminished. Her hair was dull, her eyes held no light within them, and not a single impertinent or witty remark crossed her lips. In fact, Mrs Collins could only rarely be induced to speech and then only after casting a worried glance at her husband. Her contributions were largely confined to, “Welcome to our home, Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” or “I am certain my husband is correct, sir.”

  By contrast, Mr Collins spoke so often and at such volume as to ensure there was little opportunity for anyone else to be heard. When the news of Mr Bennet’s improved health was shared, the brief light in Elizabeth’s eyes was extinguished almost before Mr Darcy could acknowledge its presence.

&n
bsp; Instead, her husband spoke. “It would not do, I think, to promote this false hope. I have seen Mr Bennet myself and can say with certainty that he will not live to see another year. He might even pass before the wedding of his eldest daughter. Of course, should that come to pass, the wedding will have to be delayed, perhaps forever. I do not think it appropriate for a gentleman’s daughter to marry a mere tradesman. My sister’s services will be required to assist her mother in her time of grief as Mrs Collins will be much occupied with our home.”

  Darcy thought he saw Elizabeth cringe at her husband’s words, but otherwise she gave no indication of disagreeing with his sentiments. When the parson concluded his speech he gave a pointed look in his wife’s direction and said, “Do you not agree, dearest?” The lady responded quietly, “Of course, you are correct, Mr Collins.”

  “There, you see, Mr Darcy? Even his daughter knows that Mr Bennet will soon pass and I shall assume my rightful place as master of Longbourn.”

  Darcy spared a glance for Elizabeth at those words, but her face remained as carefully blank as it had been since their arrival. Colonel Fitzwilliam turned the conversation to other matters. It was not until the parson was called away that Darcy began to speak of the Bennet sisters in Hertfordshire. As he spoke of each sister’s newest accomplishments, a shadow of what had once been a brilliant smile ghosted across Elizabeth’s face. The expression brought rather more sorrow than relief to his heart. When an excruciating thirty minutes had passed, the gentlemen excused themselves and returned to Rosings Park.

  “Your friend seems rather out of spirits, Cousin,” the colonel remarked as they walked the lane.

  Darcy could only nod his head in agreement. “She is much changed since we last met. I cannot account for her lack of spirit.” Nothing more was said, and Darcy hoped rather than believed that Elizabeth would be returned to herself when the couple was next invited to Rosings Park for dinner.

  Darcy was sitting with his aunt and cousins in the drawing room when Mr and Mrs Collins were announced. He stood almost too rapidly in his haste to catch sight of sparkling eyes set above a just-concealed smile, but his efforts were for naught. Mr Collins preceded his wife into the room with compliments towards his patroness flowing endlessly from his lips. Darcy ignored the man in favour of observing Elizabeth.

  What he saw did not leave him best pleased. Whatever his hopes following their first encounter, it was clear that the only things Mrs Elizabeth Collins shared with Miss Elizabeth Bennet were her name and an abiding devotion to her sisters. Throughout the evening, not a single witty or teasing remark was heard. The woman scarcely spoke beyond making the required civilities, and Darcy considered that he had never thought to encounter anyone less inclined to conversation. Were it not for Mr Collins’s continuous corrections and apologies on her behalf, Elizabeth Collins might never have been in the room.

  He continued his observations as the parson and his wife joined them at Rosings occasionally for tea and twice more for dinner. Each visit left him more alarmed by the alterations—none for the better—in Elizabeth’s spirits. Recalling he had observed Elizabeth’s love for walking whilst he was in Hertfordshire, Darcy took to wandering the grounds at different times of the day in hopes of encountering the lady away from her husband. He was desperate to know whether the Elizabeth of his memory dwelt anywhere within the shadow of the woman now living in Kent. His hopes were disappointed. No matter the hour or the direction of his walk, he never saw Elizabeth except when she came with Mr Collins to Rosings Park.

  There had been only one notable exception to Elizabeth’s silence. Several days into his visit, Mr and Mrs Collins had once again been summoned to tea. Colonel Fitzwilliam had ridden out that morning on an errand for their cousin and so was away from the estate. When the Collinses arrived, Lady Catherine recalled some matter or other she wished to discuss with Mr Collins and drew her parson to the library for a private conversation. Anne assumed the duties of hostess and Darcy saw her give Elizabeth a pointed look before saying, “Mrs Collins and I have spoken often of your time in Hertfordshire last autumn, Darcy.”

  “Is that so? I am sure I was not shown to my best advantage then. I fear I was in a beastly state of mind and did not acquit myself well to the neighbourhood,” Darcy replied. Had he not been looking in her direction, Darcy would have missed entirely the fleeting smile that graced Elizabeth’s face.

  “Perhaps,” said she. “We neither of us can claim superior behaviour then.”

  “Perhaps,” Darcy agreed, “but I suspect there is more to this than simply revisiting the past.”

  “In that you are correct, cousin. Mrs Collins has told me that a certain gentleman of our acquaintance has joined the militia and finds himself a regular guest at Mrs Bennet’s table.” Darcy nodded his acknowledgement as Anne spoke. The lady continued, “A table where he finds himself in frequent company with Mrs Collins’s sisters—her very young sisters. They are of an age with our dear Georgiana, are they not?”

  Darcy felt himself flush with shame. “Ah yes, I believe they are. I cannot say whether he still visits that particular house, but I can assure you I have spoken to others in the neighbourhood regarding his character.”

  “But you have not been able to speak with my father as of yet,” Elizabeth commented.

  “I have not. As you know, he was not well enough to receive visitors when I left Hertfordshire.” He felt like an errant child being scolded by his nurse.

  “I have received a letter from my sister Mary. It seems my father is greatly improved, Mr Darcy. I should thank you for that. I do thank you for that.” Elizabeth met his eyes for the first time, and Darcy had to stop the response that first came to mind. He could not say he was thinking only of her.

  Instead, he managed a simple, “Your gratitude is unnecessary but appreciated all the same.”

  “I wonder, Mr Darcy, whether I might impose upon you to ask one other favour. I know I have no right to do so, especially not after all you have already done for my family,” Elizabeth’s voice was shaking as though it had taken all of the courage she possessed to even speak the words. Darcy noted that Anne had firmly clasped the younger woman’s hand in her own.

  “You need only ask, and if it is in my power to do what you wish, I shall.” He could not keep the emotion from his voice and was rewarded with the nearest to a genuine smile he had seen on her face since arriving in Kent.

  “When he is cognisant, speak to my father of Wickham. My mother is a vulgar and foolish woman, and she has not the sense required to guard my sisters. But if my father knows the truth, he will protect them, even from their own mother if necessary.”

  Faced with the pleading in her eyes, Darcy could only give his promise to speak to Mr Bennet at the first opportunity. Several minutes later, Lady Catherine and Mr Collins rejoined the party, and Elizabeth once again faded from notice.

  Darcy was reflecting on the changes in Elizabeth as he walked out with Fitzwilliam later in the week. That she was greatly altered from the autumn could not be denied, but he had no wish to consider the reasons for her transformation. The colonel finally commented on his cousin’s distraction, “You have not spoken ten words together this morning, Darcy. That is uncommon even for you.”

  “What?” Darcy was startled from his thoughts. “No, I suppose I have not. I was reflecting on the significant changes that can be wrought in a short time.”

  “You speak of Mrs Collins, I suppose,” the colonel observed.

  “I do. I cannot say whether Mr Collins is much changed. I met him only briefly and did not care to further the acquaintance though, I confess, I thought him more stupid than cruel. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  “Cruel? I have seen nothing of it though I agree he is a rather addle-pated blunderbuss.” The colonel laughed at his own humour.

  “Laugh if you must, but I am quite serious. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a wonder,” Darcy insisted.

  “I shall have to accept your word on the matter. For myself,
I cannot see the appeal in such a mousy sort of woman.”

  Later, Darcy could not account for the feeling of helpless rage that rose at his cousin’s remark. He knew only that one moment they were walking together and, the next, his fist connected with his cousin’s jaw. They told Lady Catherine her nephew had stumbled over a rock in the road. On hearing this explanation, Anne arched her brow and looked at Darcy, but his face held such a mix of embarrassment and pain that she could not press the matter.

  April 1, 1812

  Rosings Park, Kent

  Dear Georgie,

  Richard and I arrived as planned in Kent on March 23. I have no extraordinary tales of our travels to share. The weather was pleasant and the roads clear. We were not set upon by highwaymen, nor did we rescue any fair maidens along the way. I am sorry to disappoint you, but there it is.

  I apologise for not sending word upon my arrival; however, you will believe me when I say your aunt has kept us very much engaged and this is my first opportunity to put thoughts to paper. Anne asks me to pass along her greetings and says she hopes you will not be so enraptured of Hertfordshire that you decide to forego Christmas at Ashford Lodge. She has heard much of that country from Mrs Collins, and she declares herself unsurprised to learn the neighbourhood was to your liking.