by J Dawn King
“Apparently, a close acquaintance of my aunt was also visiting Ramsgate this summer. She identified Georgiana and reported seeing her often with a gentleman, who you now know was Wickham—alone. Moments ago, Aunt Catherine waved her friend’s letter under my nose as proof she had leverage to force me to act according to her desires.”
He could see the shock on Miss Elizabeth’s face, and he was comforted with her empathy.
“Pray read the third letter?”
Elizabeth handed over the one she had finished so he could refold it. He was grateful his hands had a purpose.
This time, she quickly broke the seal and pulled the papers apart. Dropping her eyes, she began to silently read. He clearly recalled every word.
Dear Miss Bennet,
Each time I am in your company, my heart is filled with an effervescence, a lightness such as I have not known since my youth. My happy childhood has been replaced by a mountain of responsibility and care for others. Until you, I felt so alone. Upon coming to know you better at Netherfield Park, I longed for your company, to share intelligent conversation and your joy of life. As much as I desire to gift you with the same brightness and kindness you radiate to those around you, circumstances infringe, and time after time, I leave you in pain. I feel my regrets deeply.
Prior to the death of my parents, I had never heard of my aunt’s claim that I had a particular betrothal since the cradle to Anne. Once my beloved father was gone, the subject became all I heard from my mother’s elder sister.
Anne and I have spoken of this, and she has no desire to leave Rosings. She fears she would not survive the birth of a child, and my very position in life requires an heir. With that said, even though I love her as a cousin, I do not love her as I would a wife. Only you have possession of my heart.
I am my own master. I will not be forced into decisions which will not benefit my sister and my home. Therefore, whom I choose as the next mistress of Pemberley will be my choice alone. You are aware of my heart’s desire. It is you I love. Only you.
Until the time that we are either joined together in matrimony, or until you tell me there no longer is hope, pray know that I will beg your forgiveness as often as I see you until we are free to enjoy each other’s company without interference.
With deep respect and affection, I am
forever yours, Fitzwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth’s hands were clinched tightly on each side of the parchment. “She is demanding you marry your cousin or she will use the information about Miss Darcy against you. Has she no familial affection or loyalty?” Her voice rose in volume with each word, and her eyes bored into his own, anger radiating from every inch of her.
“She is and, no, she has none.”
He had not begun to hope for this reaction. Had Miss Elizabeth not cared for him, she would have returned his letters and wished him well with his marriage to his cousin. He took it as a good sign that she was equally as upset as he. For the first time since dinner was announced, relief appeared within his grasp.
“I take it from the fact you are here, that she did not respond well to your refusal.” A smile played at the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth. He could tell she was imagining the scene. Lady Catherine de Bourgh would not wear disappointment well.
Darcy wanted to grab Elizabeth to him and hold her tight for comprehending his character enough to know he would not give in.
“I have no reason to believe she will not follow through with her threat.”
“How can we protect Miss Darcy?”
We? Music to his ears.
“Before I offer suggestions as to how we might do so, I ask that you read the second letter.”
A rivulet of perspiration meandered down the centre of his back as she broke the seal. This letter had been meant for her to read in private, not in front of him where he would be open and exposed. He held his breath as she looked at the parchment.
My Dearest Elizabeth,
Yes, to me you are the dearest of women. Your tender care of Miss Bennet when she was ill, your attempts to provide guidance to Miss Katherine and Miss Lydia, and your offers of comfort to Mrs. Bennet are all testimony to the quality of character I so admire. For I do admire you greatly.
Your inquisitive mind overflows with intelligence and wit far superior to my own. Each night when I retired after being in your company, I would review our conversations and good cheer would fill my soul. My firm opinion is that the Bible writer at Proverbs thirty-one had you in mind when he listed the definition of a truly accomplished woman. You see, like him, I searched for a virtuous lady to be my wife, one whose value was above rubies. Someone who would stand beside me, seeking good for our household. Someone like you, who is generous and honourable. Someone who opens her mouth with wisdom and whose law is that of loving-kindness. You, my Elizabeth, have excelled above all. You have no equal and I fear that without you, my life will be bereft of even a fragment of potential for happiness.
My shameful words at the Meryton assembly were uttered when I had not taken a look at you. When I finally opened my eyes to see the lady in in front of me, I found an unparalleled beauty, a woman so stunningly attractive, I can see each of your features by closing my eyes: your lustrous hair, the curve of your lips when you smile, the strong bones of your cheeks, the softness of your skin, and the finest eyes I have ever seen.
I am bewitched, my lady. I love you dearly and forever will.
From my humble heart to yours.
Your servant, Fitzwilliam Darcy
When he saw the first teardrop hit the paper, he had to ask, “Is there even a measure of hope for me?”
Elizabeth wiped her tears away with her fingers and resolutely raised her eyes to his.
“Mr. Darcy, earlier Charlotte conveyed, in a powerful way, the power a man has when he shows his adoration and devotion to a woman. Rather than making her weak, it makes her strong— able to conquer and overcome the most negative of situations so that she rises above, glories even, until she becomes happier than she had ever imagined possible.” Elizabeth gulped in a breath as her mind struggled to search the leanings of her heart. She hated to disappoint him. Nonetheless, she had to know. “Sir, if I say there is no hope, what will you do?”
“I cannot answer you, Elizabeth, as I cannot believe you will…I refuse to believe you cannot see yourself as being anywhere other than beside me.” He would not be crushed. He would not tremble.
Unlike the other letters, she did not hand it to him. Instead, she clasped it to her chest.
“I will stand by you.”
It was simply said. Five words so compelling, they robbed him of his breath.
“You will…?” He stood as she did, watching her fold the letter and place it in her pocket. When she held her hand out to him, he bowed over it and kissed the back and, quickly turning it over, kissed the inside of her wrist as well.
“While I thank you for your kiss, the letters, please?”
He saw it then, the twitch of her brow and the lift of her lips. All would be right in his world.
“You will be my wife?” Yes! Say, yes.
“I believe I agreed to stay beside you as your friend, Mr. Darcy.”
“I love you, Elizabeth.” He felt the first small rip in his composure.
“And I thank you for the complement in telling me so.” She pulled the letters from his hand, tucking them into her pocket so the three were together again. “While there is no doubt your words touched my heart, I do not know if what I feel is compassion or the beginnings of love. In a race to the altar, you are far ahead of me.”
“Yet, you are on the same path I am.” Appreciating her skill at dignifying his emotions, he saw her humour. “I cannot imagine you allowing me to lead you along a bit faster?”
Rich peals of laughter filled the room. Elizabeth was at her loveliest when joy filled her heart.
“You are coming to know me better day by day. I will move at my own pace.”
“Then, I will accept e
ach step you take with me.”
When he bent to kiss her hand, a cacophony of loud bangs and heavy footsteps came from the entrance hall. If he guessed correctly, the master of the household had arrived, and so had Lady Catherine.
Elizabeth was stunned when it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who entered the parlour with Mr. Collins following him so closely he resembled the larger man’s shadow.
“Darcy, Anne has taken a turn and Aunt Catherine requests Mrs. Collins to accompany us to her side, immediately.” Everything about his stature proclaimed him a military officer used to authority and obedience. As soon as the words left his mouth, he turned and quit the house.
While Charlotte quietly assured her husband she would ready herself right away, Darcy stood unmoving. At the first sound of their entrance, he had moved protectively in front of Elizabeth, melting a little spot in the far reaches of her heart in the process. Reaching her fingers to where his hands were tightly clasped behind his back, Elizabeth quickly wiggled them until they were between his palms. He wrapped his hands around hers, weaving his fingers with her own.
“Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, leaning closely so only he would hear. “Your cousin, Miss de Bourgh, needs you, and I imagine Lady Catherine does as well.”
He shook his head, shaking off the trance, and squeezed her hand in gratitude. Apparently she was not the only one surprised at who came through the door.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy moved even closer, his baritone a soft vibration in her ear. “Walk in the grove at first light, I pray you.”
She nodded and stepped away from him. The immediate deprivation of comfort disturbed her composure as if a bolt of energy had left her unwillingly. She glanced at Mr. Darcy’s face to see if he had noticed and saw he, too, appeared to have felt the loss.
Within minutes, the colonel, Mr. Darcy, and Charlotte were gone, leaving Elizabeth in the parlour with Mr. Collins. The opened door signaled the departure of their company and reflected the dark hole Elizabeth felt inside. Honesty demanded she admit to herself that it was not the colonel and Charlotte who had taken the life out of the room.
“Lady Catherine most assuredly requires my services. I would not want to fail her in her hour of need.” Her father’s cousin stood mumbling in the middle of the room, wringing his hands, uncertain of the correct course he should follow. “However, it was not me she asked for. My dear Charlotte will be a comfort to her and a help to Miss de Bourgh.”
“I am sure she shall.” She sought to reassure him as he suddenly appeared like a lost boy, looking for someone to point him home.
“You are undoubtedly correct, Cousin Elizabeth. There is not another woman quite like my Charlotte, though I would be there to support her if I could. She is not as aware of the intricacies of Lady Catherine’s household as I, and I would despise myself forever should this lack cause Lady Catherine distress under these circumstances.”
His response told her more than words how unsettled he was at not being invited to help Lady Catherine. Elizabeth was pleased he was not trying to presume on his patroness and was surprised at his not doing so. She was learning, again, that her initial judgements of her abilities to accurately sketch the character of a man was skewed to the point of being non-existent. She shook her head, disappointment at herself flooding her from head to toe. When will she learn?
“Oh, heavens, no!” Elizabeth was curious at his outburst and watched Mr. Collins stumble to the corner where Charlotte had been sitting. “My dear wife dropped her shawl.” He held the fabric up for Elizabeth’s inspection. “This was my gift in appreciation for her accepting my hand. She has not gone an evening without wearing it on her shoulders.” He held his hands up in the air. “Charlotte will fret if she does not have it.”
Elizabeth could see his concern was genuine. Again, she was reminded of her friend’s words of commendation for her husband’s admiration. Never had she been as blatantly aware of her own faulty opinions as she was at that moment. She was ashamed at her false sense of intellectual superiority. Elizabeth decided to make amends now.
“I would hate to see her distressed, sir. Possibly, you might take it to her. At the same time, you could enquire as to Lady Catherine’s needs and the condition of her daughter. Maria and I would surely be relieved at hearing she has improved.”
“You are right, cousin. It is my duty to my bride to see to her comfort. Then, if the situation arises, I will ask after my patroness.” As soon as the words were uttered, he exited the house for the walk to Rosings Park, holding the shawl carefully between his hands.
Elizabeth suddenly felt very lonely. She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. The curtains had yet to be closed, so she moved to the window. Several items kept floating around her mind as she looked out into the darkness. First, Mr. Darcy himself. He had a presence that easily dominated a room. He drew people’s attention, including hers, to the point that it only just occurred to her that she had been watching him as often as she had caught him watching her. What a novel, embarrassing thought!
Secondly, as she expected him to adjust his thinking after she had so rudely humiliated him with her refusal, it was imperative that she adjust her thinking as well. How had she become so lofty in her opinions? How and when had her viewpoints become one-sided and short-sighted? Elizabeth gnawed on her upper lip as she pondered the course in becoming a wiser woman.
Lastly, the change needed to be motivated by the desire to improve herself for herself, not to please a man she was beginning to find was worthy of pleasing. She sighed.
Before Mr. Darcy had stepped away from her, his hand had briefly brushed against the small of her back. Chills, raising the hair on her forearms, covered her body at the memory of his touch. How is it possible for his hand to be light, yet firm at the same time? Though no one was witness, she blushed at her desire to have his hand linger. I am wanton!
Closing her eyes, she remembered the feel of the callouses on his fingers against her own tender skin when she had held his hand and wondered if he felt the same need to remain close in each other’s company. All of her senses were engaged. The light blue of his waistcoat with silver threads shot through, his touch, the faint smell of sandalwood and citrus remaining from his morning grooming, and the scent of his breath on her cheek as he whispered his desire to meet her in the glen.
She shivered.
Elizabeth Bennet, get control of yourself! Hands on her hips, she turned away from the window and paced from one end of the small room to the other. Back and forth, her speed increasing with each lap, her ire at herself growing with each step.
How could she now admire a man whom she had vowed to hate forever only three evenings prior? Easily recalling their interactions since their acquaintance in the autumn, Elizabeth finally admitted to herself that she had wanted his admiration, and it had hurt to think he had found her wanting— lacking enough beauty and character to attract him.
Stopping in the centre of the room, undoubtedly in a pose similar to Mr. Collins’, she admitted the truth of Charlotte’s words. The attentions, affections, and respect of a man had far-reaching effects, like tentacles reaching into the distant portions of her heart to dislodge all the rancor from its midst. She liked her rancor right where it was, thank you!
Hating Mr. Darcy had become a habit—a justification for sly smiles and pithy sayings. An intellectual stimulus to satisfy her own opinions. She sighed.
Whenever her youngest sisters spoke of romance, the pragmatic sister, Mary, piously uttered the words of the prophet Jeremiah who stated in the scriptures that ‘the heart is deceitful, above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?’ So, what would an analysis of her mind reveal about Mr. Darcy?
As her heart was blatantly aware, he was handsome, rich, and powerful. His coming annually to care for Lady Catherine’s estate, when it was obvious it was joyless, proved he was responsible. He loved his sister to the point that her anguish over Ramsgate caused him pain. He h
ad the respect and friendship of two good men, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley, and he could throw a rock farther than any person she knew.
He was rude and condescending. His disapprobation for those beneath his elevated sphere was shown without restraint. He had personally insulted herself, her parents, her younger sisters, her aunt and uncle, and her friends—all in the first evening he had been in Hertfordshire. She had to admit, it took a certain level of skill to have done so. The smile flirting with her lips finally burst forth as she shook her head at herself. Simply put, she was being nonsensical.
He confounded her. And angered her. And teased her. And, he loved her. He! Loved! Her!
Her deep sigh filled the room. What was she going to do with Mr. Darcy?
“Where have you been?” Lady Catherine’s demands started the second he walked into Rosings.
Even though he knew she was speaking to Darcy, Richard was not above utilizing his little torments to aggravate his aunt. Thus his reply, “You directed me to have Mrs. Collins come to care for Anne. I was at Hunsford. Look! She is here!” He swept his arm towards Charlotte as he bowed to Lady Catherine.
“Why are you talking to me, Richard? Take Mrs. Collins upstairs to Anne. I need to speak with Darcy—alone.”
Her tone brooked no argument, so he gave none as he left to do as bid. As he walked up the staircase with Mrs. Collins, he could not keep himself from fishing for information. “Your friend has my cousin tied up in knots.”
“I believe he has done the same to her as well.” Charlotte looked directly into his eyes as she stopped on the last stair. Her voice was firm. “We will not interfere, will we Colonel?”
Ah, she is an accomplished angler. He shrugged his shoulders. He would have to try another tactic to help Darcy. Right now, he had best tend to Anne.
