Page 60 of Mr. Darcy's Complex Courtship

“He and I have decided not to marry.” Due to my having rehearsed this simple explanation, I maintained an even tone.

His lips parted, then curved up. “Well, that is a great relief. I hoped you would come to your senses.” His palms came together, sliding back and forth. “Pray, do not feel bad for having accepted him. I fancy once he abandoned his arrogant demeanour, he must haveappearedto be an advantageous match for you. Without question, his wealth could have provided you a life of luxury, but an abundance of money would not have made you happy, no indeed.”

He emitted a short laugh. “A powerful man like Mr. Darcy, one accustomed to ruling over everyone around him, would have demanded you abandon everything that makes you unique. He would have conformed you intohisideal of proper behaviour. Over time, he would have crushed your spirit, remaking you into someone I no longer recognised.”

No, he would not have done that. But no benefit would come from arguing the point now.

“Thank goodness I followed my instincts and insisted you wait. I could not abide the thought of that man keeping you shut away in Derbyshire—lonely and despondent and far from the fellowship of your friends and family. You, the most sensible of my daughters, must see that all has turned out for the best.”

“Yes, Papa.” I attempted to sound complacent.

“Your mother needed her smelling salts after reading that hearsay in the newspaper of your romance with Mr. Darcy’s cousin. I trust the report bore no resemblance to the truth.”

“Not at all, and I wrote to Mama to tell her so.” Of course, that did not stop her from confronting me upon my arrival to insist I return to London and ‘make a better effort to earn the Darcy cousin’s favour’.

He rose and hummed his way to the nearby bookshelf, glancing back at me with a grin. “I put this book aside for you to read.” He removed a small volume and held it up.

I leaned forwards for a better view of the prolix title. “Epistles on Women, Exemplifying their Character and Condition in Various Ages and Nations, With Miscellaneous Poems. It sounds amusing.”

“Yes, it is also frank, ambitious, and apt to shock many narrow-minded readers. I trust that will not discourage your interest.” His smile took on a wry bent.

“No, certainly not.” I accepted the book from him. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. I am eager to hear your opinion of Miss Aikin’s work.” He returned to his seat at the desk. “There has been a dearth of insight and wisdom in this house without you, Lizzy. I am glad to have you home again.”

“I appreciate that.” Tears pricked at my eyes. Longbourn no longer seemed like home. Mama expected me to seek a husband, but how could I marry when my heart belonged to a man I could not have? In time, maybe I should seek a position as a companion. I could not bear the notion of remaining here for years on end. I stood and went towards the door, avoiding my father’s gaze. “I shall see you at dinner.”

That night, after an hour of tossing and turning in bed, I rose and lit a candle. My sight fell upon Miss Aikin’s volumelying upon my bedside table. I had read the introduction before dinner, yet the book did not interest me at present.

I went to my bureau, removed a diary, and leafed to the first blank page. Jane had given this to me the Christmas before last. At the time, it had seemed like an ideal gift since I had kept several diaries in my youth. But I had outgrown the girlish topics that used to fill my pages and had yet to write in this one—perhaps because I had nothing of significance to document; now, though, I did. If I recorded the whole of my acquaintance with Mr. Darcy, I might find a bit of peace for the way we parted. Yet, I could not bear the thought of laying my heartache out on paper, even for my own eyes.

The blank page held my sight as though to taunt me. Could I find solace in writing a different narrative? What if I attempted to write a fictional account, one divergent from my own story but incorporating a similar form of heartbreak? I could fabricate this original story using characters who bore no likeness to anyone of my acquaintance; that way, I should use my anguish for inspiration whilst preserving my privacy. In contrast to my ill-fated romance, I could give my protagonists a happy conclusion.

While seated at my escritoire, I devised and rejected several potential plot ideas before settling upon one.

I took out paper, pens, and ink and began to write. Before long, the words flew from my mind faster than I could put them down. I employed an improvised short-hand, which improved my progress. Several hours later, I had completed my first chapter. I put my materials away and returned to bed. This time, I fell into the arms of Morpheus soon after I closed my eyes.

Chapter 11: Dark Days at RosingsPark

Thursday, 4 June (Three Weeks Earlier)

Rosings Park

Darcy

Ientered my aunt’s darkened sitting room. A narrow opening in the curtains provided sufficient light to make out her hunched form.

Lady Catherine roused, lifting her head. “Darcy, you came.”

I knelt before her and took her hand. “I arrived thirty minutes ago. When I went to see Anne, she was asleep. Mrs. Jenkinson sat with her.”

“It is rare for her to awaken these days.” Her grip on my hand tightened. “I hope you have abandoned this mad notion of finding your lost brother.”

“No. In fact, I have found him. He stays at my house.” I related a summary of Mr. Notley’s report, my meeting with Miles, and what had transpired since then.

“You are a stubborn young man. But for Lady Matlock to have gone to such trouble…well, I hope neither of you will regret your generosity towards the man.”

“Lady Matlock will be here tomorrow, so you may obtain her opinion of him then. I have no doubt you will approve of Miles once you meet him.”

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