Page 23 of Searching for Elizabeth
Somehow, Darcy was certain that Elizabeth was not thinking of the Gardiners when she spoke of important correspondence. Indeed, there was a way in which she spoke that made him certain that she was involved in…some business? It was beyond belief, was it not, that a gentlewoman who was not even of age, as yet, would have business concerns….
Darcy was determined to remain supportive of whatever it was. He did not want to lose his chance to live with her sparkling conversation, her steadfast loyalty, her unparalleled beauty…. So he could not be stupid about holding to old-fashioned ideas about “a woman’s place” or about “the stench of trade.”
Hurrying through breakfast and dressing, he packed up more food and the rest of the items he had purchased for Blackthorn Cottage. He aimed to get to the cottage, and Elizabeth, as soon as possible.
Once he was again in the presence of his beloved, Darcy felt like he could relax and allow their relationship to grow and deepen without pressure or timelines. But when he spied athick packet made up for mailing, on a table by the door, he felt a welling up of delight. The direction carefully printed on the package was a Mr. Briggs at Mortimer Press.
It looked to be a manuscript. Of course! The important correspondence between an author and her publisher would be the sort of “business” that exactly suited the brilliant and imaginative Elizabeth Bennet. Although some men might disallow their wives to be published writers, Darcy saw no reason to hold to such an outdated stricture.
He wondered very much about her writing. Long essays about the delights of nature? A novel? Poetry?
Was she already published, or was she working hard to become so?
Elizabeth had been wiping the tiny counter of her miniature kitchen but now seemed to be done. She walked to the little table and saw the direction of his gaze, and she blushed prettily.
“I see it is time to share with you another secret. This is perhaps not as exciting as a hidden cottage, and it certainly is not as earth-shaking as a secret handshake, but I see that you have discovered my important correspondent.”
“Mr. Briggs, at Mortimer Press,” Darcy stated.
“Yes.”
He said, “I am hoping that my theory—that you are an author of some sort—proves to be correct?”
Elizabeth’sshoulders visibly relaxed. “Yes. I do not even know what sort of author I can claim to be, other than the relatively rare female-sort-of author.”
Darcy chuckled and said, “Yes, women who are authors are still somewhat rare, but quickly becoming less rare. Also, not an incredibly new phenomenon; in my library at Pemberley, I have a copy of Julian of Norwich’s book, and she wrote it back in the 1300s, many centuries ago.”
“I am not familiar with her name. I should love to see that book someday.”
“I should love to show it to you, as soon as may be.”
Elizabeth blushed at his reference to a possible future together. But he asked, “So, if you do not know what sort of author you are, perhaps you dabble in multiple formats? Poetry, histories, novels, essays? Are you already published?”
Elizabeth eagerly explained about her children’s tales, published under the name Bennet Bethel, her poetry, as yet not published nor even submitted, and her essays, occasionally published anonymously as “Views from a Lady.”
Darcy was thrilled that she had already published so many works. A part of him was grateful that, like many female authors, she had published anonymously and with a pseudonym.
“I aim to purchase everything you have so far published. Might I have a piece of paper, so that I can write to Hatchards to order your two books and three essays?”
Elizabeth supplied the paper, and he quickly wrote out the order. She made a coy remark about his beautiful handwriting and the evenness of his lines, and they both laughed. She said, “Actually, although I will not repeat my praise twenty-three times per hour, as Miss Bingley does, I do mean it. You have a remarkably beautiful hand.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said. “I am looking forward to getting to know you even better through your written words.”
Elizabeth looked delighted.
“Does your family know about your success as an author?”
Elizabeth’s smile disappeared, and Darcy felt sorry to have made it so. But she answered his question directly. “Mary knows, of course. Also, my Uncle Edward and Aunt Maddie know.”
“The Gardiners?” Darcy asked.
“Yes! How did you….Did Mary tell you their names?”
“She did. I have yet to meet them, of course. So…your father does not know about your publications? Does he at least know that you write?”
Elizabeth shook her head no.
Treading carefully, Darcysaid, “I know that your father dearly loves to read. And you said before that you are your father’s favored daughter.”
