Page 20 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
“No, but it is very like you to ask,” Bingley replied. “We have separated the staff who have been in contact with the man, and now we just have to wait and see if anyone else is taken ill.”
“How long?”
Bingley shrugged. “Until the illness is gone. I cannot judge the length of that. Will you come down to dinner tonight?”
“I am sorry to be causing additional work for the staff, but I cannot bear to come down for dinner with your sister just yet.”
“You shall have to, eventually. This is not a lame horse that is soon mended.”
“I am aware. Just . . . not yet.”
“Very well.”
Bingley rubbed the back of his neck and left Darcy to his agitation.
Darcy began to pace. If only he could get out of Netherfield! He would be able to think more clearly once at Pemberley; he always did. Perhaps he could devise a plan to speak to Miss Elizabeth when she was in London with the Bingleys. Darcy sat heavily on his bed. Or perhaps he would realise that Miss Elizabeth did not want him to pay her any attention and could determine how he was to spend the rest of his life without her. For despite his behaviour this past year he was a gentleman, and a gentleman accepted that a lady knew her own heart when she refused his offer.
Elizabeth had been missing some very important information when she had declined his proposal in Kent, though. Even if she could not love him as he did her, she had no longer seemed to hate him when they met in Derbyshire last August, and that still appeared to be the case. It could only mean that even when she thought the worst of him, she had been fair enough to read the letter of explanation he had handed her, and to judge matters in his favour.
That letter . . . Darcy held his head in his hands. That letter had been dreadful. All pomposity and offense when all he had wished to do was beg her to reconsider. What would he write her now, had he the chance? He had always expressed himself best in letters and notes. He lifted his head.
Writing always helped him sort out his thoughts. Perhaps, since he could not go to Pemberley, he could try to make sense of his feelings here. Darcy took his candle to the little writing table in the corner of the room. When he opened it, he saw the document with the seal that he had tucked in there last September when he had returned to London. He really ought to discard it, but he could not bring himself to do so. He reached out to touch it, then took out ink, pen, and paper, and sat down to compose a new letter to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Be not alarmed, madam, that this letter shall be in any way similar to the last. My intention then was to defend myself against your accusations, but I fear the message itself was designed less to soothe and more to provoke, written as it was in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. What a fool I was. In the months that have passed since that dreadful event, I have come to accept each of your grievances as no more than the truth and have attended to them all.
At the least, I have tried.
For some time I believed that I would never see you again and could only berate myself for having lost the one woman I have ever loved. But then you came to my home and were standing not twenty feet before me. For a moment I thought you a dream, but when I gathered my wits, I determined I must speak to you, to learn whether I might improve your opinion of me. Thus I steeled my courage and came to meet you.
You know everything that has followed. My wishes and desires have never wavered, but I cannot be certain of yours. And as I attempt to make sense of our acquaintance, it now occurs to me that despite my desire to please you—a woman worthy of being pleased—I have never offered you any sort of apology for my ungentlemanly behaviour. Let me do so now.
I wish to assure you that I have long held you in the highest regard, despite my initial and misguided attempts to conceal it. Your beauty is unrivalled in my eyes, and my admiration for your character and principles is profound. My nature is a rather decided one, as you are aware, and therefore I must tell you that my feelings for you will never change.
It is my greatest hope that you can forgive my transgressions and allow me a chance to redeem myself. If you are so good as to permit me, I pledge that I will continue to amend my behaviour and to show you, by word and deed, the respect and esteem you so rightly deserve.
Should you one day accept my apologies, as insufficient as they are, if you might one day consider me your truest friend and most ardent admirer, I can attest that we would share our lives with mutual respect and the deepest of affection. And if you can one day accept my apologies, I will continue to hope that you might also accept my offer of marriage, for I love you and I always shall.
If this letter arrives too late, or my feelings are never reciprocated, do not fear that I shall be spiteful or petty. For even then, I shall always wish you well and remain, with the deepest of humility and love, yours.
F.D.
Chapter Eight
Afterdinner,Elizabeth found herself standing alone in the hall. Miss Bingley had flounced her way up to the music room, where she was currently striking the keys of the pianoforte with such force that Elizabeth could hear her all the way down the stairs.
It was a mystery to her how Miss Bingley, with all the advantages of youth, beauty, wealth, and education could behave in a way that reminded her so clearly of Lydia. Miss Bingley’s flirting was reserved for Mr. Darcy, but it was only slightly less brazen, and her insistence that all things be arranged just as she pleased, without regard to anyone else’s needs or wishes, was truly astonishing. It was no secret to Elizabeth why Miss Bingley had not had any suitors in the years she had been out. No man wanted a wife that cared only for her own comforts and not at all for his.
No man wanted a wife who flung unjust accusations at his head, either.
“New books,” Elizabeth said aloud, forcibly changing the direction of her thoughts. She entered the library to a fire burning in the hearth and several lit candles. There was indeed nearly a full shelf of tomes that had not been there before.
The Bingleys were excellent hosts. Elizabeth selected a novel quite at random and sat down to read.
After a few chapters, she flipped back to the start to read the title. It wasSelf-Control. How appropriate. The story had been very popular when it was published last year, but it had not arrived in Meryton’s circulating library yet. Kitty asked for it every time they visited.
Elizabeth typically enjoyed novels, but this story was not for her. There was nothing wrong with it, exactly, other than she could already sense that the villain would exert himself to rather violent extremes to possess the heroine, and she always wondered what sort of a man would wish to marry a woman he had been required to physically force into marriage? Had he no sense of self-preservation? Would he not be checking his wine or soup for poison the rest of his days? No, there was misery enough in life, and Elizabeth did not wish to experience more of it in her reading. It was probably why she did not appreciate Shakespeare’s tragedies as she ought. She far preferred the comedies, for they always came right in the end.
Elizabeth was badly in need of peace now, not more turmoil. So she closed the book and set it on the table. She would ask Charles whether Kitty might borrow it.
