Howhardcoulditbe? All Elizabeth had to do was to plaster a smile on her face, walk into the cottage at Netherfield, and say all the polite nothings to Miss Darcy and her horrid brother. The one whose kiss had kept her awake at night more than she cared to admit, making her hot all over and longing for more. And to pretend their quarrel had not taken place, or that she had not deliberately provoked it.
Had it been because of that kiss?
She could hear the tinkling sounds of a pianoforte as she approached. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. The maid seemed to be expecting her and showed her into the drawing room.
Her heart gave a little start at the sight of Mr. Darcy, who was sitting at a table writing what appeared to be a letter. He rose immediately and made a stiff bow.
Georgiana jumped up from the pianoforte. “Oh, Miss Bennet! I am so glad you came. Is it not delightful, Brother?”
Her brother looked anything but delighted. “Welcome, Miss Elizabeth. I hope your family is well.”
“Very well, I thank you,” she said through her suddenly dry mouth. Why should she be surprised that he was not pleased to see her, after the way she had treated him two days ago? And why did it hurt?
He said gravely, “I am happy to hear it. Since you are no doubt here to visit my sister, I pray you excuse me.” And without another word, he bowed again and left.
Ouch.
She managed to keep her smile, though. “I cannot stay long, since we have visitors at home, but I wanted to tell you how excited my sisters are to have some of the magical mistletoe of Netherfield. Even though I could not tell them ofouradventures, dearest Hermia!”
The girl still looked as if she had been ill, but her color was slightly better today. “I have been taking your advice about trying to play music even though I do not feel the desire. It has been helping, I think.”
“And it sounds lovely. I wish I could play half so well as what I heard from outside! But one small step at a time.”
“Yes,” she said. “Even if the steps are hard.”
“They are indeed hard! But I brought you something that I want to try.” She set her basket on the table and took out a packet of twigs prettily tied up with ribbons. “My aunt, who is visiting from London, has a trick for cleansing pain away at Christmas. You take a scrap of paper and write on it whatever you want to leave behind you. Roll it up and slip it inside the ribbon, and then we cast it into the fire. She helped me make these.” She held it out to Miss Darcy.
The girl took it and cradled it in her palms. “I have heard of this before. Some of our neighbors at home do something like this, but we never tried it.”
“I should not be surprised. It must be a local custom. My aunt was raised in a town not far from Pemberley.”
This seemed to catch her interest. “Truly? Do you have family there, too?”
“I fear not. She is my uncle's wife, and I believe all her family left Lambton after her father died. He was the rector there.”
“Lambton? Oh, that is indeed close to Pemberley. It is a small world.” Then she seemed to lapse back into her low spirits.
Ever since learning Wickham was responsible for both their woes, Elizabeth had been even more determined to help the girl - no matter how much she might wish to avoid her brother. “Will you join me in this? I truly wish to burn some of my experiences from this year and move forward, and it would mean so much to me if we did it together.”
“I will try anything,” she said.
“Good. Then let us make our notes. I brought these scraps of paper, and I see your brother has kindly left out ink and a pen for us.” Not giving her a chance to object, Elizabeth sat down at the table, carefully choosing the seat Mr. Darcy had not used and pulled off her gloves lest they be stained with ink.
She leaned over to pick up the quill - uncomfortably aware that his fingers had only recently been where hers were now - and dipped it into the ink. She hesitated a moment until she felt Miss Darcy moving behind her, and then she began to write.
“Are you putting down your cad's name?” the girl asked shyly.
“I am just writing 'the blackguard' because I do not want to dirty a perfectly fine piece of paper with his name, or even send ashes with it up the chimney! But not just that; I am also going to include my misplaced pride, which tells me I should be ashamed for failing to see through a man whom everyone else believed,too. Sometimes my own standards of perfection are my worst enemy. I want to learn to forgive myself.”
“I know just what you mean,” Miss Darcy said with a deep sigh.
Elizabeth held out one of the scraps of paper to her. “Will you do one, too?”
“Yes,” Miss Darcy said, with a surprising firmness. “I will burn him to ash, and my self-doubts with it.” She sat down in Darcy's seat.
“Good for you!” Elizabeth handed her the pen, careful to keep it away from the half-written letter he had left behind lest she accidentally leave a blot on it. But as she did so, a familiar name jumped out at her from the top of the page.
The letter was to Mr. Bingley.
