I discovered my sister hosting a guest after dinner. When I entered the room, I found her in the midst of a highly provocative waltz, with Mrs Younge accompanying. Her partner was George Wickham, and I discovered that he had been taking her on unescorted outings and staying for long, intimate dinners at home with a dishonest chaperon. I was only just in time to save her virtue, for one of the maids later found a travelling case that he had brought with him upon his arrival.
Georgiana confessed all—she had been persuaded to an elopement, and they intended to take the post-chaise the very next morning to Scotland. At first, she was disinclined to believe what I told her of his character, but when I revealed to her evidence of the many times I had supported his by-blows and found places for the girls he had ruined, she became tearful and despondent. Your arrival just a month after these events was the first thing to cheer her, and she has since continued to improve.
I do not tell you these things to justify all my actions. If I have been wrong in working matters to my design, if it was callous of me to determine my course without consulting the feelings of others, I suffer no misgivings over the outcome. It is with immense pleasure that I have watched your courage rise to each challenge, and I hope that you do not regret coming to Pemberley and to Corbett. Both houses will never again be the same, thanks to you.
I vowed at the opening of this letter to refrain from unsuitable declarations, but if you have read so far, perhaps you will permit me this much. The only thing preventing me from prostrating myself at your feet and beseeching you to grace my side for the rest of my years is a matter of honour. I cannot explain more, and I never shall, but I would move heaven and earth to do away with that one obstacle, if I thought you would ever have me. Perhaps it is well for us both that I know now—you would not.
I intend to remain in London some months, until we can both think on the past without guilt or remorse. We cannot avoid one another’s company forever, but perhaps when we meet again, it will be as indifferent employer and employee, or as common neighbours.
God bless you,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
“Elizabeth?Areyouwell?”
Miss Darcy’s muffled voice followed the shy rapping of her knuckles on Elizabeth’s door. Quickly, Elizabeth swiped at her eyes and put away Mr Darcy’s letter. She had read it through at least four times already and could nearly recite portions of it. Though at first smitten with indignation at the arrogance still resonating in certain of his lines, by the last perusal, the only feeling remaining to her was regret.
“Enter,” she called to Miss Darcy, just before draining the last of her cold tea and rising. A maudlin appearance would not do, and mooning over a neglected cup while still in her dressing gown would arouse Miss Darcy’s concern more than necessary. She drew back her shoulders and forced a smile as the door opened.
“Oh, I am ever so glad to see you looking bet—” The girl faltered. “What I mean is I had feared you were quite ill indeed. It is surely not so grave as I had imagined, but forgive me for saying it—you look as if something dreadful has happened. What is the matter?”
“Nothing of any concern. A bit of melancholy, that is all.”
Miss Darcy’s expression altered from worried to sympathetic. “I often feel like that when my brother goes away. I nearly became morose when he told me this morning that he was leaving, but then he reminded me you would be here, and I felt so much better. Is it not wonderful how good company can relieve such dreary feelings?”
Elizabeth’s smile became a little warmer, a little less forced. “It is true.”
Georgiana sighed. “He was right—he always is, you know. I am glad you are here to cheer me, Elizabeth, but is there some way I can do the same for you? Perhaps you want to spend the day with your family?”
Elizabeth shook her head and felt the final tremors of her anguish shivering away as she took a last, cleansing breath. “No, I thank you, but I would ask you one question.”
Miss Darcy tilted her chin, those wide, curious eyes blinking innocently. “Of course.”
“Have you ever known your brother to speak anything but the truth?”
The girl sucked in a breath of awe, as if Elizabeth had just profaned some sacrament. “Gracious! Not Fitzwilliam, never. He always speaks the utter truth, even when it pains him. I will confess this to you—pray, do not repeat it to him, for I should not like to remind him of it, but there was a time I doubted him very much. He can seem a little…” Miss Darcy’s brow dimpled as she sought the words.
“High-handed? Arrogant? Impossible to comprehend?” Elizabeth supplied.
“But he is truly none of those things. I think rather that he has no patience for foolishness. He has had to deal with much, far more than I know of, I am certain, and he is used to being the only rational person in the room.”
“That is a rather conceited perspective!” Elizabeth protested. “You do yourself a disservice if you can excuse him for such a sentiment.”
“Oh, I mean when I was a child. He speaks to me differently now, much more like one would expect of an affectionate brother, but it is you he truly respects.”
Elizabeth nearly choked and was some seconds in recovering her speech. “Me? He takes every opportunity to provoke me. I should have thought his manner indicative of a tremendous lack of respect, such as he accords everyone beneath himself.”
“Not so,” Georgiana objected with a vigorous shake of the head. “He treats no one with less than complete regard for their abilities—why, you have seen how he is with Mrs Reynolds and Mr Daniels. But yes, it is different with you. I have never seen him take such delight in bantering with anyone—not since Cousin Richard…” Her face clouded. “Well, perhaps he will set that right one day.”
Elizabeth arched a brow and watched for a moment as the girl looked uncomfortably away. “Miss Darcy, shall we adjourn to the instrument to amuse ourselves?”
The girl smiled broadly and clasped her hands before her. “In truth, I thought I would ask you a very great favour, but only if you feel equal to it today. Would you sit for me to paint your portrait?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed, with some hesitation in her voice. “But why?”
“Oh! I am trying to improve my skills, and Fitzw…” Her mouth puckered around the last syllables of her brother’s name and she faltered, looking apologetically to Elizabeth.
“Do go on,” Elizabeth urged. “I am curious what Mr Darcy had to say of my looks. You think perhaps in oil, my features can at last be improved to meet his standards?”
