3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
January 1812 London Georgiana
T he reply to Georgiana's forged letter came in mid-January. She had checked the post faithfully for days, hoping to intercept any reply before her brother saw it.
Hours she had spent, carefully practicing his script until hers looked similar enough to Fitzwilliam's to be ascribed to him. Georgiana had composed the first letter to Elizabeth in her own writing first before painstakingly copying it to fresh paper, her hand carefully forming the letters. The finished product, blot-free and acceptably romantic, was what seemed like the millionth iteration. The hand looked passably masculine, and enough like her brother's to be convincing.
Georgiana had gone to her letters to decipher Elizabeth's direction. The name of the estate, Longbourn, and the name Bennet had been enough. The nearby market town of Meryton had been the last detail she needed to add the direction to her missive. Now she would see if her efforts had paid off. Eagerly, she took the missive to her chambers, closing and locking the door before settling herself before the window. Sunlight poured through the glass panes, warming her as she sat. The maid had tied her pink floral curtains back. Georgiana could see out onto the street. Carriages and carts passed by occasionally, but their noise did not reach her rooms.
Turning the missive over, she broke the seal. It was a very simple design; the calligraphic letter E had flowers surrounding it. The impression in the red wax spoke of the lady's appreciation of the outdoors. Fitzwilliam had described her propensity for walking in at least three letters. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the missive and read.
Dear Sir,
I confess to some consternation at your letter. Your feelings, so artfully expressed, were heartfelt and genuine. I must thank you for the honor of being the recipient of such tender affection. Honored though I am, I must express my complete shock at being thus addressed. When you and your party departed at the end of November, I had no inkling that you held any such regard for me. Indeed, I supposed you felt rather differently—perhaps even indifferently—towards me.
Surprised though I am, I cannot help but feel deeply touched by your words. They are sincere, and their eloquence strikes me more than I care to admit. They stand in stark contrast to those you uttered in October—‘tolerable’ and ‘not handsome enough to tempt you.’ Those words were like daggers to me and yet now I find myself torn between surprise and… something else.
How has your opinion changed so drastically, sir? How is it that the man who spoke with such clear disdain for me now writes in such earnest tones? I find myself wondering, with no small degree of bewilderment, if I misinterpreted your expressions in the past, if my own judgment was so faulty as to have misread your every glance and word. Your change in demeanor baffles me, though I find it impossible to not be curious—nay, even hopeful.
As you know, I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character, and this letter—so profoundly different from the man I once believed you to be—calls into question everything I have assumed about you. Where once there was pride and aloofness, there now exists an unexpected tenderness, a vulnerability I did not believe you capable of showing. How, sir, is this possible? I ask myself this question repeatedly as I struggle for the words to pen here. Already I have discarded three sheets of paper, my thoughts in disarray as I attempt to answer you with the sincerity your words deserve.
Are you perhaps more like my sister Jane than I had realized? She is so reserved, so cautious in revealing the depths of her heart, even to me, her most beloved sister. Her heartache these past months has been great enough that it cannot be concealed, though she would surely wish to hide it. And yet, your letter speaks of a similar pain, a sorrow so raw that I cannot help but feel a kinship between your words and the very emotions Jane has suffered. Is there a parallel between you and her, sir? A heart too proud, too guarded, to show its true feelings until they can no longer be hidden?
Pardon my candid nature, but I believe we have already moved past the point of mere social niceties. Direct speech, I trust, will serve us better now. Too many misunderstandings stand between us, and it would be a grave mistake to allow them to compound further.
If I have not been clear, sir, then I shall attempt to be so now. Your letter, despite the confusion it has caused me, has touched me deeply. My heart, which I believed firmly resolved against you, now finds itself entranced, and I can no longer deny the stirrings I feel. I would know more of you, sir, and learn if we may suit each other better than I ever thought possible.
Pray, do not concern yourself with thoughts that I would accept you for mercenary reasons. I have recently turned down a most eligible offer of marriage from my father’s cousin and heir. Wealth and status hold no sway over me, for I would sooner remain free of a loveless marriage than to accept one for comfort or convenience. It is the heart’s true desire—love unfeigned—that must guide us. If we are to wed, it will be because we find in each other a kindred spirit, one with whom we may share our lives, not merely for security or wealth.
Should our correspondence be discovered, rest assured that my father would insist on an honorable outcome, as he would with any of my sisters. But let us hope, at the very least, that we can speak freely, without fear of reproach, for there are many things I still wish to understand, to share with you.
I come to London on the morrow, and shall stay with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner at Gracechurch Street. If you wish to be discreet, you may place your reply into the hands of the maid, Sally. She is illiterate and will not pry into your words.
With all sincerity, Elizabeth Bennet
Georgiana folded the letter and sighed. "How romantic!" she said earnestly, speaking aloud in the empty room. "She is not indifferent to him; that much is clear. But what is this nonsense about being tolerable and not handsome enough?" What had her brother done? It seemed very unlike Fitzwilliam to insult a lady, especially upon the first meeting. The words about pride and disdain did not surprise Georgiana. Many thought such things about her brother. He kept himself above those with whom he had a slight acquaintance and nothing more. Too many matchmaking mamas had thrust their daughters in his direction. Even some of Georgiana's so-called friends had abandoned her when it became clear their quest to be Mrs. Darcy would be unsuccessful.
I must pen a reply directly, she thought. Elizabeth is in London, too! Perhaps I can get them to meet. Oh, but it will take so long to copy the script so that it looks like my brother's. Knowing she would be at it for hours, Georgiana settled into her chair and pulled a sheet of paper closer, determined to have another missive to send before the end of the day.