Love Unfeigned (Timeless Love: Darcy and Lizzy variations)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

January, 1812 Gracechurch Street Elizabeth

" D ear Jane!" Elizabeth embraced her sister before turning to her aunt and repeating the gesture. "How I missed you!"

"It has been but a few weeks," Jane replied, smiling thinly. She looked as though she had not been sleeping. Her eyes, usually happy, looked very sad. Jane's clothing hung a little looser, too, and Elizabeth wondered if her sister had been eating enough.

They went to the bedchamber they would share, and Elizabeth proceeded to empty her trunk. "Have you called upon the Bingley sisters?" she asked gently, hanging her sage green gown in the wardrobe.

"I did." Jane sat on the bed, tucking her feet beneath her. The cream gown she wore spread out around her, and she looked angelic. "I did so immediately upon my arrival. They returned the call this morning."

"Three weeks?" Elizabeth paused and turned an incredulous expression on her sister. "Their meaning is clear; surely, you see that!"

Jane shrugged indifferently. "They have many connections in town. Ours was slight enough that they likely do not have the time to entertain it."

"You do yourself a disservice," Elizabeth insisted. "Those two do not wish you to marry their brother and have cut the acquaintance, hoping to deter you." Frowning angrily, Elizabeth reached for another gown. "Do not give up, dearest." Not now that I am corresponding with Mr. Darcy. He would be Jane's savior—she felt it in her bones.

Jane stood. "I shall leave you to finish unpacking," she said listlessly. "I promised our cousins I would read them a story." Jane departed, leaving Elizabeth alone. The silence allowed her to think, and she contemplated her letter to Mr. Darcy. How carefully she had crafted it! The missive contained no untruths—she did not embellish sentiments she did not possess. Every word was honest. Now she would have to wait and see if her words offended the man and drove him off, or if she would receive another letter.

The afternoon passed quickly, and soon she joined her aunt, uncle, and sister at the table for the evening meal. The children had dined earlier and were in bed, leaving the adults to speak together without interruption.

"We are very pleased to have you here, Elizabeth," her uncle, Mr. Edward Gardiner, said as he cut his meat. "Your aunt has selected several bolts of fabric from my warehouse, ready for making into gowns."

"Thank you, Uncle. Papa sent enough funds for me and Jane. I hope we shall have several excursions to Bond Street whilst I am here." Elizabeth smiled and put a bite into her mouth.

"You will doubtless wish to go to Hatchard's," her aunt, Madeline Gardiner, quipped. "Do not spend all your pin money on books, I beg you!"

"Never!" Elizabeth laughed, noting absently that her humor had not even prompted a small smile from Jane. Worry clouded her thoughts, and she pressed her lips together unhappily.

Jane did not confide in her that night. The poor dear seemed to have gathered her misery about her like a cloak. She hid it well; her face was a mask of serene contentment. Elizabeth did not pry. She and Jane lay side by side, both silent, drifting off to sleep with none of the conversation they usually engaged in before retiring for the night.

The next day, Sally brought Elizabeth a letter, handing it to her with a little curtsey. The seal declared it to be from Mr. Darcy, and she hastily tucked it into her pocket, ignoring her aunt's probing looks. "It is from Charlotte," she said, lying brazenly to protect her secret. Aunt Gardiner seemed to accept that, and they returned to their mending, the missive burning conspicuously against Elizabeth's leg.

Finally, some time after tea, Elizabeth escaped to her shared bedchamber. Jane’s occupation with their cousins gave Elizabeth some privacy to read the letter. Hastily, she broke the seal, cognizant that anyone could enter her chambers and interrupt.

My Dearest Miss Elizabeth,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, though I confess it brings with it both a sense of profound gratitude and an undeniable pang of guilt. Your words have reached me with such unexpected warmth and clarity that I find myself both overjoyed and deeply contrite about the way I have behaved. Indeed, I must first beg your forgiveness for the utter inconsistency of my actions and words, which, I now see, have caused you no small degree of confusion and distress.

Your candor, Miss Elizabeth, is a balm to my soul, and it is only by your gracious patience that I find the courage to speak plainly. The man you describe—proud, aloof, disdainful—is, I fear, a reflection of my own shortcomings, of my inability to express my true feelings in a way that might have spared you such unnecessary hurt. You are right to question the drastic change in my conduct, and I must confess that I have been struggling to understand how I arrived at such a place. My pride, my self-doubt, and a misguided sense of what was proper led me to suppress the very emotions that now overwhelm me.

When I last spoke with you in November, I was a fool—too proud and too blind to recognize the genuine affection I held for you. How I regret the words that have so wounded you, and how I long to undo the damage they have caused. But, alas, I cannot turn back time, and I am left only with the hope that you will see, through this letter, that my heart is not as it once was.

The pain I have spoken of in this letter is not unlike that which your sister, Jane, has suffered—though I must admit, in my case, it has been a pain borne not only of unspoken feelings but also of a great deal of self-loathing. I am not as guarded as I once believed; I am merely frightened—frightened that you would never look upon me with affection, that my faults would forever stand between us. But you, Miss Bennet, have shown me that love, when it is true, does not bow to pride or to circumstance. Your letter fills me with a hope that I had long abandoned. It seems as though, against all odds, you have found some measure of kindness in your heart for me, despite my previous shortcomings. I am in awe of your generosity and your wisdom.

I wish, with all my heart, that I could tell you how much I long to know more of you, to learn all that makes you the remarkable woman you are. Your words have brought me a glimpse of who is beneath the surface—the woman whose strength and honesty have so thoroughly captivated me. I desire, above all, to prove myself worthy of your trust, and to show you my love is unfeigned—a love that is as steadfast and true as you deserve.

Your assurance that mercenary thoughts do not motivate you humbles me. I never doubted your integrity, Miss Bennet, but it is a relief to know that we are of like minds in this regard. Wealth and status, once so important to me, now hold no claim on my heart. It is a shared understanding, mutual respect, and, yes, love that I seek. If I have any hope of winning your heart, I know it must be through sincerity and by showing you that my feelings are not fleeting or capricious, but enduring and deep.

I am pleased to hear you will be in London. The pain in my heart lessens knowing you are closer than before. I shall make every effort to meet with you at a time and place of your choosing, if you deem it appropriate. Should discretion be required, I shall ensure that all correspondence is placed directly into Sally's hands, as you so kindly suggested. I only wish to hear from you again, and to discover, together, what the future may hold.

With the deepest affection, and a heart full of hope, Fitzwilliam Darcy

Elizabeth's face flushed as she read the letter, filled to bursting with new declarations of love and admiration. His apologies, so expertly tendered, went a long way to healing the hurt he had inflicted. Perhaps there was more to the enigmatic gentleman from the north than she had supposed. A sudden desire to pen her sentiments filled her, and she hastened to the little table by the window where her writing box stood. There is no time to lose, she told herself. As she prepared her paper, she marveled at how rapidly her sentiments had changed. The line between love and hate was indeed thin, and she had walked it precariously for longer than she realized.

Could I love him? she asked. It seemed very probable. Her heart, still undecided, leaned more towards him today than it had yesterday. She had no doubt that if Mr. Darcy continued to woo her with his well-written, romantic letters, she would be irrevocably gone before she knew what had occurred.