6. Chapter 6
Chapter six
January 1812 Darcy House Georgiana
T he butler, Mr. Smith, held the stack in his hand. "I will take those!" she cried, hurrying forward. The butler looked bemused but did not protest. He handed the stack to his mistress and bowed slightly before striding away. A quick glance through the missives revealed one from Miss Elizabeth addressed to her brother.
"That was too close," she muttered. She would have to be more careful. The time approached when she would need to tell her brother of her deceit, but hopefully it would not come until Miss Elizabeth was in love with him. Hurrying to her room, she locked herself in and tore open the letter.
My Dear Mr. Darcy,
Your letter, though it reached me with the weight of a thousand emotions, has not caused me the distress you fear, but rather, a softening of my heart. I had not expected such a thoughtful and sincere response, and yet, I find myself moved by your words in a way I did not believe possible.
First, let me assure you, sir, that I do not hold your past conduct against you—at least, not with the bitterness that might have been expected. It seems to me that you have, in fact, found a better path, one that is less dominated by pride and more by reflection. To hear you acknowledge your previous misjudgments with such candor and humility is not only a rare thing to witness, but one that speaks to the integrity of your character. It is not easy to acknowledge one's own faults, and I admire your courage in doing so.
While your words last autumn wounded me more than I could express at the time, I cannot help but understand them in light of your current feelings. You speak of self-loathing and fear, and though I cannot condone the manner in which they were expressed, I see they were born not of malice but of the confusion and uncertainty that often accompany matters of the heart. I, too, have felt such confusion, and I believe we have both been more blind to our own affections than we would care to admit.
You say that your pride and self-doubt have kept you from seeing the truth of your feelings until now. Perhaps, sir, it is the same pride that has made me so cautious and reluctant to acknowledge the stirrings of affection that your letter has stirred within my heart. In truth, that fickle organ, which was once resolved against you finds itself torn between surprise and hope. There is a vulnerability in your words that I cannot deny; it touches me deeply, and it makes me wonder if we, too, may have more in common than I ever imagined.
As for my sister Jane, I must confess that until recently I had not thought to draw a parallel between her and you, but it now seems so apparent. Her own struggles with love and the hidden depths of her feelings have often mirrored my own, though less apparent to those observing her, and I see now that I may have been too quick to dismiss the idea that someone such as you could feel with such depth. I do not claim to fully understand your heart, Mr. Darcy, but I will admit that I am intrigued—perhaps even more than I should be.
Your words concerning wealth and status are, I believe, as sincere as the rest of your sentiments, and they assure me we are indeed of like minds. You are not the man I first thought you to be, nor am I the woman I was when I first judged you so harshly. The way forward, I trust, will not be without difficulty or misunderstanding, but it seems to me that we now find ourselves on a path that could lead to something far more meaningful than either of us had expected.
The tone of this letter is far too heavy for me, sir, and so I shall now ask for more personal details—your likes and dislikes, passions and pursuits. To begin, let me inquire what your favorite color and treat are. As I picture you in my mind, I see staid Mr. Darcy partaking of fruit cake. Your preferred hue I dare not speculate—I have never beheld you in anything but black. Be so good as to satisfy my curiosity!
As to meeting in London, I would be happy to do so, though I trust we will proceed with caution, as you suggest. The mere thought of being able to converse with you freely feels strange, for I never imagined a time when I would seek you out for discussion. I must admit that I am still unsure as to what the future holds. It would be foolish to pretend that everything is settled between us, but I am willing, Mr. Darcy, to explore where this unexpected connection may lead.
You have, without a doubt, earned my respect, and for that, I am grateful. As for my feelings, I dare not claim certainty, but I am open to discovering, alongside you, what might be possible.
I remain, with sincerity and a heart uncertain yet hopeful, Elizabeth Bennet
Georgiana sighed. "Oh, each letter is better than the last!" she cried. "I can see why Fitzwilliam fell in love with her." She would need to compose a reply, and soon. Each letter took a very long time to compose and copy to new paper. Writing in a script similar to her brother's became easier with each missive, though the process was still arduous.
Taking a sheet of paper out, Georgiana paused before writing. The information she gained that morning could be ruinous to her brother's future. Mr. Bingley was not happy to be away from his love. Perhaps she could do something about that. Putting aside her task, she decided to interfere with yet another romance.
In thick, block letters, she wrote.
Dear Sir,
I trust this letter finds you in good health. I find myself in possession of information that, though it may cause you some surprise, could very well benefit you in matters of the heart. Though I would not speak lightly of such things, there are times when a few words of truth, however indirect, may serve to clear the air and offer some much-needed guidance.
It is with this in mind that I pen this note. The hopes of last autumn, I believe, have not been in vain, though they may have seemed distant in the time that has passed. Rest assured, sir, the lady in question holds you in the deepest regard. She loves you, though she has carefully concealed her feelings beneath the calm facade she has so assiduously maintained. I assure you, this is no mark of indifference or insincerity, but rather the proper conduct of a lady who, as you know, must guard her emotions—and reputation—with the utmost care. Do not be too harsh in your judgment of her actions, for her restraint has been borne of necessity, not of disregard for your affections.
I cannot pretend to know the full depths of her heart, but I am certain that she has long held you in esteem. Her manner, perhaps, may have led you to believe otherwise, but I ask you to consider the possibility that the mask she wears is not one of indifference, but of modesty and caution, as befitting her station.
Should you find it in your heart to pursue this matter, there is a place where you may seek her. If you love Miss Jane Bennet, you can find her at 27 Gracechurch Street. I cannot say more, for the particulars of such things are better left for you to discover. But I trust you will understand that this small bit of direction is offered with the sincerest of intentions.
Know that I am but a friend, one who has observed, and perhaps understands, more than is readily apparent. What you do with this information is entirely your own affair, but I hope it may guide you towards a favorable outcome.
Yours sincerely, A Friend
Smiling smugly, she sanded and folded the missive, dropping a blob of wax onto the paper to seal it. She wrote the direction in similar block lettering before entrusting it to her maid, who was always discreet. "See this into Mr. Bingley's hands," she said. No one in that household knew her maid's face, thus protecting Georgiana from discovery.
Satisfied, she pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards her. She needed to complete the letter to Elizabeth soon.