7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
January 1812 Gracechurch Street Elizabeth
" M r. Bingley!" Jane's surprise was written on her face and in her words. Her pleasure, though, could not be contained, and her face brightened considerably, her mouth spreading into a wide smile. "Welcome, sir! I had not thought to see you whilst I was in town."
"I knew of your presence only yesterday," he admitted. "A rather strange note arrived…but I digress. I have missed your company very much, Miss Bennet. And yours, too, Miss Elizabeth. Of course."
Aunt Gardiner raised an eyebrow at the gentleman as Jane performed introductions. Feeling rather de trop , Elizabeth retreated to a corner, content to stitch away at her embroidery whilst the young couple reunited in peace. Her aunt joined her, leaning towards her to speak in low tones.
"His sisters lied," she said. "They told us their brother was much occupied with Miss Darcy."
"Yes, Miss Bingley wrote the same to Jane when they quit Netherfield. I did not believe it." Mr. Bingley's affection for Jane was so obvious. So, too, was her sister's. Having been in depressed spirits for some time, it seemed Jane had no energy to maintain her serene mask. Happiness radiated out of her. The love and admiration on her countenance could not be mistaken.
Love unfeigned. The words she and Mr. Darcy had exchanged resounded in her head. It had been a few days since she received another missive. She wanted a letter to arrive and felt anxious with each day that went by. A thought struck her. The primary purpose for engaging in clandestine correspondence was now resolved. Jane was reunited with Mr. Bingley. There was no need to continue the pretense of caring for Mr. Darcy.
Pretense? No, it was not a pretense. Elizabeth forced herself to admit that her heart was now engaged. Mr. Darcy's tender affection could not be mistaken. Her own feelings were now inextricably linked to that gentleman, despite her previous sentiments. If he ceased writing, she would be heartbroken.
Sally appeared at her side, offering Mrs. Gardiner a few letters before handing one to Elizabeth. The handwriting was instantly recognizable, and she hid the letter in her pocket before her aunt questioned who the sender might be. Feeling happier than she had in a few days, Elizabeth hummed as she stitched.
Mr. Bingley stayed an hour, promising to return on the morrow. Jane, now blushing with happiness, gave him an ardent farewell. When he had gone, she turned to Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner. "Is it possible to die of happiness?" she cried. Tears fell, and she collapsed onto the settee, sobs wracking her body. "I thought I had lost him forever," she said, the sorrow she had suppressed for months spilling forth. "It is all well now. He did not know I was in town!"
"Those two harpies likely concealed your presence," Aunt Gardiner huffed.
"That is likely the most unforgiving thing I have ever heard you utter," Elizabeth chuckled. "I believe I shall go upstairs." Pausing, she kissed her sister's head. "I am very happy for you, Jane."
Safely in her chambers, she sat near the window, breaking the seal to the letter and reading what Mr. Darcy had written.
My Dearest Miss Elizabeth,
I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and good spirits. Please accept my apologies for the delay in my response; a few pressing matters of business, though not nearly as delightful as our correspondence, have occupied my time. I trust you have not found my silence too burdensome and that, as ever, you are in good health and enjoying the peace that you deserve.
Now that I have cleared away the misunderstandings of our past, which I trust we may consider well behind us, I find myself wishing to speak of more pleasant things. I confess, Miss Elizabeth, that I have told you very little of myself, and as you have shown a surprising degree of curiosity, which I cannot help but find most endearing, I now feel it is time to remedy that deficiency.
As you know, I have a sister—Georgiana. She is sixteen, and, as I am certain you will agree, the very soul of sweetness and propriety. While Miss Bingley may speak of her musical accomplishments with an air of informed interest, her opinions hardly matter. I can assure you that my sister fills Pemberley with music and light. Her talent on the pianoforte and her voice—her sweet, angelic voice!—they are the very heart of our home. It has often struck me that the quiet grandeur of Pemberley, with its vast, echoing halls, feels somewhat lonely without her music. Georgiana’s notes, so bright and pure, are the melody to which the house beats, and it is only in the sound of her playing that the silence is lifted.
As a sister, she is all I could have wished for—gracious, gentle, and, above all, kind. She has come through many trials, not the least of which was last summer. You must know—surely you must understand—that Georgiana’s heart is tender, and last year she suffered a disappointment that has left her somewhat shaken. I will not trouble you with all the details, but suffice it to say that she placed her trust in a gentleman whom we had long known and who was, I regret to say, unworthy of that trust. His behavior towards her has caused no small amount of distress, and it has taken Georgiana some time to recover her confidence.
This gentleman, this blackguard, has gone his own way, and I have no wish to speak of him further. I would not waste another breath on a man who has dishonored the very name of Darcy. He has no claim on my goodwill, nor on my sister’s heart, which she has withdrawn from him forever. The breach caused by his actions is beyond repair, and I cannot say enough how deeply I despise him for the pain he caused her. Yet, despite her sorrow, I am pleased to report that Georgiana is doing better now—though she recovers slowly, she is far more at ease than she was some months ago. It seems that the kind attention of her family, and the encouragement of those who love her, has restored some of her spirits.
But now, to lighten the tone and make myself more agreeable, I believe it is time to indulge you with some of those mundane questions I suspect you have been so patiently awaiting. I shall begin by answering your own, as I have often wondered whether you, too, have such preferences as I do. You asked, I believe, of my favorite color and treat. To begin with, I am partial to blue. There is something about the color that soothes the mind and evokes a sense of calm, do you not think? As for my treat of choice, be aware that I do not like fruit cake at all—I am ever partial to lemon tarts. Their tart sweetness never fails to brighten my mood, and I dare say I could indulge in them far too often if I were not careful.
And now to present you with a question of my own, and my answer. Do you have a favorite animal, Miss Elizabeth? I confess a fondness for dogs over cats, though I have neither at present. My hunting dogs are the closest companions I have in this regard, and I have always preferred the more affectionate sort. I am told I may be too fond of them—though I am certain you would not judge me harshly for it.
And now, I must ask in return—what are your own tastes? I can hardly imagine you with a color preference that would not match your wit and charm, nor can I imagine what treat would be worthy of your refined tastes. I must confess, I am curious, though I am certain I shall be surprised—though, as you know, I have long since learned not to underestimate you.
I look forward to hearing your thoughts on these simple matters. Perhaps they shall bring a smile to your face, as I hope they have to mine.
With the utmost affection and sincere admiration, Fitzwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth caressed the letter, sighing happily. "Cats are infinitely preferable to dogs," she said aloud. "I shall have to teach you that, sir!" With anticipation of another response, she composed a reply, her heart becoming more his with every word.