8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
January 1812 Darcy House Georgiana
F itzwilliam let out a cry as he spilled his cup of tea. "What the devil!" he cried. "My apologies, Georgiana."
She looked up in surprise. "What happened?" she asked. "Have you received some unpleasant news?"
Fitzwilliam shook his head. She could see his hand quiver as he turned the missive in his hand over. "It is only a very unexpected letter," he said. "It is from a lady. I am unsure if I ought to open it or consign it to the fire. It is highly improper for her to have written to an unmarried gentleman."
Her heart sank, and she felt the color drain from her face. "Do not throw it away!" she cried. "Please! It is my fault. Oh, you will be so angry when I tell you!" Georgiana said as she burst into tears. She buried her head in her hands. How had the post come early that day? she wondered. It rarely arrived until after breakfast. Now everything was on the cusp of falling to pieces.
Her brother came to her side and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Tell me what has happened, dearest," he said quietly. "I promise I shall not be angry."
"You cannot say that," she sniffed, looking up. "You may very well hate me for what I have done!" In halting speech, she described her actions, detailing how she had painstakingly learned to imitate his script and sent love letters on his behalf. "I did it for your own good!" she said as she finished. "You were miserable. I wanted to make it better. But that letter you penned was atrocious."
Her brother sat beside her, his face an unreadable mask. "What did you say to her?" he asked quietly.
"I have copies of the letters," she confessed. "I kept the originals—they were very well crafted, if I do say so myself."
"Go get them," he commanded. His voice did not sound sharp, but she hastened to obey, nonetheless. It was quick work to retrieve them—and Elizabeth's replies—from the box in the back of the wardrobe where she had hidden them. Once returned to the parlor, she handed the stack to her brother.
"That is everything," she said. "Can I open the new letter?"
"No!" he snapped. "I must ascertain how much damage has been done and come up with a plan to mitigate it. My honor is likely engaged—Georgiana, you have decided my entire future! I must think." Fitzwilliam stood and left the room, closing the door behind him. Appetite gone, she stayed where she was, sorrow and fear crashing over her in waves.
What have I done?
***
Darcy
He held the letters in his hand. There were quite a few—how long had his sister been writing to Miss Elizabeth in his stead? Darcy arranged the missives by the dates at the top of each, with the newest at the back. He stood and went to the door, locking it so he would not be disturbed.
It took him some time to read each one. Georgiana had done a credible job of imitating him. Every letter contained the sentiments he wished to say to Elizabeth for months, and written so eloquently. He would not have expected it of his baby sister, but here they were. Elizabeth's replies were surprising, too. He gathered her feelings had undergone a metamorphosis of some kind—had she truly disliked him? He had seen no indication of it in Hertfordshire. Indeed, he thought she had been flirting with him.
Suddenly, Georgiana's prodding about marrying for love made sense. She knew it would all come to light eventually and had worked to soften him to the idea before it did. How long did she mean to carry this out before revealing everything? he wondered. One letter spoke of meeting, but nothing had been arranged. Surely, before that took place.
Another thought struck him. Bingley and his relationship with Miss Jane Bennet now filled his mind. If he had so misunderstood Elizabeth's feelings, then had he also mistaken her sister's? "Oh, what have I done?" Despite her unsuitability in terms of wealth and connections, Darcy would have had no objection to the lady if she held genuine affection for his friend. Marrying a gently born lady would aid Bingley in society.
Elizabeth's letters confirmed his folly. Miss Bennet suffered from a broken heart, and it was his fault. He knew, of course, of her presence in town, but had attributed it to the brazen attempts of a matchmaking lady stalking her prey. He had encouraged the Bingley sisters to delay returning the call so Miss Bennet would be in no doubt that the acquaintance was at an end.
"I must make it right," he muttered. Putting the letters aside, he immediately penned a note to Bingley.
Bingley,
I was wrong. Miss Bennet loves you. She stays with her aunt and uncle on Gracechurch Street. Go to her as soon as you can. Come to Darcy House for an explanation later.
FD
It was hastily done and had as many blots as one of Bingley's own letters, but it would have to do. He sent it with a footman directly, hoping his friend would not hate him for his sins.
Returning to the letters, he opened the last one. He wanted to know what Elizabeth had to say, how she would reply to his—Georgiana's, rather—latest missive. Despite his anger at his sister, he had greatly enjoyed perusing the correspondence she had exchanged with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. If anything, each word had pulled him more into the lady's thrall. He loved her more now than he had an hour before. Anticipation mounting, he broke the seal.
My Dearest Mr. Darcy,
I trust this letter finds you in excellent health and good spirits. Your previous correspondence, which arrived with such delightful and unexpected warmth, has caused me no small amount of amusement. I confess that your reflections on Pemberley’s silence, filled only by your sister’s music, painted a picture that I found both charming and evocative. Miss Darcy’s sweet melodies echoing through the halls, much like a voice calling to the very soul of the house, bringing life to its quiet corners, is a sight I can imagine with clarity. I must confess that I now find myself rather wishing to hear them for myself, though I am certain I could not do justice to such a talented performer as your sister.
How very kind you are to share with me such intimate details of your sister’s trials. I am deeply touched by the affection you clearly have for her, and the gentleness with which you regard her disappointment. How cruelly the heart can be deceived by those we trust! I am so sorry to hear that she suffered such a betrayal, but I am heartened to know she is recovering. It is no small comfort to know that, with you as her brother, she has the steadfast support of someone so capable and caring. I can only hope that, with time, Miss Darcy will regain the confidence that has been so undeservedly shaken.
As for your questions of my own preferences, I will not keep you in suspense any longer. I must admit, I am rather fond of the color green—it is, to my eye, the color of new beginnings, of life in full bloom, and it always reminds me of the countryside. Perhaps that is not quite so surprising, given that I have always loved the outdoors. As for treats, I find myself partial to a good apple tart, especially when served warm, with a dollop of cream. There is something about its sweetness and simplicity that appeals to me, and I dare say I could eat more than my share if I were not careful.
As for animals, I must confess that I have never had the pleasure of owning either a dog or a cat, though I am rather partial to the idea of the latter. There is something familiar about the animal's mischievous behavior, I believe. I imagine I would enjoy the quiet companionship of a cat very well, though perhaps I would not trust it as implicitly as I would a dog.
I must tell you, Mr. Darcy, that it is rather delightful to share such trivial preferences with you. In our usual exchanges, I often find myself lost in deeper matters, but this, I dare say, is a welcome diversion. I look forward to hearing more of your thoughts on the simpler things in life, though I must admit that my curiosity about your deeper feelings for your family, and particularly for Miss Darcy, has not abated.
I trust that this letter, though lighter in tone than our previous ones, finds you in good humor. I must thank you again for your sincerity and your kindness, which I find more endearing with each passing day. It is a rare pleasure to be on such familiar terms with a man of your discernment, and I treasure these exchanges more than I can quite express. Beyond those sentiments, I must impart that I long to meet you in person. May it be soon.
With the greatest respect and fondest regard, Elizabeth Bennet
He closed the letter slowly. I love her, he thought. Most ardently. He knew in an instant that no amount of distance would have cured him of the ailment. Elizabeth Bennet was the only woman he had ever felt any measure of affection for, and at eight-and-twenty, he doubted he would ever feel the same for another more suitable woman.
She is my match in every way, he thought. And I almost lost her. Georgiana made it seem so easy, but now perhaps it was. His honor was thoroughly engaged, and marriage was the only way to ensure it remained intact. Instead of being furious at his sister, he suddenly felt grateful for her interference. The choice which he had wrestled with for so many months had been made for him.
Sitting before his writing desk, he pulled a paper towards him to begin his reply. He wanted to meet Elizabeth, to see her in person. As he dipped his pen into ink, his confidence failed him. What am I to say? Feeling chagrined, he rang for Georgiana. She had got him into this mess, and now she would help him compose a proper missive to his lady love.