14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
February 1812 Gracechurch Street Elizabeth
M y Dearest Miss Elizabeth,
Your letter fills me with more gratitude than I can express. To know that my words have touched you as they have, and that the very idea of hearing Georgiana’s music brings you pleasure, gives me hope that our future conversations will continue to be filled with such warmth and understanding. I must confess that I, too, long for the day when you might hear her play in person—there is something in the very atmosphere of Pemberley that seems to invite such quiet, joyful moments. Perhaps you will meet her soon.
Your compassion for Georgiana’s struggles, and your kind words of comfort, move me beyond measure. To see the gentle and capable woman that you are, offering solace to my sister even in your letters, fills my heart with a sense of peace I did not expect to find. I have no doubt that Georgiana, with the support of a friend such as you, will indeed find her way back to the confidence and joy that are so truly her own. To know that you are as eager to meet her as I am to see you both in each other's company brings a sense of promise for the future.
I have pondered your reflection on the color green, and how it now reminds you of me, and I confess, it struck me deeply. How lucky I am to have found in you someone whose heart and spirit mirror the very qualities I admire most in the world. The idea of sharing a moment with you amidst these colors we so cherish fills me with anticipation. I imagine no company could be more perfect, no scenery more fitting.
As for the delightful tarts—ah, my dear friend, I am pleased to know you would not resist indulging in a larger portion! I confess, the temptation of a second helping would be difficult to resist, especially in the company of someone who knows the pleasure of such simple joys. I look forward to the day when we may share not only this treat, but perhaps many others in each other’s company.
Your remarks about dogs and cats made me smile, for I, too, find the loyalty of a dog to be a rare and wonderful thing. Yet, as you say, the quiet, sometimes aloof affection of a cat holds its own charm. Perhaps we will find in each other’s company an appreciation for both—though I dare say I would feel more inclined to adopt the more dependable of the two. I would be curious to hear more of your own thoughts on these creatures, and whether you would favor a dog’s devotion or a cat’s independence should you ever choose a companion of your own. Forgive me if I seem to be rambling or repeating myself—my thoughts are disjointed this evening.
Your mention of our meeting at Hatchard’s brings a warmth to my chest that I can hardly contain. To see you again, to have the privilege of conversing with you face-to-face, is something I long for more than I can express. I hope, with all my heart, that such a meeting will soon take place, for there are so many things I would wish to share with you, and I find myself eager to learn from you as I have in these letters.
But, dear Miss Elizabeth, I must address the matter you have raised with such honesty and courage. It seems that, in your thoughts, you have carried a great burden—one that I can only hope has weighed less heavily upon you with the writing of this letter. I must assure you that I hold no anger towards you, nor any lingering resentment. What you have shared with me is not only moving, but speaks to a heart full of integrity. To know that you have reflected on past wrongs and sought to right them fills me with a respect I can scarcely put into words.
It is true that Mr. Wickham’s account of our past was both injurious and misleading, and I can understand how it would have shaped your opinion of me. Do not berate yourself any longer. Mr. Wickham has deceived others with more years and wisdom to their name than you or I possess. As I have said before, my past is far from perfect, but I have never intentionally caused harm to anyone. I regret deeply that your opinion of me was so formed by deceit, and I can only be grateful that you have seen through it, for it has allowed us to arrive at this new understanding between us.
As for your apology, there is no need for it. We are all imperfect beings, and what I now value above all else is your honesty and the courage you have shown in writing these words to me. I have never considered you my enemy, and I confess that, as time has passed, I have come to think of you with the deepest and most ardent love.
What you write of your feelings for me is the most precious gift, and I shall cherish it always. However, I would not have you burden your heart with words that might not yet be ready to be spoken. All I ask is that you trust in time, and in the strength of our growing friendship, and know that whatever the future holds, I am honored to call you a friend, a confidante, and, in time, I hope, something even more.
Until that moment, know that I remain devotedly yours, with the greatest respect and the most profound affection.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Mr. Darcy's letter arrived early that morning, put into her hands by Sally, who had by now become very interested to know who penned the mysterious letters. She did not ask Elizabeth directly, but the curiosity in her gaze could not be missed. Elizabeth could not satisfy it, however, and felt grateful the maid did nothing to prevent the correspondence.
The letter filled her with pleasure. How happy she felt he could forgive her so readily! She had hardly forgiven herself and still castigated herself each night as she lay next to a sleeping Jane.
She longed to see him, yet something still held her back. The man on paper was romantic, kind, and the embodiment of a man of character. She was unworthy of him. But had he not said they were both flawed? Imperfect beings? Dare she hope his words were the truth, that he admired her for her honesty and friendship?
Each day that passed made Elizabeth feel with more certainty she could not live without him. She looked into her future, and he was there. Her imagination conjured images of them picnicking in a field of flowers, him standing beside her as she played the pianoforte, turning the pages as she sang along to the music. Every situation she could think of played in her head, tantalizing her with the possibilities.
Aunt Gardiner interrupted her thoughts, bidding Elizabeth to prepare for their trip to Bond Street. Their new gowns were ready for a final fitting. Elizabeth tucked the letter into her hiding spot. The green velvet bulged, and she reminded herself to move the missives when she returned.
Jane awaited her in the vestibule, her outerwear donned. "Mr. Bingley is to join us for ices," she confided. "He will meet us at Madame Dubois' in an hour."
"Ices in February?" Elizabeth cried. "It is already far too cold outside."
"You may have hot chocolate if you prefer." Jane stuck her tongue out playfully and winked. "There is something thrilling about eating a cold dessert in the winter."
"You may think that if it gives you comfort," Elizabeth groaned. "I shall indeed have hot chocolate! Nothing could tempt me to eat a frozen treat when it is frosty outside."
Madame Dubois had their order ready when they arrived. Elizabeth had never had a fitting finished so quickly. Her new gowns, one blue, one cream, and the last a beautiful blush color, were exquisite. She fingered the last one, picturing herself wearing it when she met Darcy again. But perhaps the blue… her gaze drifted to the garment made in his favorite color. Shaking her head at her nonsensical, sentimental thoughts, she thanked Madame Dubois. An assistant stepped forward and whisked the gowns away to package them.
Jane went next, and before another half hour was gone, they were finished. Aunt Gardiner sent Jones to the carriage with their parcels and they meandered towards Gunter's. The brisk wind bit their cheeks, but they laughed, linking arms and stopping occasionally to point at a window display. When at last they arrived at Gunter’s, they were more than ready to be inside and out of the wind.