20. Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
February 1812 Darcy House Darcy
D earest Fitzwilliam,
Your letter was, as always, both thoughtful and considerate, and I confess that I felt an overwhelming sense of relief upon reading of your new course of action. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence in Meryton will no doubt smooth the path ahead, and I find myself far less anxious about the potential for ridicule or scandal. I am reassured by your good judgment and, as ever, impressed by your ability to find a solution that is both effective and elegant.
And yet, I must admit, the idea of Mr. Wickham’s debts catching up with him brings a certain sense of wicked pleasure. How thoroughly satisfying it must be to see him finally face the consequences of his actions! Though I confess, I do not delight in anyone’s misfortune, I cannot help but feel a little satisfaction at the thought that his charm might no longer serve him so well. I am certain, however, that you and your cousin will handle the matter with great dignity—and perhaps with a dash of amusement at the irony of it all.
As for me, dear Fitzwilliam, I will take your assurances to heart and endeavor to remain quiet, as you so kindly suggest. It is a relief to know that I need not trouble myself with the negative consequences of our respective actions. I must admit, I find it a little difficult to imagine not having any part to play in such an exciting affair. I do so love a good intrigue, and I must confess that the idea of seeing Mr. Wickham finally unmasked gives me more enjoyment than it should.
But let us speak of lighter things, for I am sure you grow weary of hearing me dwell on Mr. Wickham and his debts. I do hope you will indulge me for a moment longer. Your PostScript caught my attention, and I must admit, it is a question I too have pondered. You ask if there is any suspicion from my relations or the servants, and I must tell you my aunt questioned me thoroughly tonight. She has given me a deadline of sorts before she will demand answers. The art of correspondence is an old one, and while we may be somewhat less than proper in our exchanges, our situation is all the better for it.
On occasion, I feel a certain... flutter in my chest when I open a letter from you, wondering if anyone might observe the sudden softness in my expression or the warm glow in my cheeks. It is a secret delight, one that I shall continue to savor. Now, my dear sir, I believe the time has come for us to arrange a meeting. Therefore, I beg your attendance at Hyde Park on February the 14th at two o'clock in the afternoon. I will secure the use of my uncle's carriage and wait for you near the fountain. A fair warning, sir, that I plan to cast aside all propriety and give you a full recital of my sentiments at that time. It is highly improper for me to be the first to do so, but I care not! I shall speak the words in my heart and do so without hearing yours first—unless, of course, you find it necessary to make your next missive an even more ardent declaration. I might not resist the temptation to answer in kind!
I eagerly await your next letter, Fitzwilliam, and am, as always, yours most sincerely.
Elizabeth
Darcy could not breathe. She has named a date! he thought excitedly. At long last, Elizabeth wished to meet him intentionally. And on St. Valentine's Day! He had never observed the holiday before—to do so would invite unwanted attachments.
Standing abruptly, he took the letter and rushed to the parlor in search of Georgiana. His sister stitched quietly in the corner. Mrs. Annesley dozed in a chair by the fire. It was enough privacy for them to speak in quiet whispers.
"I need your assistance," he said without preamble, sitting beside her. "Elizabeth wishes to meet on St. Valentine's Day."
Georgiana muffled a squeal and took his hand. "That is a very good sign!" she cried. "Oh, it is all working out exactly how I planned!"
"But what do I do?" Darcy spoke frantically. "It is four days distant—is there time for a romantic gesture? What is acceptable? Cards? Chocolate? I am not a proponent of offering empty promises I have no intention of keeping."
Georgiana patted his cheek. "Any promise you give her better be sincere," she warned. "Elizabeth is too intelligent to believe empty words. Will you propose?"
Darcy shrugged. "I want to—I love her dearly. But will she accept? Is she ready for me to speak my heart? Her letter claims she is, but I do not dare hope."
His sister giggled excitedly. "Let us review her letters," she said. "We will arrange an array of tokens that speak of your affections. And you must give me a list of all her attributes you admire."
Feeling slightly better about the situation, Darcy nodded. He and Georgiana spoke quietly, trading ideas and making arrangements to purchase tokens of his esteem. He felt everything was a tad meager. Darcy wanted to offer Elizabeth the world, not a delicate card or a bouquet. Whatever he presented to his love, he wanted it to speak of his ardent admiration. Each trinket, each token, must tell a story. Elizabeth must not be in any doubt of his affections by the time he had showered her with gifts.
She is not the sort to want material items, he mused. But it would not hurt to have them, anyway. He could demonstrate his love in a thousand ways if given the opportunity.
As he readied for bed, he remembered a particularly lovely brooch his mother had left him. It was intended for the next Mrs. Darcy, and would be perfect to give Elizabeth. Making a quick note so he would not forget to have it cleaned, he climbed into his bed and fell into an exhausted slumber.