Love Unfeigned (Timeless Love: Darcy and Lizzy variations)

23. Chapter 23

Chapter twenty-three

February 13, 1812 Gracechurch Street Elizabeth

E lizabeth spent days deep in thought. Mr. Darcy's letter went unread, for she did not wish his sentiments to muddy her thoughts. Love is blind, or so she had heard, and she could not afford to make a mistake in this situation. Matters of the heart were complicated anyway, and marriage was a lifelong arrangement. If she intended to be Mrs. Darcy, she had best be certain she could fully trust the man before accepting any proposals. Yes, marriage. She had no doubt Mr. Darcy would ask, and she wished to have her answer ready when he did.

She considered what she knew of him. He was honorable, humble, and unafraid to admit when he was wrong. Through each letter, she had learned more of him, and fallen deeper in love with every word. Miss Bingley's pronouncement had cracked the illusion, and Elizabeth remembered every sin Mr. Darcy had committed since making his acquaintance.

But was she free of guilt? No, she had judged him harshly— too harshly. There had to be more to Miss Bingley's claims than she had presented. The lady was more than capable of putting words together in a way designed to cause offense, whilst also embellishing the truth.

On the morning of February 13th, Elizabeth felt she finally knew herself and understood what she wanted. She could not deny the love she felt for Mr. Darcy. He was human and therefore prone to error. How could she blame him for that? It was not as if his actions had any lasting damage. Jane was engaged to Mr. Bingley, and they were both very happy. And so she determined she would write to Mr. Darcy and tell him what she had learned. Then she would request his side of things—it was only fair to give him the chance to defend himself.

She opened his letter, eager to read that which she had set aside several days before. She had just read the greeting when Sally delivered another missive into her hands. A familiar thrill spread through her, warming her from head to toe. She read both and then began constructing a reply in her head.

Dearest Fitzwilliam,

Forgive the delay in my reply. Conflicting emotions warred within me, and I thought it best to wait before putting pen to paper.Your letters, as always, reach my heart in ways that words cannot fully express. It seems impossible that something as simple as ink and paper could stir me so deeply, and yet, when I read your thoughts, I feel as though you are right here with me, speaking those very words aloud. How can it be that I should find such delight in your written words, even when our separation feels most painful? You bring me peace in your letters, and though I long for the day we can speak face to face, I treasure the connection we share through these pages.

It is your words that truly comfort me. I read your letters again and again as I struggled with my emotions. The idea that we, together, have found a way to right the wrongs of the past gives me far greater joy than I know how to express. To be near you at last, to have the privilege of speaking with you in person, is all I can think of. Silence, even in the name of propriety, feels unbearable now that we have tasted the joy of these letters. If only we could share more than words! I find myself longing for the day when your thoughts and mine are no longer separated by distance, but are spoken directly to each other.

I find myself smiling in the quiet of my room at the mere recollection of your words! You bring such lightness into my life with your letters, and I confess to feeling that flutter in my chest when I open your missives, just as you describe. If you could know how your words leave a warmth in my heart that lingers long after they are read—how can it be that I feel more connected to you through ink than I do with anyone else in the world? It is a wonder, Fitzwilliam, a true wonder.

I cannot tell you how eagerly I anticipate our meeting on St. Valentine's Day. What a perfect moment it shall be! I am glad, too, that you seem willing to indulge me in speaking first, though I confess I fear my courage may falter in the face of your gaze. Your heart, I know, will be as full of emotions as mine. And though propriety calls for me to speak my thoughts, I suspect neither of us will be able to hold our feelings at bay for long. How could we, when they are so intertwined with our very hearts?

I shall be waiting for you by the fountain, and I know that whatever words we exchange, they will be ones that will forever change the course of our lives. I do not wish to speak only of the past—though it has shaped us and will continue to inform our future—but rather of what lies ahead. In you, Fitzwilliam, I have found a kindred spirit, and the thought of hearing your heart as you hear mine fills me with more hope and excitement than I could ever have imagined.

Until then, I remain, as always, yours most sincerely, and with a heart that is full to bursting.

Yours with affection, Elizabeth

P.S. I shall wear my heart on my sleeve when I meet you, and I do hope you are prepared for the full force of my feelings. I have longed for this moment, and now that it is near, I feel as though all my hopes and dreams have led me to you.

She reread the letter. Perfection, she thought. He would be in no doubt of her wishes. Now she had only to wait until the morrow.