12. Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
January 1812 Gracechurch Street Elizabeth
E lizabeth's pen hovered above the paper. For three days, she had contemplated her reply to Mr. Darcy's last letter and was still no closer to starting than she had been when it arrived. Their meeting at Hatchard's had awakened something new within her. Being in Mr. Darcy's presence had befuddled and entranced her. She recalled the smell of cedar and sandalwood as he stood near; could almost feel the heat of his body next to her, even though she was alone in her chambers.
She knew he left their next meeting in her hands. It felt like a great responsibility. It was as if he were saying, “You decide if you wish to see me again, Elizabeth. You decide when you are ready to move forward.” The respect such a sentiment portrayed touched her deeply. Yet, she did not feel equal to seeing him in person again. Her feelings of admiration were very new, and the realization she loved him was newer still. How had it come to this? In December, she had been pleased to share her bitter dislike with everyone, especially as Mr. Wickham spread tales of misuse amongst the populace.
Recalling her poor behavior made her feel ill. Mr. Darcy deserved to know what she had done. She had not been honest in her feelings—not really. The depth of her dislike she had concealed. What would he say if he knew? Did she have the courage to tell him? She knew she must, and so Elizabeth picked up her quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write.
My Dearest Mr. Darcy,
Your letter brought me more pleasure than I can convey. It seems that each time I open your correspondence, I discover yet another reason to be charmed by your words. How kind you are to express such regard for my musings on Miss Darcy's music. It would indeed be a great honor to hear her play, though I am quite certain that no one could do her talent justice except herself. But the thought of sharing in the beauty of Pemberley’s quiet and hearing her melodies fills me with a curiosity I can hardly contain.
Your words about Miss Darcy's pain were both comforting and moving. It is clear how deeply you care for her, and I find that your affection for her only makes me more eager to know you better. I wish, with all my heart, that her tender spirit may heal completely. To be surrounded by such love and care, I have no doubt that her heart will, in time, be restored to its former lightness. Should I ever have the honor of spending more time with her, I shall endeavor to be a friend to her in every sense, as I too am drawn to her quiet strength.
As for your kind reflection on my preference for the color green, I am flattered to know that it seems so fitting. There is something hopeful about it, I agree, and as you say, it reflects my love for the countryside. It was not meant as a slight to blue; I assure you—such a color evokes thoughts of peace and tranquility, qualities I hold in the highest regard. I wonder, though, if perhaps we might, someday, share a moment where the two of us are surrounded by the very hues we so admire.
Your fondness for lemon tarts, I must say, has left me with the most delightful image of us sharing a simple meal together. I confess that, though I would never accuse you of being greedy, I suspect that your enjoyment of the larger portion would be an inevitable result of your admirable self-discipline, though I shall not be so proud as to insist on being the one to take the smaller portion. A treat shared between friends is truly the most pleasurable of indulgences, and I look forward to the day when we may enjoy such a moment.
I am charmed, Mr. Darcy, by your reflections on dogs and cats. There is much to be said for both, of course, but I must admit, I have always had a certain admiration for the loyalty and companionship of a dog. I find it most endearing that you, too, hold them in such regard. And yet, I can easily imagine that, with your keen eye, you would appreciate the delicate nature of a cat’s affections as well. Perhaps it is the case, then, that both animals could provide us with something we each cherish. I am convinced, though, that both would be quite content in your company, should you choose to keep them.
The thought of meeting you in person again and so soon after our encounter at Hatchard's fills my heart with a warmth that I can hardly disguise. To see the very thoughts you express in your letters come to life in your eyes again is a privilege I hope to experience soon. I, too, have longed for such a meeting, and I hope that the opportunity will quickly come again, so that we might discover, in each other’s presence, what new joys await us.
Before we can do so, I find I am in need of some answers to questions that continue to plague me. I must be perfectly frank with you, sir. I have not behaved honorably where you are concerned. My dislike extended far past what I wrote in the first letters. Indeed, I despised you quite thoroughly. As I am sure you have ascertained, those ill feelings were fed by tales from one of our mutual acquaintances.
Mr. Wickham was eager to tell me how spitefully you used him. As I have looked back on that conversation, I realized he must have mixed the truth with lies to inflame my temper. And how he spread those tales after you left the area, when he told me he could never condemn you out of respect for your father—those recollections have told me much of his character.
I was not shy about voicing my disdain for you to all my neighbors. I confess, your insult at the assembly hurt me deeply. Even before Wickham's poisonous tales were told, I harbored a deep disgust for your behavior. I know now my feelings were that of wounded vanity, and I tried to soothe the hurt by disparaging and judging your behavior.
I will end this letter by begging for your forgiveness. You are not who I thought you were all those months ago. Indeed, you have become a dear friend, a trusted confidant, and my hopes for the future rest securely in your hands. I cannot speak the words—not yet. It would be too painful to pen them here, only to learn you cannot forgive me.
Until that moment arrives, know that I hold your words dear, and that I look forward with eager anticipation to whatever comes next.
With the deepest respect, and the fondest regard, Elizabeth Bennet
She sat back in her chair, reading and rereading the letter. It felt as though she had rocks in her stomach. There is nothing for it, she thought, sanding and sealing the letter. He deserved to know. But how materially her feelings had changed! They were quite the opposite of what they had been. Would he believe her? She dearly hoped so.