Chapter 31 #2
For my failure to act as I should, my failure to take responsibility for my children, and my petulant behaviour since you rescued me, I apologise most sincerely.
My wife has included her apologies in a separate letter.
It may be a case of too little, too late, but I hope you can find a way to forgive me for my failures.
I want you to know I have also apologised to my wife for my failures regarding her; had I acted as I should, she would never have acted as she did.
Her attitude towards you, her actions, and the letters she wrote were all my failure to care for my wife as I ought to have.
I should have done more, so I must also apologise to you.
Do not hold her ignorance against her; I should have done more to remedy it.
Sincerely,
Thomas Bennet
Elizabeth buried her face into her husband’s neck when she finished the letter. She released her grip on it as she wrapped her arms around him, nearly suffocating him with the strength of her embrace.
“Tell me, love, what are you thinking?” he said gently as her tears abated.
“I am amazed that he could write such,” she whispered.
“Is it terrible that I am frankly astonished to know he has finally realised what I have thought for many years? I always thought the way he treated Mama and my sisters was unkind, perhaps not as much as I should have, because he seemed to value me. But when I learned that he traded on my marriage to you to rescue him from his mistakes, he did not care whether I cared for you, but you were rich and could assist him. In this letter, he takes responsibility for even my mother’s actions, claiming that he knew better but did not bother to correct her.
This is the first time in two years that he has expressed even a little gratitude for what we—mostly you—have done for my family.
” Once again, she hid her face in his cravat as the tears flowed.
Darcy caressed her hair, pulling out her pins as he went. “Hush, love,” he said. “Perhaps we should retire for a rest before reading any more of these letters.”
She giggled. “Do you mean rest or sleep, sir?” she teased, arching an eyebrow at her husband as she recalled how often they had used the excuse of resting to mean something else entirely.
“Perhaps we rest first, and then you might sleep,” he growled into her ear, his breath tickling her ear and causing her to shiver. “If you are as we suppose, you will benefit from a nap before we go out this evening.”
She yawned. “At this rate, it may take me a week to finish all these letters,” she laughed. “Come, husband,” she said as she stood from his lap. “Come tuck me in so we might rest together.”
While it did not take quite a week, it did take several days for Elizabeth and Darcy to read the missives from Longbourn.
Mrs. Bennet’s letter contained the same overtures her husband’s had, yet these expressions did not strike Elizabeth as the most astonishing.
Throughout her life, she had been subjected to her mother’s belittling her and endured a ceaseless barrage of criticism regarding her appearance, manners, and demeanour.
It seemed that, according to Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth had never been pretty enough, ladylike enough, or sufficiently demure to fit that lady’s idea of what her daughter should be.
As a result, Elizabeth had always felt her actions and achievements fell short of her mother’s expectations.
In addition, Mrs Bennet frequently bemoaned Elizabeth’s unmarried state, having achieved the age of twenty and still unwed, and repeatedly proclaimed that she would never marry as “no man would ever want her.” These thoughts had replayed through her head for years until the love of Fitzwilliam Darcy had finally convinced her they were all untrue.
But in black ink on paper, some words carried an unexpected weight.
Mrs. Bennet’s letter contained a surprising declaration of pride for her daughter.
This unexpected sentiment threatened to overwhelm Elizabeth, stirring a tumult of emotions she struggled to contain.
The words “I am proud of you” echoed in her mind, a simple affirmation that struck with profound significance since she had never heard those words from her mother before.
As Elizabeth read those words, she gasped, bringing her husband immediately to her side.
They had been enjoying a quiet moment in their shared sitting room as they read their correspondence, she reclining on the chaise lounge and him in an armchair next to her, but he quickly stood and knelt before her.
Beginning to cry, Darcy wrapped his arms around her, and it was only the steady presence of her husband’s arms wrapped securely around her prevented her from collapsing entirely.
He spoke not a word, but his presence and unwavering strength served as an anchor as she sought to calm herself.
With her husband’s arms around her, Elizabeth attempted to process this emotional realisation. Her mother’s approval, something she had long believed unattainable, had finally materialised, leaving her grappling with feelings of astonishment, validation, and even a touch of vulnerability.
“She says she is proud of me,” she finally whispered when she calmed somewhat.
“I cannot recall her ever saying anything remotely like that. She …,” Elizabeth drew a deep breath, “she has read of my success in the papers and sees how well I am doing in London, and that success is the thing that she chooses to be proud of me for. She had read about me in the gossip sheets and heard Mrs Phillips and others speak about my success, which made her realise what a terrible mother she always was to me. She knows I would never invite her here as things currently stand between us, and now she wants to apologise.” She sat up, not relinquishing her husband’s touch, as she thought.
Finally, her need to move overwhelmed her, and she got up and began to pace.
“What do we do now?” she asked her husband.
“What do you mean, love?” he wondered.
“How do we respond? Do I even respond to them at all? Do I wait to see what else they might say? I have not heard from my mother in eighteen months, and she waits until now, until she has read of my success in the newspapers as a hostess and read about how well Georgiana has been received, now she writes to apologise. Why now? Why not when Alex was first born? Why not when Mary was to be married? Lydia will finish school soon, and we already planned to give her a season next year, so she cannot want to ask for that, but does she want to come to London? Does she want me to host her here at Darcy House? I cannot help but be suspicious of her motivation.” Elizabeth was beginning to be angry at her mother’s choosing to wait until now to write.
Darcy stood from where he knelt and approached his wife cautiously. “Perhaps we should let things settle for a day or two before you do anything. You are feeling emotional right now, and it would be best to let that immediate reaction settle before you make any decisions.”
Elizabeth sighed deeply and walked into his open arms. “You are right, as always,” she teased.
“I will write to my aunt and ask her to visit me in a day or two and discuss it with her. I need to speak with someone who knows her well, which you do not. I can vent my frustrations to my aunt and talk it through.” She held up her hand as she knew he was about to protest. “I know I can speak with you, dear, but I need another woman for this. Not Jane, as she would only encourage me to forgive her immediately and without another thought, but I am not Jane, and I cannot do that. I cannot erase years of what amounts to verbal abuse and the letters she sent after our marriage. I cannot immediately forgive and forget almost two years of silence because I refused to allow her to continue to harangue me in letters. I will speak to my aunt—you are welcome to be present—but I need my aunt’s advice in this matter. ”
He nodded his agreement with her plan. Then, examining her face and seeing evidence of fatigue, he spoke again. “Are you in need of a rest, love?” he growled.
She giggled like a schoolgirl, taking his hand and leading him towards the stairs.