Chapter 12 #2
Margate is just as pleasant as I hoped it would be.
I walk along the shore daily. (Really, Elizabeth, could you be more dull?) I’m afraid I have become quite tan!
I hope you will not mind a brown bride overmuch.
Mama is constantly telling me to carry a parasol and stay out of the sun, but when the light is dancing on the water so prettily, I cannot be bothered with such mundane details as parasols.
My sister Catherine has become quite enamored of the birds near a small pier.
She feeds them old bread and some of them have come close enough to actually eat out of her hand!
I have never seen the like of it. I tried the same myself, but the birds would not come so close to me.
Perhaps they know that I would reach out to pet them would they venture so near.
Catherine has always had a way with animals.
She has been sketching them ceaselessly since we arrived.
I have included her drawing of the marmalade cat that sits in our back garden.
I have taken to calling him Felix and sneak him fish scraps after dinner.
He is a delightfully fat thing and makes the sweetest purring sound when I scratch behind his ears.
I haven’t enjoyed such simple pleasures since I was a child.
I am very glad my father has taken this house for the summer.
Everyone is so much more relaxed than they usually are—the sea air appears to be working its magic on the Bennet family.
Have you ever been to the sea? What a question!
I’m sure a man such as you, who has lived in the world, has seen a great many things.
(This may be the most boring letter ever written.
Think of something interesting to say or quit torturing the poor man!) Do you want to know something scandalous?
You must promise not to tell my mother, for she would never let me hear the end of it.
Yesterday, while out walking, I removed my shoes and stockings and walked barefoot in the sand.
It felt delightful under my feet! I even picked up my skirt and walked into the water.
It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
It was soft and foaming and cool all at the same time.
I laughed in sheer delight. I’m sure the children playing nearby thought I had lost my senses. But, oh! It was so lovely!
I am wanted by my mother so I must close now. (She spent a good three minutes thinking of how to end her letter.) Give my best to your sister.
E.B.
P.S. You mentioned The Lakes in a previous letter. Are you planning a journey thither? Might I know when? I have always longed to see The Lakes!
It was not the most riveting letter she’d ever written, but she supposed it would have to do. She sanded and blotted it, pressed her seal into the wax, and sent it on its way. Hopefully it would buy her some measure of good will with her future husband.
Darcy received Elizabeth’s letter with a mixture of confusion and trepidation.
He had been working on his own letter to her, wondering what he should say and how they should proceed.
He was even considering a trip to Margate to spend time with her.
Slightly appalled at how desperately he wanted to know what was written, and more importantly the tone of her letter and whether or not she was jilting him, he broke the seal and began to read.
He scanned through it quickly, looking for words like “break,” “engagement,” and “sorry.” Happily, he found none and leaned back to read it more slowly.
It was obvious that she was unsure what she should say to him, but she did seem to be keeping her word in regards to not talking about her attempt to end their betrothal.
He was pleased and happy she was enjoying a season of relaxation with her family before he carried her off to Derbyshire.
He recognized a bit of her liveliness in her words and thought she simply needed to accustom herself to the idea of their being wed.
It probably hadn’t helped that immediately following their engagement they’d separated.
If they had been able to stay together, even for just a few days, she probably would have felt less odd about it all.
He picked up his pen to reply to her.
Dearest Elizabeth,
Dear Elizabeth,
I am pleased to hear you are enjoying the seaside.
I have many fond memories of visiting the shore with my family as a lad.
(Great, Darcy, bore her to tears why don’t you?) I am glad you have this time with your family prior to the wedding.
Derbyshire is a great distance from Hertfordshire and you aren’t likely to see them often.
(Seriously, old man? Are you trying to frighten her?
“Come away to my dungeon in the north. You’ll never see anyone you love again. ” Stupid man!)
As regards the Lake District, I thought we might take our wedding trip there.
I remember you saying you’d always wanted to see the area and thought it would be an ideal location.
We can spend the first few days in London, then begin the journey north.
We can return to Pemberley afterward and remain there until the spring.
I spoke of it to your father and he thought it a good plan.
Mayhap your family will join us in the autumn or perhaps for the festive season.
I shall leave that to you and your father to decide.
Georgiana was asking about you again—you are one of her favorite topics of conversation—and I realized I do not know when your birthday is.
Nor do I know precisely how old you are.
Please oblige me with these details as well as what sort of gifts you prefer and whether you favor Mozart over Saleiri.
I hope to complete my business in town within the next fortnight, and then perhaps I will join you in Margate. Until then, I remain,
Yours,
F. Darcy
Darcy satisfied himself that it was a passable effort and that it would have to do. He made a fair copy, put the old one in the drawer of his desk, and put it on the pile of outgoing mail.
Elizabeth opened Darcy’s letter with more than a little nervousness.
She had no idea how he would receive her letter, or if he was even willing to be civil with her after what she had suggested.
It was with great relief that she read his lines and noticed he seemed to be putting it behind him, just as she had.
It would seem they were going to pretend it had never happened.
Only, she did notice there were no endearments in this letter.
Of course, she hadn’t really expected them.
What man makes love to a woman who has just asked to be released from their engagement?
But still, she wondered if she had damaged something irreparably and what the consequences would be.
She was no expert on marriage, but she did think a husband who loved his wife was likely to be much kinder than one who did not.
Deciding there was nothing she could do about it at present, she set to writing her reply.
Dear Mr. Darcy,
The Lakes sound like a wonderful idea for a wedding trip!
I long to see them! Thank you for arranging it—it is very thoughtful of you.
As for answers to your questions, my birthdate is the fourteenth of July.
Mayhap I will celebrate this year in the Lake District?
That sounds like a charming gift to me. My exact age should remain a mystery, as no woman likes such information spread abroad, but if you can keep it to yourself I will tell you.
This summer I shall attain my majority. There.
Now you know I am but twenty years of age to your—well, isn’t this odd?
It would seem I do not know how old you are, either.
Now, sir, I do think it only fair that you tell me forthwith since I was gracious enough to provide you with the same information about myself.
Men are never so secretive about their ages, anyway.
While you are divulging personal information, would you be so kind as to tell me your favorite color and scent and your favorite dishes?
My mother would like to know. Not that I am uninterested, but if I am going to ask questions, I would prefer to know your favorite book and which pastimes you prefer.
Do you favor riding over shooting? Do you like to fish?
My uncle is very fond of it, but it has always seemed frightfully dull to me, though perhaps I am missing something of import.
Papa has sent for more music from town and I am learning a new Mozart concerto.
I prefer him to most composers, though if I am being honest I must admit to dearly loving Scotch airs.
They always feel light and happy and never fail to leave me smiling.
In answer to your other question, I do not know what sort of gifts I prefer—the thoughtful kind, I suppose.
I do not need expensive jewels or extravagant parties—though a room full of friends is always enjoyable.
My favorite gift to date is a necklace from my uncle.
He was on a business trip to Spain, many years ago, and he saw an intricately carved locket in a small shop in some out of the way place.
He said it immediately made him think of me and as the next day was my birthday, he bought it.
I hung it on a ribbon and wore it daily for years until the hinge broke.
I’m sure it was not too expensive, though it was beautifully done, but my uncle was right—it was ideally suited to me.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons I loved it so much.
It proved to me just how well he knew me.
I’d suspected and I knew we shared a special bond—he is my godfather as well as my uncle—but this added proof was very welcome.
I am wanted by my mother so I must close.
Faithfully,
Elizabeth Bennet