Chapter Thirty-Nine
London
Darcy
“Fitzwilliam, tell me about Miss Bennet again.”
Darcy lowered the newspaper and regarded his sister from across the drawing room.
Georgiana sat near the fire with her embroidery in her lap, though she had done very little with it for the past quarter of an hour.
Since learning of Wickham’s arrest, much of the anxiety which had lingered about her for months seemed to have lifted, and Darcy had taken considerable pleasure in seeing something of her former spirits return.
“What more would you have me tell you?”
“Something you have not told me before.”
“I begin to suspect there is nothing left.”
“There must be. You have spent three weeks avoiding half my questions.”
“I have answered a great many of them.”
“Very badly.” Georgiana pushed her needle through the cloth before glancing at him again. “You have told me she is clever, that she plays and sings, and that she laughs at you rather more often than anyone else dares. Whenever I ask anything interesting, however, you become remarkably difficult.”
Darcy raised a brow. “Perhaps your definition of interesting is the difficulty.”
Georgiana smiled. “What does she do when she is angry?”
The newspaper lowered another inch. His sister remained bent innocently over her embroidery.
“Why do you ask?” Darcy said.
“You said you quarrelled.”
“I said we disagreed.”
“You returned to London three weeks before Christmas looking as though you wished never to speak to anyone again.”
“Georgiana.”
“I was worried about you.”
The quiet admission checked his reply. Darcy folded the newspaper and laid it beside him.
He had told Georgiana only that something had passed between himself and Elizabeth before he left Hertfordshire, and that the fault had been principally his.
He had considered telling her more, as he had told Richard he would, but every attempt brought him against the same difficulty.
The letters were Julia’s and the words Elizabeth’s.
Explaining his offence would require exposing the very privacy he had already violated.
“Miss Bennet has a very decided temper when she believes herself wronged,” he said at last.
“And were you wrong?”
“Yes.”
Georgiana’s needle paused, but Darcy offered no qualification. Three weeks had done nothing to alter that answer.
He had spent those weeks trying not to wonder whether Elizabeth’s opinion of him might ever alter.
Before the Hardings left for Hertfordshire, he had entrusted Mr. Harding with two letters for her, explaining what he had done and apologising for it without attempting to excuse himself.
There had been nothing more he could properly do.
He had said what he needed to say and left whatever came next entirely in Elizabeth’s hands.
Richard had written a week ago to say that the Hardings had reached Longbourn and Elizabeth had received both letters.
She had been civil, he reported, and had shown no displeasure at their being given to her.
Darcy had read that portion more times than he cared to admit before conceding that civil could mean almost anything where Elizabeth was concerned.
Still, she had read them.
That had to be enough.
Richard’s letter had been considerably less precise upon the subject of his own return. He had intended to remain at Netherfield only until the Hardings were comfortably settled, yet many days had passed without any indication that he meant to leave Hertfordshire.
A subsequent letter from Richard had contained little more concerning Elizabeth, but considerably more concerning Julia Harding.
His cousin mentioned her often enough that Darcy had begun to suspect Richard’s prolonged stay in Hertfordshire had rather less to do with the Hardings being comfortably settled than with Miss Harding herself.
The thought amused him, but he knew better than to enquire.
Richard would tell him when he was ready.
Darcy returned his attention to the newspaper, and Georgiana to her embroidery.
They had been occupied in companionable silence for several minutes when the drawing-room door opened and a servant entered with the morning post. He placed several letters upon the table beside Darcy before retaining one in his hand.
“This arrived separately, sir. It was forwarded from Somerset.”
Darcy looked up. “Somerset?”
“From Willowbrook, sir.”
“This arrived separately, sir. It was forwarded from Somerset.”
Darcy lowered the newspaper. “Somerset?”
“Willowbrook, sir.”
Darcy frowned. Who could possibly have written to him there?
He had not resided at Willowbrook for months, and the few people who knew he had ever been there knew perfectly well that he was now in London.
Richard knew, as did Bingley, and the Hardings had since learnt of it.
None of them would have sent a letter to Somerset merely to have it forwarded back to him.
Unless…
Elizabeth was the only other person who knew he had been at Willowbrook.
Darcy’s eyes returned to the letter in the servant’s hand, and his pulse quickened before reason could check the thought. Elizabeth knew he had left Somerset months ago. There could be no sensible reason for her to write to him there.
Surely not.
He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
The servant placed the letter into his palm, and the moment Darcy saw the writing upon it, his breath caught.
Elizabeth’s hand.
For several seconds he could only stare at his name written beneath it. Richard had told him she had received his letters, but Darcy had expected nothing in return. Certainly not this. Yet Elizabeth had deliberately written to Willowbrook, trusting that somehow the letter would find its way to him.
A startled laugh escaped him.
“Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana lowered her embroidery, concern crossing her face. “Is everything well?”
Darcy glanced towards her before looking again at the letter. “It is from Miss Bennet.”
Georgiana’s face brightened in surprise. “Miss Bennet?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she send it to Somerset?”
Darcy shook his head as a sudden warmth spread through him. “I find myself equally interested in that part.
He looked again at Elizabeth’s hand upon the direction.
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy,
Willowbrook,
Somerset.
One month of silence had taught him not to expect this, and Richard’s letter had given him too little upon which to build any hope. Elizabeth might merely wish to acknowledge Julia’s return. She might even be writing to make clear that his apology had changed nothing.
The servant quietly withdrew, and Georgiana remained in her chair, watching from across the room without attempting to intrude. Darcy slipped a finger beneath the seal, and despite his best efforts, his hand trembled slightly as he broke it.
Longbourn,
Hertfordshire
16th December 1811
Dear Mr. Darcy,
I confess to some amusement in directing this letter to Willowbrook. My correspondence has demonstrated such remarkable persistence in finding you there when I had no desire that it should do so, that I can only hope it retains the habit now that I actually wish one letter to reach you.
Julia arrived at Longbourn two days ago.
I scarcely know how to describe what it was to see her again.
For so many months I had imagined every possible explanation for her silence, most of them unhappy, and I had begun to fear that I might never know what had become of her.
To have her walk into our drawing room, to hear her call me Lizzy and to know that she remembered me was a happiness for which I had almost ceased to hope.
She has told me much of what occurred in London, and Mr. Harding has supplied what she could not.
I know now what you and Colonel Fitzwilliam did for them, and that it was my letters, which you read without my permission, sir, but eventually returned to Julia, that helped her begin to recover her memory.
There is something so strange in that circumstance that I scarcely know whether to laugh or cry when I consider it.
The letters which caused so much unhappiness between us have given me back my dearest friend. I do not know how to thank you for that.
Mr. Harding also gave me the letter you wrote at Willowbrook and the one you entrusted to him before his departure from London. I have read them both more than once.
You told me of the first letter at Netherfield.
I remember that now. I was too angry to believe you then, and still angrier to allow you to explain yourself.
To hold that letter now, written months before we met, has forced me to acknowledge something I have been reluctant to admit these three weeks.
I did not know everything that evening, though I was very certain that I did.
Do not mistake me, Mr. Darcy. You ought to have told me. Upon that point I remain as obstinate as ever, and I suspect you would be disappointed in me if three weeks were sufficient to persuade me otherwise.
But I ought to have listened.
You attempted to tell me that evening that Julia had been found, and I would not permit you to finish.
I have thought of that several times since seeing her.
I was hurt and angry, but neither gave me the right to refuse you every opportunity of speaking and afterwards condemn you for what remained unsaid.
Your second letter answered much of what I would not hear that evening. I cannot pretend that reading it has made everything which passed between us insignificant. It has not. There are hurts which cannot be dismissed merely because one understands how they were caused.
But understanding has altered them.
I find my anger considerably less dependable than it was three weeks ago. Whenever I attempt to recover a little of it, Julia remembers something else, or I remember that you might have accompanied her to Longbourn and chose instead to honour the request I made of you.
It is exceedingly difficult to remain properly offended with a gentleman who persists in behaving well from a distance.
You wrote that you would respect my wish that you should not come to Longbourn again. Fairness therefore requires me to tell you that my wishes are no longer precisely what they were.
I do not know what remains to be said between us, Mr. Darcy, or where such a conversation might lead us.
I know only that there are things I would now rather say to you than commit to paper.
Should you return to Hertfordshire, therefore, you need no longer fear that the sight of you would be unwelcome.
Indeed, I think I should be very glad to see you.
Thank you for bringing my dearest friend back to me, and for every kindness you have shown her and her family. Pray give my regards to Miss Darcy, whom I hope is very well.
Yours, etc.,
Elizabeth Bennet
Darcy reached the end with his fingers tightened upon the paper. Georgiana remained across the room, her embroidery lowered now.
Darcy read the letter again, more slowly this time, and when he reached the end, he allowed himself to believe what had seemed impossible only moments before.
Elizabeth had not written that she forgave him, but he knew her well enough to recognise how near she had come to it.
There was humour in her reproach now rather than bitterness, gratitude where there had been hurt, and an admission that there were things she wished to say to him in person.
One month ago she had asked him never to approach her again.
Now she had told him she would be glad to see him.
A laugh escaped him, and Georgiana lowered the embroidery she had scarcely touched since he broke the seal. “I take it the letter contained good news?”
“Very good news.” Darcy folded the letter carefully along its creases, but the smile which had begun during the second reading refused to leave him. “I can see Miss Bennet again.”
“I did not know you had been forbidden from seeing her.” Georgiana made a teasing face, but quickly subdued it when Darcy fixed her with a look. “Then everything is well between you?”
“Not entirely.” Darcy rose and crossed towards the fireplace, slipping Elizabeth’s letter inside his coat. “There are still things which must be said between us, but I believe she has almost forgiven me.”
Georgiana smiled, and Darcy found himself looking towards the clock.
It was absurd. He could not leave that instant, however much every part of him wished to do precisely that.
There were arrangements to be made, Bingley ought to be informed of their arrival, and travelling in December required rather more preparation than simply ordering his carriage brought round.
“Will you go?” Georgiana asked.
Darcy looked at her. “Did you imagine I might not?”
“No.” Her smile widened. “I wondered how quickly.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“I thought so.”
Darcy reached for the bell, then paused as Elizabeth’s final words returned to him.
She had sent her regards to Georgiana, whom she had never met but about whom Darcy had spoken often enough.
Georgiana, for her part, had spent one month asking about Elizabeth whenever she could persuade him to answer.
There seemed little reason either of them should remain strangers.
He pulled the bell.
Georgiana glanced towards him. “What are you doing?”
When the servant entered, Darcy turned towards him. “Have the carriage prepared for tomorrow morning and see that arrangements are made for our journey into Hertfordshire.”
“Our journey?” Georgiana repeated as the servant withdrew.
Darcy turned back to find her staring at him, surprise already giving way to delight.
“Pack your trunks, Georgiana. We shall spend Christmas in Hertfordshire.”