Chapter Twenty-Four
The letters began four days after the Bennets' return to Longbourn. The family were sat down to breakfast, with Kitty and Lydia arguing noisily over the last muffin, when Mr Bennet placed a letter carefully next to Elizabeth’s plate.
"There you are, my Lizzy."
Elizabeth looked down at the unfamiliar hand and knew exactly who her correspondent was.
"I believe," continued her father, buttering a piece of toast, "that this falls under the category of approved communications."
"Thank you, Papa."
"You are very welcome. I feel I have behaved with uncommon integrity. I have not read a solitary word."
Mrs Bennet laughed. "Mr Bennet, leave Lizzy be. Go on and read your letter, my girl."
Elizabeth suspected that if she remained in the room another minute, her father would begin describing the heroic nature of his self-restraint. She was relieved that the rest of the family were too distracted to watch her slip away, although Jane eyed her thoughtfully.
Once upstairs, she broke the seal.
Miss Bennet,
Having devoted an unreasonable amount of thought to the opening of this letter, I have reluctantly concluded that no opening composed with excessive care is likely to improve upon one written immediately.
Mrs Makepeace informs me that hesitation in letter writing is a grave sin and that old Mr Makepeace would have had no truck with my hesitancy.
She may be correct. But it is only that I would rather you not throw this into the fire before you had got halfway through.
Lyme remains much as you left it. The sea continues to come in and out. The wind blows. The sea shines occasionally and our dear landlady continues to heap unexpected pearls of wisdom on its unsuspecting citizens.
Yesterday she informed a gentleman upon the promenade that his hat reflected poorly upon his judgement. He looked so chastened that I very nearly ran after him to inform him that I thought it was a reasonably handsome specimen of its sort. Alas, he was gone before I had the opportunity.
Bingley misses the company of your family almost as much as I.
One member in particular (if I may be so bold).
To illustrate this, I must start by saying the idea of Bingley reading for pleasure in any circumstances is very unusual indeed.
But yesterday he spent ten minutes searching for a book of sonnets which he had—much to my amusement—been holding in his own hand throughout the search.
Georgiana cried with laughter, although friendship obliged me to point out his missing tome eventually.
I confess I was tempted to wait longer.
Georgiana wishes to be remembered to you and I find myself thinking of our conversations often. Pray tell me news of your home and how you occupy your time.
Yours hopefully,
F. Darcy
Elizabeth read the letter twice before breakfast was over and her answer was written that afternoon.
Mr Darcy,
I am delighted to learn that Mrs Makepeace continues her campaign of public improvement. Meryton has long required similar leadership and I shall recommend her services immediately.
We continue at Longbourn as we ever have, and I am much occupied with walking some of my poor, neglected trails at the moment.
In other news, Kitty has recently acquired a bonnet which she considers to be transformative to her entire person.
According to her, it brings out her eyes, adds lustre to her skin and, in a somewhat unlikely turn of events, makes her appear significantly taller.
She has worn it every day for a week and demanded admiration from the entire household.
As for Mr Bingley, I am sorry to hear of his decline. Jane bears the separation with considerably greater composure, though whether this reflects well upon her or poorly upon him I cannot say.
My mother continues to direct the household although appears more settled and content than I can remember and my father spends a little less time than is his usual habit in his library.
The rest of us continue to observe these proceedings with great interest. Give my regards to your sister and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.
Yours in friendship,
Elizabeth Bennet
Darcy read the letter eagerly as if it were his first sip of water after months in the desert.
He read it again almost immediately afterwards, more slowly this time, lingering over particular passages and smiling at Kitty's bonnet and the dry affection with which Elizabeth seemed capable of describing even the most ordinary events.
By the third reading, however, his attention had become fixed upon the conclusion.
"Yours in friendship,"
He remained for some time at his desk with the letter open before him.
Friendship was a comfortable word, a perfectly adequate word, but oh how he wished he could be more than adequate in her eyes.
Did she see this correspondence as simply a means to placate a man who had behaved most idiotically but was too high in society to snub altogether?
He fiercely hoped not, and trying to put the phrase away he picked up a blank page. Their correspondence continued apace.
Miss Bennet,
You will be pleased to learn that I admire Kitty's bonnet in absentia. It sounds almost mythic in its qualities and I hope one day to see this great wonder myself.
Georgiana maintains that she cannot possibly look as alarming as your description suggested. Bingley, having never seen the bonnet, has declared himself in favour of it.
We are now in London. It is noisy and dirty and has failed to meet my (always low) expectations for city life.
I attended a dinner two evenings ago surrounded by people of excellent connections and irreproachable manners. Not one of them said anything worth remembering.
I found myself wondering throughout the evening what you would have made of them.
I could predict your opinions of half the company and wished repeatedly that I might compare my conclusions with yours.
To see your eyes sparkle at their nonsense would have…
well, it would have made the evening much brighter.
There are disadvantages to becoming accustomed to another person's perspective. One begins to miss it when it is absent.
Yours,
F. Darcy
Elizabeth folded the letter slowly. The final sentence lingered with her and she smiled. Her answer was dispatched the next morning.
Mr Darcy,
I am sorry to hear that London continues to disappoint you. The city will be mortified by the discovery.
Your account of the dinner has interested me greatly. Not because of the company themselves, who sound perfectly ordinary, but because your reflections on the evening are not what I imagined.
There are disadvantages to becoming accustomed to another person's opinions. I have discovered the same difficulty at Longbourn, where I often happen upon things that I think you may like to discuss.
My father has recently taken to walking with my mother every evening. Meryton is so astonished by this development that I expect reports of a coming apocalypse before the month is out.
Mrs Long believes they have quarrelled. Sir William Lucas believes they have fallen in love.
Lady Lucas is determined that my mother has some sort of wasting disease, and to walk with my father must be some sort of final wish.
She is certainly lingering as they have been wandering the lanes every night for a week!
I have spent the last week wishing to tell somebody this story and am forced to conclude that you are the unfortunate recipient.
Yours in bafflement,
Elizabeth Bennet
The reply arrived more quickly than usual and Elizabeth carried it into the garden before opening it.
Miss Bennet,
I am not at all unfortunate. On the contrary, I consider myself unusually fortunate to have been entrusted with the story.
As for your parents, I confess myself inclined towards Sir William's explanation.
People speak often of first attachments and very little of last ones.
There is something admirable in discovering, after many years, that one's happiness has been sitting across the room all along.
Forgive the sentimentality. I fear Mrs Makepeace would accuse me of becoming a soppy fellow and the charge would be difficult to defend against.
I think of you often as I go about my day.
Yours always,
F. Darcy
Elizabeth read the letter once and then again in quick succession. The afternoon stretched quietly around her and a rook crossed the sky above the trees.
His words possessed a curious intimacy and she thought of the ease that had grown between them. Simply and steadily, until the habit of writing to him had become as natural as speaking to Jane.
The realisation ought perhaps to have alarmed her, but she found herself smiling. Then, because the smile refused to leave, she lowered her eyes to the letter and began reading it once more.