The strength of you, the steadiness I so admire, made me feel completely free to be and do and say what I wished without restraint. I have never fully been without passion, and our courtship showed me I was more passionate than even I had thought, but the freedom I felt in your embrace…Fitzwilliam, I was flying.
I cannot fully explain it, for I do not entirely understand it myself, but I feel as if I am a kite and you are the anchor keeping me from being whipped about in the wind. Untethered, the kite would become tangled in a tree or dive to the ground. But connected to a strong force, it may fly high and steady.
I fear I am not making sense, but you make me feel as if anything is possible. As if together, we are an unbreakable force. And after last night, after all we have shared and given to one another, we are truly one.
Did you feel it, my love? When you pierced my maidenhead, did you feel the bond that connected us? I have never thought myself to be a particularly spiritual person, but I cannot deny that I felt bound to you in a way that felt almost holy in its perfection. It was…reverential. Otherworldly. Magical. I will never forget the closeness we have shared, and I can only hope that the sweet communion, the complete openness between us, will continue and grow even stronger.
My darling husband, I am utterly enamored of you. I know you have loved me longer, and you have reason to think my sentiments are not entirely unchangeable, but know this: whatever distance between our affections existed before has now been closed. My heart is entirely yours, my love. And it is full to bursting with love for you.
Your Elizabeth
15 November, 1812
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
My Love,
How you undo me! After your letter, well, you know what happened, but after we had emerged from our chambers and when we took a walk about the cold garden, I felt the need to tell you, to express in some way how your letter from this morning made me feel. I tried to tell you, and I hope you understood what I meant, but we both know I am better in a letter, when I have had time to think over what I want to say and plan my words. I do not have your quickness, and while it is a trait I greatly admire in you, and one that brings me delight when you employ it, (do you know how your teasing flirtations set a fire in my blood?) it is a skill I am not the master of. But I want you to know what is in my heart, so I turn to a letter.
My dearest wife, that you see me so completely, that you appreciate what is a fundamental part of my character, brings me immense joy. My whole life, I have been thought to be dull, unimaginative, a stick in the mud when my friends were all having fun. The most mischief I ever got into was playing a joke on old man Turner, and even that was Fitz’s idea.
I will admit that while we were courting, I sometimes feared that you would grow bored with me. That you would wish to dance and go out every night while I would wish to stay home, and my own dullness would drive a wedge between us. We have spoken of this before, and you did a credible job of assuaging my fears. But my love, your words to me today were more than precious, for I see now what I did not then. Not only do you not mind my dullness, but it is this very trait—I believe you call it steadiness (a much better word)—that allows you to be the freest version of yourself.
I am still in awe of your trust in me—I hope I never stop being so—and I feel we are seeing a glimpse into the future, of what our lives will look like as the years pass by. We are bringing out the best in one another, my love. Do you see it? I am already more patient and it has only been a day. You are veritably sparkling, my sweet. You are a precious gem, shining in the light, and to think I had even a small part to play in your happiness fills me with joy and pride. I have decided the best sort of pride is husbandly pride. By that measure, I am the proudest man in England, for I have the most wonderful wife. I cannot imagine anyone having a better one.
We shall have dinner tonight with Bingley and your sister before leaving for Pemberley in the morning. You are in your dressing room, twisting your hair up into curls and braids that I will take great pleasure in taking down later. I know there is a great deal of the unknown before us, for you especially, but Elizabeth, you will be magnificent. I know it. You will be an exemplary mistress. And if you are feeling lonely, if the loss of your sisters’ company is too much, say the word, and I will send the carriage for them. Or beg Bingley to bring Jane to you.
I will do anything and everything for you, my love. Your happiness is my life’s greatest calling, and I intend to heed that call until I draw my last breath.
Yours Indelibly,
FD
Fitzwilliam,
You lovely man! You are waiting for me even now so I will be quick. I want you to keep this note for moments when you feel uncertain. If you ever doubt yourself, if you ever doubtme, or if we are quarreling and being ridiculous, come back and read this.
I love you with every corner of my heart, with every drop of my blood, with every thought in my mind. I shall never grow bored of you—you are entirely too interesting for that, and I am utterly fascinated by you.
Every inch of me is in agreement: you are the perfect man for me, from your steadfast character to your wry sense of humor to your unvarnished passion. I have loved none before you, and after what we have shared, there could not be room for any other, so completely have you taken hold of me.
Yours are the only hands I want roaming over my body, yours are the lips I want kissing me, yours are the arms I want holding me. I want you, my love. Only you. Always.
Your Elizabeth
3
A Lovers’ Quarrel
Pemberley, Spring 1813
Elizabeth,
I do not wish to quarrel with you. Might we speak about this rationally?
F
Mr. Darcy,
