25April,1814
Rosings, Kent
My Darling Wife,
How I wish you were here with me! It is selfish, I know, as Lady Catherine would do everything in her power to make you miserable and you would leave exhausted and cross, but I hate to be without you for more than a day or two. I am sleeping terribly. I keep reaching for you, but of course you are not there.
How are you keeping? Are you sleeping well? I hope your maid remembered to put an extra brick in the bed. Without me, you will be dreadfully cold at night. Kent is already warm and I can feel summer just around the corner, but I know we are not so lucky in Derbyshire.
My aunt is improving. The doctor says she will make a full recovery, but she is not to walk on the injured limb for at least a fortnight, longer if necessary. She is impossible, as you can imagine. She is certain the doctor is wrong and that she will be right as rain in a few days.
It was that sort of thinking that got her into this mess in the first place! Had she only listened to the doctor when he told her to stay in bed, like anyone with a fever should, but she simply had to traverse the stairs on her own. She did not even hold the railing! It is no wonder she fell.
Anne has not recovered from the fever as yet. I only saw her briefly, but she looked wan and thin. I worry for her if she does not improve from this. The doctor said it is possible she will never fully regain her strength if the fever persists, and she was not strong to begin with. Hopefully she makes a full recovery soon.
How I wish you were here to cheer me! You would tease me and make some terribly inappropriate joke about my aunt, and we would laugh and for that moment, all would be well. Your laugh does that for me. When I hear it, everything seems right in the world.
I delivered your letter to Mrs. Collins and she asked me to deliver another to you. I am enclosing it here. She seems happy enough with her lot; she hardly sees her husband at all and she seems to take great joy in running her house. I am so glad you refused Collins when he proposed. I cannot imagine coming here every year, seeing you as his wife. It would be torturous. I can hear you now saying it would be significantly more difficult for you to be married to him than for me to merely have to see said marriage on occasion, and you are right of course. You would have been miserable. I like to think Collins would have, too, but I fear he lacks the intelligence to recognize his own misery.
I am equally glad I did not agree to a marriage of convenience as my family wished me to do. Now that I have known love, now that I have a true partnership, I cannot imagine the cold union so many of my friends have. You are all that is warm and lovely, and life without you would be cold indeed.
I think I may leave here in two days’ time, but it will depend on the health of my cousin and aunt. If Lady C’s fever returns, I will be here even longer. Similarly, I will remain if Anne’s condition worsens.
My uncle is even more anxious to leave than I am. He paces the hall and walks circuits around the larger rooms. It has been raining constantly the last three days and we are all desperate for a little fresh air and exercise.
I look forward to our reunion, which will likely be the only good thing to come out of this trip.
Yours,
FD
26April, 1814
Rosings, Kent
Dear Elizabeth,
I just sent off a letter to you yesterday, but it cannot be helped—I thought you would want to know the news right away. Anne’s fever broke in the night. She is still unwell, and she is warmer than the doctor would like, but it does not rage on like it did. She has awoken several times now and taken a little broth, which we are all encouraged by.
My uncle has decided that someone must intervene on Anne’s behalf. It is about time he did so, as he is the only one who can. My uncle de Bourgh named him Anne’s trustee; Lady C would listen to no one else. She would not even listen to her brother—regardless of the fact that he is an earl and she reveres titles—if he did not hold financial sway over her.
Lord M will take my aunt and cousin to the seaside as soon as he can arrange a house for them. And the sooner I will be returned to you!
Yours,
FD
2 May, 1814
Pemberley, Derbyshire
Dear Husband,
I was sitting down to write a reply to your letter of the 25thwhen I received your last. Is Anne continuing to improve? It is good that your uncle has agreed to escort them to the seaside. It might do them a world of good. Anne will benefit from the sea air and Lady C will have a fresh coterie of servants and neighbors to assist with her invaluable advice.
I wish we had known you would be called to Kent immediately upon our return home. If we had known, I would have stayed on in London and we would have been a few hours’ drive from one another. Now you are a full three days away—four if the roads are bad. I cannot like such a distance, but I do not wish to be selfish. Stay with your family until your aunt is better, or at least until Anne’s fever breaks and they make traveling plans in earnest. You will not feel settled with yourself if you do any less.
Your sister is well. She is playing the pianoforte morning and night. I think she likes the Harrison boy, though she has said nothing of it to me. She is too shy to speak to him in company, but she looks at him a great deal and hangs on his every word when he is speaking to others. Does that sound like anyone you know?
