She bit her lip and continued reading.‘I wish that we might understand one another better.’Well, that was dangerously tempting.
Elizabeth dipped her pen but hesitated.What on earth does one write in answer to that? ‘Thank you for your civility’sounded absurdly cold.‘I admire your honesty’seemed too forward or silly.‘I want to know you better too’—she set the nib down quickly before that escaped onto the paper.
Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her temples.‘He said he valued candour. So candour he shall have.’
She drew a breath, straightened her shoulders, and began slowly, carefully, letting the words shape themselves honestly, if not without embarrassment.
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
October 29th, 1811
Sir,
I hope you will forgive the delay in my answer. I confess I have read your letter more than once, and considered it very seriously.
You are right to say that we have known one another only a little while. I shall not pretend I am accustomed to receiving such a letter as yours. I must also confess I am not entirely at ease with how to answer it.
But I cannot find it in me to refuse you when you speak so openly. You ask to know me better, and I can see no harm in that—if we may be honest with one another in doing so.
I am grateful for your words about my family, and especially for your courtesy to my father. He does notalways choose to show it, but he values kindness and sincerity more than he admits.
As for myself—I will do my best to be as frank in writing as you have been. Though I warn you I have no remarkable stories to share and no great wisdom to offer. Only what thoughts I have, which you may find as plain as they are numerous.
If you truly wish to continue this exchange, you may expect an answer when you write. I will not promise they will always be easy letters to read—but they will be honest.
I remain, sir,
Yours respectfully,
Elizabeth Bennet
She read once more what she wrote, eyes narrowing in thought as she scanned each line.‘Good enough,’she decided firmly.‘No more changes. I shall not let myself rewrite it again.’
With deliberate care she folded the sheet and reached for her wax and seal. She pressed it closed with a decisive hand, letting the warm wax cool under her fingertips.‘There,’she thought with a small breath of relief.‘No going back now.’
A quick glance out the window showed Mr. Bingley arriving at a cheerful trot on his grey horse, his coat bright against the duller autumn hedgerows.
Elizabeth let out a soft, determined sigh.‘Well, there is no time to sit here congratulating myself.’
She rose briskly, smoothing her skirts, and resolved to go down at once to support Jane as best she could—and, with a rueful smile, to help head off Mama’s inevitable fluttering and intrusive questions before they could fully take aim.
With that purpose firmly in mind, she slipped from her room, letter in hand, closing the door gently behind her.
***
A week later, late at night, Elizabeth lay in bed, the chill of the November night curling against the windows, old timbers creaking gently overhead. She pulled the blankets closer, but sleep refused her entirely.
Her mind would not quiet. She thought of Jane—dear, steady Jane—who had spent part of the afternoon in the parlour with Mr. Bingley. How easily they seemed to talk now. How Bingley listened with bright-eyed delight to even Jane’s mildest remark.
Elizabeth smiled at the memory, warm for her sister’s happiness. If anyone deserved a simple, certain, and deep affection, it was Jane.
But the smile faded as she turned onto her side. The embers in the grate cast restless shadows on the wall. Her thoughts refused to stay with Jane. They slithered inexorably back to him. To her letter.
Elizabeth let out a quiet exhale, fingers tightening on the coverlet. What had she written exactly? She replayed it line by line, wincing at her own frankness.
‘You ask to know me better… I see no harm in that… honest with one another… no remarkable stories… plain thoughts… Was it too plain? Too blunt? Too forward?’
She pressed her lips together.‘He said he valued candour.’
