With all my love,
Your devoted sister,
Georgiana
Darcy folded the letter and held it a moment, his heart full. He drew out his own paper and began his reply.
My dearest Georgiana,
Your letter was balm to my soul. I cannot express the joy it gave me to read your thoughts at such length. I must first apologize for my recent neglect. My days have not been idle, but I ought to have written more faithfully. You are very dear to me, and though you are well attended by those who care for you, I should never let distance become an excuse for silence.
You asked what occupies me; dearest sister,I continue my visit with Bingley, and I believe, with every certainty in my heart, that I am in love.
It has been twelve days since I began giving small gifts to the lady who has captured my heart entirely. Each day I have chosen something thoughtful and personal—tokens meant to delight her and to discreetly convey the depth of my admiration. A fan of painted silk, a length of violet ribbon, a volume of poetry, a finely embroidered shawl, silver combs, a pearl necklace, a diamond locket that belonged to our grandmother… To-day, I sent her eleven sapphire hairpins. To-morrow, the final gift.
Her name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I have mentioned her in my letters before, if you recall. She is clever and lively, her wit sparkling yet tempered with wisdom. Her eyes—oh, Georgiana, her violet eyes—lovely and luminous, seem to speak volumeswhen her words fall still. She walks with dignity, converses with elegance, and holds to her principles with steadfast resolve. There is a light in her that makes the world itself seem warmer.
What astonishes me most is how she perceives the truth of character. She has not been dazzled by wealth or name. She has teased me, challenged me, and perhaps unknowingly, healed something within me.
We have not spoken of these things openly yet, but I feel a certainty growing between us. IconfessI began these tokens in secret, for I was not certain she would welcome such attentions. Yes, my dear sister, she is singular, caring not a jot for being Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley unless she felt sincere attachment to my person. Now, however, I hope—I dare to hope—that she may return my affection,and I intend to make my offer before I quit Hertfordshire, though I find myself more anxious than when engaged with her in our sharpest exchanges of wit.
I wish you could meet her. I believe you would find her a kindred spirit. Her devotion to her sisters is admirable, and she speaks of music and novels with great pleasure. She once spoke so warmly of a sister who plays the pianoforte, and I longed to tell her of you. I restrained myself, but only just.
Pray that I may soon bring her into our family, to call her not only my wife, but your sister. I think she would love you very well, and you, her.
On another note, a certain person will no longer trouble us. I will tell you more, but do not wish to mar this missive with thoughts of him.
I will write again soon—with good news, I trust. And if all goes as I desire, my next letter may contain not merely my wishes, but the beginning of a new chapter for us all.
Ever your loving brother, William
He closed the letter, signed it with a flourish, then sanded and sealed the missive. It would go out with the post, and when he wrote again, it would be to announce success. Georgiana would not wait patiently; she had longed for a sister and would wish to know immediately when he knew success.
The dining room at Netherfield was unusually subdued that evening. The fire crackled in the grate, and the candles glimmered upon the silver. Only two places were set for dinner; he and Bingley sat across from one another, each sunk in thought. The footman served a hearty fare: a roast saddle of mutton with red currant jelly, buttered turnips, and a game pie, the repast concluding with a custard tart.
Bingley glanced around the room as he sipped his claret. “I must confess, Darcy, I find I miss the chaos of Longbourn. Meals there are never tame.”
Darcy allowed a rare smile. “Indeed. Lively does not begin to describe it. I own I am quite fond of their company.”
“Fond? I see you are less rigid with the Bennets, butfond?I never thought to hear it from you.”
“You are not the only one surprised, They have a way of endearing themselves, almost unawares. I believe, above all, they are genuine, which is more than I can say of many in the first circles.”
After dinner, the gentlemen retired to the billiard room with a decanter of port. The table was already prepared. Bingley chalked his cue and leaned against the edge, his manner contemplative.
“I intend to marry Miss Bennet in February, as you know,” he said of a sudden, “and I have no plans to inform my sisters until it is already done.”
“Truly?” Darcy was hardly astonished. The Bingley sisters had made no secret of their disdain for Hertfordshire society.
Bingley scoffed as he sent a ball smartly into a corner pocket. “I have had no fewer than ten letters from them. Each demanded my whereabouts, speculating wildly. I had my post forwarded, yet they persist in sending everything to your house in town.”
Darcy’s amusement faded as Bingley grew serious.
“Darcy…how would you handle disapproving relatives when taking a wife? Especially after a proposal has been offered.”
Darcy rested his cue, thoughtful. The question struck deep, for it was not fancy. He had already considered it—agonized over it—on countless solitary walks and sleepless nights. At length, he replied.
“I would remember that the woman I marry must become my foremost duty. No other opinion, however loudly voiced, should outweigh hers. A gentleman’s charge is to protect his wife, not only from hardship, but from insult and disdain. He must shield her from those who would belittle her, even if they bear his name.”
