F
Elizabeth read it twice, making certain she understood what F was saying. His friend wanted to prove the matchmaking scheme could work, and F was willing to go along with it, even though he had reservations. He was hardly a man eager to be led to the altar, but she was not any different. She was only doing this for a diversion and to prove to Jane that there were marriageable men aside from Bingley.
And perhaps some part of her heart was doing it to prove she could gain the interest of a man who was in a position to marry and who was not disrespectful, unlike Wickham and Mr Collins had been.
She had no expectancy of finding an amiable, respectable man who admired her. A girlish hope, perhaps, but no genuine expectation. But was this F a man who was worth her time?
There was something flattering about knowing she had roused his interest, even if it was only by a few lines on a subscription list. And he was not writing to anyone else. How charming of him to be so forthright, and how becoming it made him seem that he would write to one woman at a time. There was no way to know this for certain, but he seemed a direct man, unwilling to lie.
He said exceedingly little about himself, but maybe he was not shy or tiresome. It was only the first letter, and it would not be kind to judge him on this first impression. It might even be pleasant to draw him out a little.
Elizabeth went to her uncle’s desk and mended a pen, thinking about how to begin. It felt odd to address it to ‘sir’, although that would be the politest way. He had signed it F, butit felt just as odd to address a letter to an initial. She thought a moment before she began.
Saturday, February 1
Dear Friend,
I hope you forgive my presumption in claiming you as a friend after a single letter, but ‘sir’ and ‘F’ felt impersonal, and beginning with “dear my newest acquaintance” is ridiculous, so unless you beg of me otherwise, I will address my letters to my friend.
You write of people with romantic notions or aspiring to raise their status through marriage, but you must not find it disgraceful for the sexes to correspond in hopes of mutual improvement and perhaps matrimony, since you are a participant. We subscribers are not all desperate maidens, bashful bachelors, or lonely widows. I think young people now want an affectionate marriage, not a transaction, and this is simply a modern means to do that.
However, I will match your honesty with my own. I am doing this to prove the method a good one for others rather than for my benefit. My sister has recently suffered a disappointment—nothing improper or scandalous, just a little crossed in love as happens to all young ladies—and I want to show her that this method might be worth her time. I am not opposed to marrying a man met by this means, of course, but it is not my goal, so you and I may write without the pressure of any expectations.
You seem a responsible young man, and clever enough to say so without announcing your income for all to know, and such cleverness appealed to me. I am afraid, however, aside from the promise of a droll humour, you said little of yourself. Are you a shy man lacking courage with the fair sex?
In case you are not inclined to talk about yourself, you may tell me about your family and what you enjoy doing in London.You are in town for the season, I presume? I am in town until early March. As today is February 1, that gives us five weeks to become acquainted while we are both in the same city and can exchange letters quickly. While I am here, I hope to see some concerts and walk at least once in one of the parks, but I am at the liberty of my friends and the weather. If you want to know my taste in music, ask me.
I ought to add that I would not want to be teased or held in disdain, even with the anonymity of the enterprise, so I expect you not to show my letters to all your friends. Ladies, as you know, often pass letters round, but since those with whom I am staying in town approve of the venture and of my judgment, there is no expectation that I share your letters with them.
Your friend,
L
“Lizzy?” Jane called from the door. “My aunt wishes to know if you still want to go to the panorama with us?”
“Yes, of course. I am nearly done.” She folded the letter and wrote “Gentlemen No. 16” and then enclosed it and addressed it to the matchmaking office. As she ran upstairs for her coat and hat, Jane followed her.
“What have you to say about the tall, slender man with dark hair and eyes?” she asked, leaning against the doorjamb as Elizabeth dressed.
“His description was more expressive than his letter,” she said. “I know nothing about him.” She reconsidered while she did her buttons. “No, that is not true. In his own way, he showed that honesty is important to him, perhaps to a fault, and he does not want me to be disappointed if we do not suit.”
“That is considerate of him. I suppose this format of beginning a new acquaintance allows one to be candid about one’s intentions. But remember, you can stop writing at any time.”
If she wanted Jane to take this opportunity for herself, she could not stop writing soon. She would have to be more confident about the scheme.
“In his own way, he complimented me. He thought I sounded lively and that I would be an interesting correspondent, and that while he has no expectations further than writing, he also is not writing to any other lady. He thought it would be disingenuous.”
“That is an admirable sentiment.” Jane’s eyes widened in approval before they went down the stairs where her aunt and uncle were waiting.
“I thought so too,” she said, her cheeks warming at the thought.
“Well, my dear, he must be charming for you to look like that,” her uncle said as they went to the carriage. “Do I need to arrange a meeting at the office? When will the banns be read?” he asked with a smile.
“He seemed a little serious, but hopefully he won’t be a dull letter writer,” she said primly, refusing to rise to the good-hearted taunt.
Darcy waiteduntil Miss Bingley had turned away to look at the panorama scene before shrugging his shoulders. He tolerated Miss Bingley’s presence, but her constant prattling ruined how immersive the experience was meant to be. The panorama was a large, circular room that placed the viewer at the centre of an enormous painting that stretched entirely around them. It was a total view of a scene as it appeared to an observer turning in a complete circle.
Views of Paris, or the interior of Dublin, the Bay of Naples and the eruption of Vesuvius, or a military siege, it did not matter to him. All were magnificent.
