I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole morning to answering it. I confess myself surprised by your news, since I had heard nothing from you or your mother about this gentleman. Please do not presume my surprise means that I disapprove of your marrying. You are too sensible a girl to marry because your fancy was run away with you, and I know that I can trust your good sense and your wish not to disappoint your mother or the memory of your father. I congratulate you and wish you joy.
Your letter suggests that you are involved in an affection that the want of fortune might perhaps make imprudent. I would not mention it since you are now married to Mr Darcy, and, naturally, the union cannot be undone. But, my dear Lizzy, did you intend to tell me that you live on a narrower income than you had ever expected, that you have few servants, and live in a small cottage? Have I understood correctly that your husband is maintaining you and his sister on perhaps no more than a few hundred a year?
You must think your aunt a strange woman to speak unkindly about your situation when, in any other light, it would still be a good match for you provided you were happy. However, since you said that your husband is named Fitzwilliam Darcy, and he has a younger sister named Georgiana, I must confess what I know about that family. The name is too distinct, too unique, in my mind, to be a coincidence. However, if after I am done I have been in error, please forgive me because I think only of your happiness.
About ten or twelve years ago, before I married your uncle, I spent a considerable time in Derbyshire and lived in Lambton, an estate village of nearby Pemberley House, the home of the Darcy family. I have seen Pemberley, and I know the character of the late Mr Darcy perfectly well. He was a generous, benevolent man, and liberal to the poor. His wife, Lady Anne, was a more reserved woman, but there was neither mansion nor cottage that she would enter without a gracious smile.
Lady Anne Darcy was consumptive and died around the time that I left Derbyshire. I still have friends in the area, and over time have learnt that thelate Mr Darcy died five years ago. They had two children, the present Mr Darcy and a much younger daughter named Georgiana. I recall that everyone feared the little girl was consumptive like her mother. I cannot recall anything about that gentleman’s disposition when quite a lad, although I clearly remember he was Master Fitzwilliam. He was named for, I believe, his mother’s family, that noble Yorkshire family of Wentworth-Woodhouse. He would be only a few years younger than me, and you did say that your husband was eight-and-twenty.
Perhaps all of this is already known to you. However, if it is, your present situation puzzles me exceedingly. I do not know for certain the income of that estate, but its affairs were not sadly involved while the late Mr Darcy lived, and there was nothing in the news of my friends to suggest that the son spends more than he ought. My dear, the house is larger than you can suppose. You would expect such a home to be fine, but it is truly beautiful. The River Derwent runs near the house, amidst green meadows, bounded by large and beautiful woods, and it is full of delightful walks.
I am sorry if I am the means to make you unhappy, because it will mean that you have been misled in some way, perhaps even lied to by your husband. At the least, he has been very sly. I cannot reconcile what you have told me with what I know of the integrity and wealth of the Darcy family, yet how could it be a coincidence? I could bestow praise on the character of Pemberley’s late possessor, but I do not know anything about the present possessor other than his name. Lizzy, I am nearly certain that the Fitzwilliam Darcy who is the current possessor of that estate is your husband. Why, then, are you living in a lodge in Hertfordshire on the edge of genteel poverty?
I could compare my recollection of Pemberley with the minute descriptions your husband could give, but if he has not told you, then I shall write no more. I beg you to forgive me if I have wounded or offended you. How I dearly wish I was not so far from you, and I regret that I must wait two months to hear your answer.
Yours, very sincerely,
M. Gardiner
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Elizabeth’s feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined, and they produced a contrariety of emotions. Confusion and disbelief overwhelmed her. She read through it once, not fully understanding, and then collected herself and began a second perusal. With amazement did she first understand the depth of what Darcy kept from her.
His noble lineage. His splendid fortune. His ancestral estate. Despite the unsteady start to their relationship, she had thought that respect and confidence now subsisted between them. She was too agitated to remain seated in the garden, and she stomped down the lane to consider how differently everything now appeared in which Darcy was concerned.
Darcy has behaved very ill by me!
Darcy was a man with the education and manners of a gentleman because hewasa gentleman. Those letters, bills, and accounts she had seen were not those of the steward to his master.Darcywas the master, and one who was committed to an estate that he had not seen since last autumn. No wonder Darcy looked so surprised when she confessed she knew his secret about being a steward. He was not surprised thatshe had guessed he had employment, but rather was amazed at her for not assuming thathewas the master.
He showed charity because he was in the habit of being generous to his tenants and servants, just as his father had been. His decisive manner even in trying circumstances, as she had seen with the gentlemen who overturned their carriage or with the Collinses at Georgiana’s funeral, was seen in a different light. If he was from such a wealthy, well-connected family, then he naturally would have been raised to think well of himself and to act with authority.
I misjudged every hint, every sign, every indication. But he did nothing to correct me.
Elizabeth’s nerves were still agitated by the shock of his deception when she arrived in Meryton.And oh, what of Georgiana’s seducer!Georgiana’s fortune must have been significant for her to be prey to a man like Wickham.How blind I have been.Darcy’s true income must be remarkable for him to afford to buy all of Wickham’s debts and hire bailiffs to hunt him.
She briskly turned down the street to the apothecary shop, not so much as nodding to anyone she strode past. There had not been an explicit lie, but rather many truths that he withheld from her. She had judged his circumstances wrongly, but had she judged wrongly the character of the man?
Does it matter what I think of him since he does not love me in return and I will be dead in a month?
“Good morning, Mrs Darcy. You look as though you have come here with great purpose.” Elizabeth started as she realised Mr Jones was smiling at her. “I hope that your arm is not troubling you after the other day?”
She hardly knew how she had stormed into the apothecary shop, and she did her best to gather her composure. “I promise I have not given my arm a single thought. I hope you left your son in Bath well?”
“Yes, thank you. I will return to him in ten days, but his recovery is all but assured. If you have not come about your arm, how may I help you?”
Elizabeth took proper notice of the customers at the counter with Mr Lynn and the shopboy sweeping nearby. She looked pointedly tothe curtain that led to the consultation room; Mr Jones bowed and gestured for her to lead the way.
She struggled with how to compose her spirits to ask about her heart, and Mr Jones made a presumption to fill the silence. “I have not congratulated you on your marriage. I wish you joy. Perhaps you are here to determine for certain if you will have another reason for joy next spring?”
She stared for a long moment until she understood what he was implying. “Oh!” It was a blow, to be certain. She would not live long enough to have a child, and her husband refused to share her bed. “It is impossible! I am soon to die. It is cruel, Mr Jones, cruel of you to be so forgetful!” She tried to stop her tears at his expression of absolute incredulity.
“Mrs Darcy, I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. What has led you to believe that you are fatally ill?”
She opened her reticule to retrieve the letter and a handkerchief for her eyes. “You wrote that for the sake of my heart any excitement or exertion ought to be avoided, but there is no remedy because my case was so advanced. Do you now recall that you expect me to be dead by Michaelmas?”
Mr Jones took the letter and read with narrowed eyes, slowly shaking his head. “Mrs Darcy, how did you get this? I did not write this to you.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “It was neither wise nor proper, I know. I was awaiting news from you about my heart. If you recall, your examination was cut short by the sad news of your son’s ill health, and you said you would write to Mr Lynn regarding my diagnosis. I saw the letter on the counter during a busy day in the shop and?—”
