“Letter?” cried Mary, once again stunned.
“Be quiet, girl!” Mr Bennet ordered.
“Yes, he wrote me a letter and gave it to me personally the next day. It contained information about Mr Bingley. His friend did indeed have an inclination towards you…almost from the beginning, but only on the night of the Netherfield ball did Mr Darcy feel an ‘apprehension’ as he began to perceive Mr Bingley’s serious attachment to you.”
“Oh!” Jane exclaimed and placed her delicate hand on her chest to alleviate the sharp pain there. “Why did you not tell me this?”
“Because Mr Darcy immediately added that he had often seen Mr Bingley in love before.”
“Maybe he lied,” murmured Jane.
“No, my dear. A man who is throwing his contempt for my family in my face as the prelude to a marriage proposal is not going to lie about anything else he says, I am certain.
“His honesty is his greatest quality,” Elizabeth added in frustration, her love at odds with the events she wanted to forget.
“He said horrible things about us?” Mary asked.
Elizabeth blushed, looking quickly at her father to see his response, but she found him unexpectedly composed.
“Allow me to conclude my story for Papa and Mary,” Elizabeth said.
Silence briefly descended upon them. Alongside the tension that had permeated their discussion, they also enjoyed what was happening in the library.
“Go on, Lizzy,” Mr Bennet said, and Elizabeth gave a detailed account of everything that had happened in Kent and later in London. Nothing was left unsaid, and even when it was difficult, she chose the truth, just as Mr Darcy had done himself. She told her father about Lady Oakham, but he probably already knew about her existence as at least one letter had arrived from Mrs Gardiner during that time, and meeting her old friend had been of such importance to her that she was sure to have mentioned it.
“Lady Catherine, the Matlocks, the Oakhams, the colonel…like many families, they were far from perfect. One brother inherited the family’s wealth, while the other had to forge his own path in life.”
“An entail of sorts,” Mr Bennet mused.
“Indeed. I can only attest that Lady Oakham and Miss Darcy regarded me with friendship. They believed I was the wife Mr Darcy required, deploring his terrible proposal and persuading me to meet him again regardless of what had happened between us.”
Elizabeth paused again, finally deciding not to divulge everything, not even to her father. Lady Olivia had no place in their conversation.
“We met at the theatre, and our conduct was…respectable—”
“She loves him!” Jane exclaimed.
“Too late, but that does not diminish the intensity of my sentiments,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Now you comprehend me,” Jane affirmed.
“I have always understood you, Jane. I have always had faith in your noble intentions and beautiful soul. That is one of the reasons I rejected Mr Darcy’s proposal—I could not imagine a life with someone who did not respect, if not cherish, my family.”
“You refused him because he proposed in an abominable fashion and because you did not love him,” Jane persisted. They all looked at her, surprised by her frustrated and angry tone, each of them struggling to grasp the cause of her emotions.
“You are mistaken. I would have contemplated his proposal had he not played a role in your unhappiness.”
“But you just said you did not love him then.”
“My soul was shrouded in anger upon discovering his actions at Netherfield. I could not think clearly or make a rational decision.”
“Enough!” Mr Bennet interjected, attempting to mediate an impending argument that threatened to obstruct their discourse. “Carry on, Elizabeth! You girls can fight in your room when you are alone!”
Elizabeth tempered the strange frustration that Jane’s words had ignited and continued her story, not looking at her older sister.
“Tell us about the letter,” Mr Bennet said.
“I still do not understand how he dared to write to you,” Mary gasped, astonished by such audacity.
