But the thought of receiving correspondence from a man made her want to curl up. Her mother would be ecstatic, refusing to listen to any explanation. it would come to nothing, and then she should be as spurned as Jane.
An idea came to her, “Can you get a woman to address the envelope, sir? If it is in a lady’s hand, then perhaps…”
“Anything.” he agreed at once and bowed again. “Again, I apologise for any discomfort I have caused you. It was not my intent. I will go home now, so that you may enjoy your evening in comfort.”
“Wait! You need not…!” she called after him, but he was gone.
Chapter 5
Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
I must begin, madam, by assuring you that I am not the kind of man given to wild flights of fancy. I have always prided myself on being both logical and astute. I have very little time for whimsy. It is important that I make this clear, for when you read the next part of my letter, I fear you might judge me harshly for what is a sincere thought.
We have encountered each other once, on a day that you say you cannot remember. I do not blame you for such a story. It was surely an uncomfortable moment for you, and one that you have no wish to reflect upon. I was drunk, and wretched, and did not act as a gentlemen ought. It was one of a string of such days for me. I had not sought out sobriety for many weeks and had no particular interest in changing things. Circumstances in my life made oblivion the better option. Even now, those circumstances continue, but I have not the desire to drown them in liquor. This is, in large part, thanks to you.
Do I credit you overmuch? I can imagine you dismissing such a statement as an exaggeration, which is why I began my letter with a warning. I am not given to exaggeration, either. I dislike artifice, and as such will be honest with you.
My state was such on that morning that I believed you to be an angel. Perhaps, in fact, you were. The Bible tells us that God sends his messengers in all forms. On the road to my own private Damascus, you were the light who barred the way.
Since our encounter, I have tried to change my life back to how it should have been. I feel that I have been successful. I no longer drink alcohol, nor do anything to dull my senses. I have returned to the duties of my estate and my family and have become a better friend to those around me. In short, Miss Bennet, all of the unsavoury qualities you faced in our first meeting have been overcome.
There is only one area of my life which I cannot repair, and it is there that I would like to enlist your help. My sister, Georgiana, is unwell. I have not been able to help her recover, and every day she seems to slip away a little more.
My present female companions are not inclined towards kindness. They would have turned away from me in disgust, if they had seen me beneath that tree. In fact, that was exactly how they acted for many months before it, and for all of the months since. My reformation means little to them; their opinion of me is set in stone. I cannot enlist their help, and I would not make the effort. They have not the goodness in their souls that my sister needs to restore her.
I, also, have no such light. My sister lies abed, weeks and months have passed, and I cannot do anything but watch. Whatever she needs, I cannot provide. It pains me greatly to admit that.
I know nothing about you. I did not even know your name. But I have long cherished the goodness which you showed me. I truly believe that you could help Georgiana to smile again.
I know it is selfish to ask you to help with such a task. If you wish it, you may tear this letter up and give me no answer but silence. I will understand.
But I would never forgive myself for leaving my plea unspoken.
In truth, Miss Elizabeth, I am a desperate man in search of a miracle. Who better to ask for a miracle, than an angel?
Yours, sincerely and humbly, Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Elizabeth drew a shaking breath. She looked out of the window to steady herself. The courier from Netherfield Park was long gone, and the only thing to look at was the over-cultivated rose garden. It was her sisters’ one escape from Mr. Collins, who suffered from hay fever, and so all of the Miss Bennets had spent an inordinate amount of time tending it this summer.
The letter drew Lizzie’s eyes back, time and again, from the blushing blooms. Parts of it made her want to scoff, but she could not. Other parts made her ache with pity.
But his plea! It was a ridiculous request, and she could not possibly accept it.
Elizabeth’s heart bled with empathy.
She might not have understood, last year, what depths of emotion such a letter must be dragged from. Now, she was wiser and sadly educated in despair. She had seen it in her mother’s eyes, when she had returned from London with no success. She had seen it in her father’s as he watched the odious Mr. Collins taking measure of his estate. And she saw it clearly in Jane’s eyes when she thought about what she needed to do, to protect her family.
If she really was an angel, then she would helpJane. Elizabeth cared for her so deeply that she felt her pain as her own. She had no way to save her from an unsuitable marriage, nor to protect her family from despair if the engagement should fall apart. It would take a miracle to…
Elizabeth paused, scratching her wrist thoughtfully as her eyes were dragged once more down to the letter. A miracle?
Before her nerve failed her, trying to ignore the audaciousness of her plan, she hurried to her writing desk and wrote a reply.
Dear Mr. Darcy
Thank you for your letter. I cannot construct a suitable reply to your gratitude, but please be assured that I understand.
I am not an angel and did very little. Perhaps now you know my name you can find out a little more about me. I am flattered to be called kind, but that is where you must stop, sir. I do not want you to be disappointed… and I have no wish to become conceited!
