Postscript
Though the earl was largely angry, Mr. Darcy's uncle took the news of his nephew's engagement better than the aunt had. Having never met Miss Elizabeth Bennet to experience her charming lack of deference personally, nor harbored any exacting hopes of his own for Darcy's marriage, his response was fortunately lacking the abusive language of Lady Catherine. However, his disappointment was extensive and his surprise even more so. Many a young man, he acknowledged, had married in haste to a girl with little to recommend herself. Never in all his days had the earl supposed his nephew would be one of them.
He ended the letter by assuring Darcy that he had no intention whatsoever of arguing the point or attempting to make him see reason. He had been a young lover himself, once upon a time, and he knew the stubbornness and conviction that came with fancying oneself in love. The disappointment in Darcy's choice belonged to the uncle just as surely as the regret would eventually belong to Darcy.
Darcy had never been the sort of man whose happiness overflowed in his expression. Even in the first throngs of his engagement, when the happiness and satisfaction had been greater than anything he'd ever felt before, he had still been quiet and contemplative. His smiles had been small and reserved for gazing at his intended when he was in the least danger of being observed. But Elizabeth - Elizabeth, who had once understood him not at all, Elizabeth, who had taken every sign of his admiration and turned it to disgust - Elizabeth knew his delighted silence from his pained silence.
"You are not well this morning," she observed quietly. They had set out on a walk with Bingley and Jane. Both couples, wanting whatever privacy could be afforded to them, had taken care to pace themselves so that while the other was still visible, still chaperoned, they could speak without being overheard.
"I apologize," he answered. "I find my spirits are lower than expected today."
"You are in luck," Elizabeth replied, "for mine are quite indomitable. I shall cheer you." She pressed his arm. "You know you need not apologize for not being well, dearest?"
"I do not wish to worry you," Darcy answered.
"If there was ever a sentence uttered to cause one worry," Elizabeth observed, "it is that one. Come, tell me what troubles you, so that I may make you happy again."
"I received a letter from my uncle," he answered.
The topic of his family's disapprobation is one they had canvased extensively. The second time, Elizabeth had been in better humor to listen to his concerns. First, because she loved him; second, because she understood that he was not meaning to insult her own family when he brought up the differences in their conditions. He was not an infatuated little boy who had failed to comprehend the consequences of his addresses. He knew what he was about. His family would be angry. Georgiana's prospects would be damaged. Their reception in London would not be what he was accustomed to when they arrived for the Season. He considered each of these things, and decided them worth enduring if it meant having Elizabeth as his wife.
"Was he so very angry?" Elizabeth wondered, her voice betraying little of the trepidation he could feel in her fingers as they gripped his arm.
"He was more disappointed," Darcy admitted, "He doubts my faithfulness. But yes, he was angry."
"Do you intend to write back?" she asked. The abusive letter from Lady Catherine had been thrown into the fireplace, no reply forthcoming. Elizabeth knew of the letter's existence, though she had not been given the opportunity to read it.
"I must," he said, "however much I would rather not."
"Your uncle and I have never been introduced, but I should like to write a few lines myself when you do," Elizabeth said.
"If it pleases you," he replied. He did not think his uncle would take kindly to her impertinence taking a written form, but he knew enough of Elizabeth that she would grow afraid of his family if he attempted to protect her from them. She was the bravest creature he knew, but her bravery came with action. She could not sit idly by without doubt.
"Thank you."
Though normally diligent about his correspondence, it took Darcy two days to gain a calm enough frame of mind to write a response to his uncle. Netherfield hosted the Bennets for dinner that evening. As Mary plucked away at the pianoforte, Darcy allowed Elizabeth to read his response in full before adding her own notes.
It was a very pretty letter, she observed. Long and gracious. He did not apologize for his choice, but he expressed regret for how his choice has made his uncle feel. Very politic. Before Elizabeth took up his pen, she asked Darcy if he would like to know what she intended to write. He would have to rewrite his entire missive if he decided he did not approve of her introduction.
Whatever she wished to be said, will be said.
Her expression was challenging, as though she thought he might regret that stance once he knew what she intended to say. Her gaze failed at achieving the goal of making Darcy reevaluate his position. He wondered only how he could bear the weeks until their wedding.
He removed himself from the writing desk to give her privacy. He wandered about the room in as she wrote, pausing only briefly to converse with her mother. Elizabeth was done with her chore very quickly, having evidently given it a great deal of thought before she began.
"What is done is done," she said as she rose. "Regret it if you dare."
His eyes ran over the page, picking out the fine handwriting of a lady. "Indeed," he muttered, "I do not dare."
No one cares if you are miserable, so you might as well be happy for us. EB
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