Lizzie gracefully stepped in to the coach , she could not help feeling like she left something behind. She admitted to her self that it was probably that she had scarcely got any sleep the night before. The events that had taken place just before hand had utterly blindsided her. It was the last thing she wold have expected , coming too seek after her health. The VERY last thing she had expected was for him to profess his love for her. His words went around and around in her head

" In vain I have struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

She Suddenly snapped out of the state of deep thought she was in by Charlotte's hand.

" Goodbye , my dear Lizzy ! How I shall miss you!".

Lizzy found it in her self to reply , however it was one of the blandest replies she had ever strung together.

" Thank you , my dear Charlotte."

Charlotte continued

" Lizzy , you will write to me when you return to Longbourne?".

At some point while Charlotte was talking she had regained her attentive countenance and looked her friend directly in the eye , with ill masked confusion. Her friend had finally finished her fair wells. Hoping that Charlotte would finish quick enough so that she did not have to engage in conversation with her cousin . However to her disappointment emerged from the cottage with his usual stance , however it was rather hurried , as he grew closer he exclaimed

" My dear cousin Elizabeth! How could you have taken your leave without me properly bidding you fair well?".

Quite easily Lizzy taught to her self , at this she left out a small chuckle.

"My dear cousin I bid you fair well , for I hope to see you here again in the coming months. Now that you see the domestic felicity that my dear Charlotte and I have acquired."

He said this with a proud air. Was he trying to make her regret her decision?. In the unlikely event of this , she would only just have to think of him stuttering while conveying the grandeur of Lady Catherine De Brough's " Magnificent" fire place which apparently cost up to £800. He continued

" My dear cousin , you should be honored to be so singled out by Lady Catherine De Bough and Miss. De Brough! We have dined at Rosings 11 times since the start of your visit!"

Lizzy replied rather promptly ,

" Yes , I am very pleased to be so very singled out."

Charlotte noticed the restlessness of her friend and decided to tear her husband away from Lizzy. As soon as she had done so , she was sure she heard a sigh of relief from Lizzy. This made her smile , she had missed her friend and hoped to see her again soon. She again walked up to the carriage and said her final goodbyes to her friend. She waved until the carriage was out of sight , as did Lizzie. Lizzie braced her self for a long journey home to Longbourne . " How much I will have to conceal" she thought to her self.

As the carriage carried on down the surprisingly smooth road Myriah Lucas prattled on about how happy she thought her sister was with . Lizzy was tempted to put a stop to her prattling as she knew the truth ,

"No one , and I mean NO ONE could be happy with that stammering , ridiculous clergy man!".

As Charlotte mentioned to her while in her parlor that she took pleasure in running her own home , but she knew Charlotte so well that she knew from the first moment she saw her at Rosings that she was not truly happy. Another reason she knew that Charlotte could not stand the sight of her husband was that she had said in a reassuring manner that she spent only a few minutes a day in the company of . She had made it clear that she encouraged her husband too be busy as then he would not bother her during the day. However she could never tell Myriah this , she just continued to listen with false interest until the topic was exhausted. They had remained in conversation for 15 minutes about the landscape surrounding Rosings. This had interested Lizzie so she actively took part in the conversation.

"I wonder Lizzie how many gardeners Lady Catherine must keep, the gardens and the landscape are so well looked after!" Myriah exclaimed

"Yes , I wonder. It must be a great many indeed" Lizzie replied with a false interest as she had vowed to her self that she would avoid all conversation involving Lady Catherine , as she had heard enough about Lady Catherine for the rest of her life from .

The conversation ended at that as Myriah started to drift off. She had been up all night re-packing her dresses as Lady Catherine had been very " severe" about the way you should arrange your dresses while traveling. Lizzie had only laughed at how the young girl had taken Lady Catherine's advice to heart.

Myriah looked peaceful I her slumber. Lizzie had sat in the carriage for a while her thoughts idle , until a certain man crossed her mind. This had reminded her that he had waited for her along her morning route to give her a letter , that she had yet to read. She felt her coat pocket to check that the letter was still there , she gingerly pulled it out of her pocket. She admired his penman ship before turning it around the see an un familiar wax stamp. She tore it open to see two pages of the neat and even handwriting she had earlier admired. She started to read it went as follows:

Miss Bennet ,

Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.

Two offences of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister; - and the other, that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity, and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham. - Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity to which the separation of two young persons, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no comparison. - But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in future secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read. - If, in the explanation of them which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to your's, I can only say that I am sorry. - The necessity must be obeyed - and farther apology would be absurd. - I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country. - But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. - I had often seen him in love before. - At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that Bingley's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. - Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. - If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in an error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable. - If it be so, if I have been misled by such error, to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert that the serenity of your sister's countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched. - That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain, - but I will venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. - I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; - I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. - My objections to the marriage were not merely those which I last night acknowledged to have required the utmost force of passion to put aside in my own case; the want of connection could not be so great an evil to my friend as to me. - But there were other causes of repugnance; - causes which, though still existing, and existing to an equal degree in both instances, I had myself endeavoured to forget, because they were not immediately before me. - These causes must be stated, though briefly. - The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. - Pardon me. - It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both. - I will only say farther that, from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. - He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon returning. -

The part which I acted is now to be explained. - His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London. - We accordingly went - and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend, the certain evils of such a choice. - I described, and enforced them earnestly. - But, however this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance, which I hesitated not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal, regard. - But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. - To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. - I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley, but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. - That they might have met without ill consequence is, perhaps, probable; - but his regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. - Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. - It is done, however, and it was done for the best. - On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them. -

With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me, I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity. Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates; and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his god-son, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge; - most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of this young man's society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities - the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give you pain - to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character. It adds even another motive. My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow, and, if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town, I believe, he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question - of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances - and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others, as in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every appearance of acquaintance was dropt. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice. I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement; and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure, but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.

This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood, he has imposed on you; but his success is not, perhaps, to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of every thing concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination. You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night. But I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of every thing here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add, God bless you.

FITZWILLIAM DARCY.