"Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness," Mr. Darcy said quietly to Elizabeth Bennet before hastily leaving the room.
Swiftly, Mr. Darcy was out of Hunsford Parsonage which belonged to Mr. Collins and his wife and was on the edge of the property of Rosings Park. Once he crossed over into the land which belonged to his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Darcy's pace slowed so that he was barely walking, his mind engaged in the conversation he had just had with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her words echoing in his head.
"The feelings which…have long prevented the acknowledgement of your regard can have little difficulty in overcoming it…."
"But they can not," Mr. Darcy mumbled to himself as he came to a halt in front of one of the large trees of Rosings Park and leaned his shoulder against its large trunk. "I have tried to no avail."
"Why, with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will...?"
"Because I could keep my sentiments a secret no longer," Mr. Darcy again muttered to himself in response to the harsh words of Elizabeth flashing across his conscience.
"Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"
"How did she find out what I had done for Bingley? I told no one but Fitzwilliam. But, of course, they spent many hours together. He must have let slip that I had helped a friend escape an imprudent marriage," Darcy said, shaking his head in anger.
"You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him."
Above everything else, Elizabeth's accusation that he had deliberately withheld the money bequeathed to Wickham with the insinuation that he was jealous hurt the most, because it was the one accusation which was false. He did not know what lies Wickham had been spreading around Hertfordshire about him; whatever they were he knew it was now his duty to correct them, at least with regard to Miss Bennet. He knew in his heart that he could trust her with the truth, and so it was the truth which most be told.
Having come to the conclusion to reveal all to the young lady who so possessed his heart, Mr. Darcy pushed himself off the tree trunk and made his way into the grand house of Rosings Park, Elizabeth's last, painful words resounding in his head.
"I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."
Mr. Darcy sighed as he entered the house, quickly passed the drawing room so as not to be detained by his aunt, climbed the stairs, and quietly slipped into his bedroom. Closing the door, he walked over to his writing desk, pulled a few pieces of parchment and a quill from the drawer, and sat down in the chair.
He laid the parchment out on his desk, dipped the quill in the inkwell which was always full of ink, and rested his hand with the quill poised over the parchment. Twice Mr. Darcy lowered the tip of the quill to the parchment and lifted it up again without making a mark. The third time he placed the quill to the parchment, Mr. Darcy began to write, the words flowing like water.
"To Miss Elizabeth 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," Mr. Darcy mumbled under his breath, scratching out the words on the paper, occasionally pausing to dip his quill in the inkwell.
As he got deeper into the letter, Mr. Darcy ceased speaking what he wrote, his hand moving quicker than his lips. Page after page, for six pages, Mr. Darcy wrote, his hand writing feverishly, stopping only to re-ink his quill. After two hours, Mr. Darcy's hand slowed to a normal pace and he once again spoke aloud the last words of his letter, as he wrote, "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."
When he had signed his name, Mr. Darcy slowly placed the quill on the desk and sat back in his chair, stretching his fingers, which had stiffened from the non-stop writing. After a few minutes, he picked up his pieces of paper, read them over, and carefully folded them up, sealing the envelope with wax. Mr. Darcy stared at the letter for a moment, mumbled "If that doesn't explain everything, I don't know how else to do it," stood up, and went downstairs, resolving to find Miss Elizabeth in the morning and present her with the letter.