AN: I'm still processing the incredible response this story received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for every review, favorite and alert. Admittedly, there is a bit of pressure to meet expectation, and I hope you like the story. Please read the note at the end. Without further ado, here is the continuation of the Letter.


The Letter

Chapter 2

The words of the letter stayed with Darcy as he went to bed, and they followed him into his dreams in an unexpected manner. The words changed the scenes of the visions and haunted him. In the nightmare, he hadn't been able to prevent his sister's elopement with George Wickham—or dishonorable, dastardly Wickham, given that the man was a scoundrel and not one word seemed strong enough to convey how low he had dared to go.

As Darcy woke from the restless sleep, he pushed himself up against the headboard and ran his hands over his face and into his hair. It didn't feel as though peaceful sleep would come soon. He sat there until the images of his dream forced him to get up and move, as though he would be able to escape them. Carefully making his way to the window, he found that the oppressive darkness outside did nothing to aid his inner turmoil. He'd had nightmares about the near tragedy for a period afterwards, but it had been better until that night. However, this particular version of events in the dream was new, and his thoughts kept turning the images over and over.

Over the years, Darcy had bought Wickham's debt for two reasons—one, because of the unfortunate people taken in by the despicable man's charms, and two, if the need ever arose for he required leverage over Wickham. That day had come a few months earlier, but due to possible risk to Georgiana's reputation, Darcy hadn't done anything and Wickham walked away. In the true recount of the event, Darcy had told him that he would not be able to get his hands on Georgiana's dowry, which had led to his loss of interest and subsequent disappearance. In the nightmare, however, he had told Wickham that his debts were almost two thirds of Georgiana's dowry and that he should consider the debts paid. Darcy had proceeded to give only the rest of the amount to Wickham, who quickly gambled it away before abandoning Georgiana shortly afterwards. She'd been too ashamed to write to Darcy, and she'd had nowhere to go. Her fear, her desperation, her sorrow, all of her emotions screamed to be heard in the nightmare.

All she had felt continued to haunt Darcy. Never would he do that to his sister, take her dowry, but the dream left him shaken nonetheless. Did she know she could always come to him?

Feeling his sister's desperation also had another effect. All of his life, Darcy knew that he would inherit Pemberley, among other holdings, and he had always been secure in that knowledge. There had never been a day where he knew anything else. Following the nightmare, the desperation continued to claw at him inside and caused his thoughts to turn to the Bennets. What must the uncertainty be like for Mrs. Bennet and her daughters? Their livelihoods were contingent on the breath of another. The cousin might be inclined to help during the mourning period, but it was not certain if he would assist them afterwards.

Darcy felt his way through the dark and walked over to the table beside the bed, where he picked up the letter. It felt heavier somehow after the haunting images of the nightmare. He had always felt protective over Georgiana, especially after he became one of her guardians upon the death of his father. At that moment, he also felt stirrings of protectiveness toward young Elizabeth. She might not need it, if she had gotten married, but he found himself wanting to be there for her.

Though he didn't want to light a candle to be able to read it again, he still unfolded the letter and held a page in each hand. The words had been written from the perspective of a young girl, and he wondered if she had kept her joy as the years went by with a shadow hovering overhead. Again, he wondered if she had married, for there was a certain amount of pressure on her and her sisters, as she had described. Mr. Bennet, though, must be in good health if he was able to call on Bingley. Then again, strength and endurance could be born out of need.

Darcy's mind returned to Georgiana. He needed to write to her. She needed to know that he would be there for her if she needed him, and he would be there for as long as he breathed.

Sitting down in the chair in front of the fireplace, with only embers lingering here and there, he knew sleep would continue to evade him. He sat in the mostly dark room and thought about the assembly. He wanted to meet Elizabeth, and he knew that without any doubt. He couldn't explain it, but he felt a pull towards her, to the woman she must have become. With his elbow on the armrest, his forefinger resting against his mouth, he reminded himself that he should not call her by her Christian name. It would be too easy to accidentally call her by her name instead of addressing her properly. He could only hope that she was still Miss Elizabeth. Though, he could hardly begrudge her if she had found happiness with someone.

Time passed as he sat there preoccupied with his thoughts. The darkness left behind by the nightmare was eventually broken as he recalled parts of Elizabeth's letter; specifically, her tone. A small smile followed and thoughts of the letter led him down another path — he wondered if her family called her Elizabeth. There was something about the signature at the end of the letter that made him believe otherwise. It was almost as though she was signing as a proper young lady addressing a gentleman. The name Elizabeth was elegant. Darcy couldn't help but think that there was another name connected to the joyful, intelligent and adventurous side. As he considered the options, "Beth" didn't quite become her and neither did "Eliza." Then, it came to him: Lizzy. Lizzy fit the personality in the letter, and he found himself smiling at the thought. Nevertheless, she'd become Elizabeth to him.

Looking towards the window, Darcy realized he needed to get some sleep. It wouldn't be long before the first rays brushed across the landscape, and he was an early riser. He needed his strength for what the day might bring, since there would be many things to consider if the assembly turned out favorably.

~P&P~

"Charles, I do believe I'm coming down with something," Miss Bingley said as she touched the back of her hand to her forehead. They were in the carriage on their way to the Meryton Assembly, and Darcy was confident that she was preparing for their party to make an early exit. Miss Bingley made no secret of the fact that she believed the local company beneath them. Then again, it was probable that her elaborate headpiece came with a promise of pain.

Darcy frowned. If Elizabeth—Miss Elizabeth, he inwardly corrected—was at the assembly and unattached, then he would tolerate no interference from Miss Bingley. "Perhaps you should've stayed behind, Miss Bingley," Darcy replied and soon regretted it.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, you are too kind in your concern." The tone of her voice clearly conveyed that she was flattered. She definitely had the ability to enhance words to her liking.

Frowning with disapproval, Darcy turned to Bingley. "We are not that far from Netherfield. Perhaps your sister should retire early this evening as we continue on without her." Too late he realized he could be misunderstood, since it sounded as though he intended for Miss Bingley to walk back. That would be out of character for him, though; it was not the behavior of a gentleman. "The delay would not be great were we to make the trip," he added.

"Oh no, no, there's no need, I assure you," Miss Bingley quickly replied. "I'm sure to feel better once we arrive."

Due to politeness, no one mentioned what they all thought—a loud and crowded area had never been known for curing ailments. Darcy knew he was the reason why she hadn't leaped for the chance of escape; he was expected to dance at least once with the ladies of his party. He truly needed to find her a husband. The Earl of Dunham perhaps—the man was advanced in years, but a bit of hearing loss could be a good thing all things considered.

On their arrival, Darcy noticed with a flare of irritation that they were last to arrive. Miss Bingley had taken her time getting ready, and there was no missing the fact that she had planned a grand entrance down the stairs at Netherfield. Nor her sister's rehearsed exclamations of how lovely she looked. If Darcy had noticed, he would've seen her bright orange gown and extravagant headpiece. However, his thoughts had been filled with a certain writer who might be at the assembly, and he'd found himself impatient after the long wait. Thus, he could not have given a description of Miss Bingley's appearance even if it was vital for someone to know.

As Darcy descended the carriage and stood to the side, he looked at the entrance to the hall before him and wondered yet again if Elizabeth was present. As a result, he also failed to notice as Miss Bingley pushed in front of Mrs. Hurst and held her hand towards him so that he might assist her. The absentmindedness did not last long, but it was long enough to force Miss Bingley into accepting the hand of the footman. She did not hide her dissatisfaction well, though she quickly rearranged her expression into appearing demure with a small smile.

Darcy took a deep fortifying breath before doing his duty by offering his arm. Miss Bingley's hand came to rest gracefully on his arm, though in his mind it felt more like a talon. Her victorious smile matched the feeling, as though everything was going according to whatever plan she had devised. Darcy kept his expression solemn as he hid the discomfort he felt.

Let it be said that husband-hunting was a battlefield of a similar nature to what His Majesty's army faced—there was strategy and plots involved with the need to be alert. Losing one's life was only stretched out over lifelong periods if found in matrimonial unhappiness.

The thought brought memories of his parents' marriage. He knew his duty, what was expected of him, but he also had his future offspring to think about; they deserved to witness love, respect and companionship, not grudging tolerance. Not two strangers in the same house. It was true that there was choice in love, choosing to love in an arranged marriage and working at finding felicity, but that was a difficult road without assurance of success. The marriage of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, came to mind. Sir Lewis de Bourgh had certainly done all he could to love her, but the effort had been strained for it was one-sided—Lady Catherine placed duty and practicality above emotion.

Darcy realized his was at a point where his decision could have a lasting impact on his life. He could enter the hall and let hope lead, or he could enter and deny what could be. Unknowingly, Miss Bingley secured the tipping of the scale. As the door opened and the room fell silent, her gripped tightened slightly as though she was sending a missive to all who gazed at them. The moment brought resolve. Darcy wanted the life in his home to be more than tolerable; tolerable couldn't tempt him to offer his hand.

For that reason, he let hope lead and his gaze drifted over the crowd, suddenly coming to a stop as his eyes met a fine pair over the span of the room. He couldn't see her expression fully, but there was no mistaken the appearance of amusement. Darcy felt instantly drawn to her, and he wondered if she could be the one who occupied his thoughts since the previous evening. Was it Elizabeth?


AN: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I truly appreciate hearing from you. On that note, my other story isn't finished yet, so I would like to know which of these two options you prefer — update when possible or wait until most of this story is written and I'm able to post often? Thanks again for the incredible reaction this story has received!