6/11/2022 - All caught up for now. I don't like to make promises because I write when I feels likes, but I have been giving this a lot of my attention recently (as you can see). I don't intend to stop soon, though keep in mind I am a student in school full time. I've been neglecting my dissertation/thesis in favor of writing this story and that is my own fault, no one else's. But this has once again become the preferred escape and the remedy to my crippling anxiety. I definitely would have had a complete mental shut down in the last couple months if I haven't been writing this little ditty. Well, enjoy, and hopefully I'll have another update sooner than later.
Longbourn, Nov. 3, 1812
Dearest Fitzwilliam,
I thoroughly teased you last evening about your dreading our separation today, but now I am sorely regretting that jest. I, too, have grown quite accustomed to being nearly always in your company, and with you gone to London for the day, I confess that I am restless in my impatience for your return. I feel your absence most acutely - here I shall give you leave to laugh at me as you wish. My blessed reprieve is Georgiana's company, which I took much delight in. We passed nearly the whole of the day together and I would have stayed at Netherfield longer had I not promised my father part of the afternoon with him in his library. The library is where I sit now. Reading was not an engaging enough occupation and I feel you are owed a letter of your own. You succeeded in your purpose, by the by - I think of little else but the letter you gave me four days ago. You expressed yourself so beautifully, so elegantly, and I read it so many times over, I have lost count. But what is more, my thoughts are, and have been, constantly full of you.
When you renewed your addresses, I had thought I could not love more than I did in that moment. How humbled I am to wake each day loving you more than the day before. I sometimes wonder how strange it is that a year ago you were naught but a stranger to me, and now I cannot fathom a life without you in it. You said you dream of me, but oh, Fitzwilliam, how I dream of you; of your gentle caresses, the soothing tone of your voice, the smile you give only to me that brightens your features. You smiled at me before, but that shining light when I first told you that I love you - I shall never forget how my heart, my whole being ached to see it and be its recipient. There are few people in the world who I truly love and still fewer who I truly esteem, but you are what my soul demands, your mind is the only match to mine. There is no other who could be my rightful companion in life. And how you move me, my love. My spirit flies, for I am awake to something I can only call ethereal. You compared what we are to what is celestial and heaven-made. There can be no other description, no other comparison. Of your belief in fate, how could I not but agree? Though I was so petrified and abashed to be near you after I had done you great wrong in treating you with contempt - the very thing I had accused of you - I had been given the privilege to see what was truly before me. When we were reunited at Pemberley, I thought to myself, 'oh, if we had only been ten minutes sooner in meeting the gardener we should have avoided him entirely!' How much has changed that I find myself almost ill if I allow my thoughts dwell too much on the prospect that I might not have met you. You know it is not in my nature to do so, but we are all susceptible to the occasional anxieties of outcomes that could have been. Be that as it may, a future so bright and joyful lays before us to defy what might sometimes attempt to haunt us. You know my general philosophy and I beg you do not forget it. We are, and will continue to be, too happy to concern ourselves with recollections that can only bring us pain.
You have made me the happiest woman in the world, and I do consider Jane and Mr. Bingley in making this proclamation. They are well matched, so amiable in their demeanors and very much in love, but am I too bold in declaring that their happiness could not match ours? I am rather biased in my estimation, but there it is. No other woman in this world could love another as I have come to love you. No other woman could find her equal in all things essential and of the heart, nor could she find herself so cherished as I am. There have been moments where my passionate feelings have overwhelmed me, but I cannot mind being consumed by this love. I had not known how much I wanted a love so deep, though as you very well know, I could never have accepted a man for less. In truth, I had not dared think it was possible with such examples as have been before me (besides, perhaps, my uncle and aunt Gardiner), but it is true and it is real what you are to me. I feel it in the comfort of your company, when you wrap your arms around me, when you press your lips so perfectly to mine - sweet, delicious torment to write these words as the ache to have you near me again becomes more and more unbearable. It won't be long now, however.
Tomorrow, I shall meet you on the doorstep of Longbourn where I will take your arm as Elizabeth Bennet for the last time and walk with you to church to resign that name. My heart thrums, my pulse quickens with the anticipation of it. The greatest joy I have ever felt will pale in comparison to what I shall feel when you give me your name. I long for it, Fitzwilliam. I long for our lives together, for every moment of every day that we will be blessed to have at each other's side. Though we are apart today, we shall not be so again from tomorrow on - not if I can help it, at least!
My father stirs from his book and I know he wishes to talk with me now that we've sat in some contented silence ('the last conversation of sense he shall have for quite a while' he says). I will take pity on him and leave you with this adieu -
One half of me is yours, the other half yours
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
And so all yours.
Your Elizabeth
It was a quick back and forth from London. Matters had been addressed through post these last weeks, but as all could not be handled with pen and paper, the sojourn had been necessary. Darcy was back at Netherfield just as the house was preparing to sit for dinner. He had hardly shed his traveling clothes at the door when a footman approached him, a letter in his hand. The man said he was instructed to hand it to Darcy as soon as he returned and with one glance at the even hand opposite a seal, he had reached hastily for it and rushed to his room. All intentions of changing clothes to join the others momentarily vanished. With the door securely shut behind him, he tore at the seal with all the excitement he would expect of a child given a precious gift and did not bother to find a seat before he started reading.
Indeed, what a precious gift that letter was. Her first to him. Darcy had seen her write before, had admired that hand from over her shoulder as she wrote correspondence, but it was something entirely new to see words she wrote only for him. It was the perfect response. She could have written anything, of course, and still he'd consider it perfect. This, something new, to see her love written in her hand made it all the more tangible. He could hold these words, trace the inscriptions with a finger as she had mentioned she had done; he understood now. He would have treasured whatever was on that page regardless of the words' sentiments, as long as the words were hers.
He would have stayed all night reading the letter again and again, but after nearly the whole of the day without taking any food, hunger demanded he set it aside. Besides, it would be the last night he would have with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana before an extended separation, and he would not deny them the pleasure of sitting up with him the night before his wedding. The letter would be waiting for him when he retired.
They did not all stay very long together after dinner. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst made their excuses as soon as the table had been cleared and Mr. Hurst, knowing that the card table would not be brought out, followed directly. It was only Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Bingley and Georgiana together in the drawing room to share in a small celebration. Georgiana sat near Darcy and sung Elizabeth's praises, describing their day together in much detail. Her excitement in gaining a sister could not be contained and when she had done recounting all they had done, she said with a beaming smile, "We have become such good friends as I hoped we would. I only wish I can be as good a sister to her as she has already been to me."
"I can say with confidence that you are as dear to her as any of her sisters," Darcy assured her. Georgiana looked down bashfully at her clasped hands in her lap.
"It is a great compliment, brother. I will be so happy to join you both at Pemberley come Christmas, and I know the Gardiners are to come as well." She leaned toward Darcy and spoke quietly, "Will not Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet - well, I suppose Mrs. Bingley - come to stay with us, too?" Darcy knew Bingley could just make out what Georgiana was saying despite holding conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam, for he spied his friend suddenly breaking into a blinding grin as he carried on.
"I believe Elizabeth has already settled it with her sister."
Georgiana was brimming with joy. "We will be so merry a party! I can hardly remember a time we had such company together for Christmas, and now it'll be with a new family." In a blink, she was again becoming timid, self-conscious with her exclamation, but Darcy reached for her hand and said firmly as he lifted her chin so she would meet his eye, "Our new family, Georgiana."
"Not that I am much surprised," Colonel Fitzwillaim said as they sat together, the last remaining after Georgiana, then Bingley some time later, retired for the night, "but you have hardly put two sentences together at a time this evening, Darcy. Are you troubled or simply too overwhelmed with anticipation?" Darcy contemplated, smiled, then replied, "Fundamentally both, perhaps."
"Ah," the Colonel smirked and drained his glass of wine. "Well, it has been some time since we have been in each other's confidence. Anything I can assist you with? Any fears I might help to assuage?" Darcy remained silent some moments, staring into the fire as he sorted through the tumult of thoughts that rattled away in his head. He could not speak just yet for want of a place to begin; there was nothing but euphoric happiness as there had been since Elizabeth spoke the words 'how ardently I love you in return', and yet there was something lingering that he could not name. He did not doubt that they would continue to be happy and wonderful together, come what may, but he absently swirled his wine, falling deeper and deeper into meditation.
"Come now, cousin," the Colonel urged knowingly as he leaned forward in his chair, demanding Darcy's attention. As he came back to the present, Darcy met his cousin's eye. The Colonel gave a single nod and gestured for Darcy to speak
A long breath, and then, "She refused me in Kent." A nod and a shrug, but then the Colonel's brows shot to his hairline as the words registered, his mouth ajar with incredulity, confusion.
"In Kent? But…" In another moment, amusement suffused the Colonel's features. "Hence that very hasty departure, I presume? And it would account for that insufferable mood of yours in the weeks following. It is a testament to her will; no other woman of her circumstance would have refused you regardless of her inclinations."
"I assure you I am well aware, Fitzwilliam. Given the opinion she had of me then, though partly based on falsehoods, she had every right to reprimand me. Perhaps, with our history in consideration, it would explain this unnameable discomfort. But I no longer harbor any anxieties that she may reconsider her acceptance, nor am I uncertain of her feelings. I fancy myself so intimately acquainted with her mind that I might read any expression, without a word, and know her thoughts with conviction. Even before that first proposal, I thought so often of this… and now I am here." He sipped his wine, his gaze drifting back to the fire. "From grief to perfect happiness, here I face a future that, prior to a year ago, I had never thought to hope for. I cannot account for this… well… I do not know what to call it. Apprehension, perhaps, but that is not quite right. I suppose I am overwhelmed with anticipation, but it is more than that." The Colonel only hummed in response, and Darcy glanced to see his head tilted and obviously contemplating what he had shared.
"You have never taken well to change," the Colonel began, "and though this change is of your own will, perhaps you are so accustomed to the dislike that your instincts cannot help some slight resistance. But I think I can guess what truly plagues you, though you would not admit it even to yourself. You wish to please her -" Darcy froze, knowing his cousin's implication "- and knowing your love of reading and tendency to educate yourself in all manner of subjects, I have no doubt you will do a finer job than most newly-wed men would." Darcy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, swallowing the last of his wine. He did not particularly wish to have this conversation, though he knew that if there were anyone to discuss the subject with, it would be his cousin. It was not simply that the Colonel was two years his senior which naturally meant a very little more general experience in the world than Darcy, but he knew his cousin was better acquainted with matters of physical intimacy. Darcy had never had the time nor the inclination to explore that which many gentlemen of his acquaintance indulged themselves, and he had only become more averse to the idea with Wickham as an example of unchecked lechery.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had not been wrong in his assumptions; Darcy had, at one point or another over the years, satisfied his curiosity with a book or two. Though he felt a bit of shame, he had even glanced over one book he had kept in his possession while he had shortly been in London that day. "I see you wish to deny it," Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, "but I am too familiar with your ways, and do not think it has escaped anyone's notice the way you look at her." Darcy's cheeks colored at that, his eyes snapping to the Colonel with a hint of mortification and warning. Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled as he said, "You have nothing to fear, Darcy, you have not been offensive in your expressions. Only those who are experienced and intimately acquainted with you would have recognized that it is not only love and adoration in your gaze. Others would think you severe and not know any better, but let us just say that it is no wonder Miss Bingley is so nettled. To love and to want is a powerful thing, and should she recognize it or not, Miss Elizabeth surely holds the same sentiment."
"She has told me herself of her own desire," Darcy replied almost reluctantly, his voice low.
"Has she now?" The Colonel replied smilingly. "Well, then you certainly need not trouble yourself. If you have already talked of such things, I doubt communication will be a hardship for you both. She loves you, Darcy, and from what I know of her, she would have no scruples in informing you exactly what she wishes for. Trust in her, trust in yourself. And now, I shall not press you more on the subject and embarrass you further." He only added as he rose to refill his glass, "You should see the look on your face, cousin, it is terribly comical."
All that Colonel Fitzwilliam had said had been a welcome reassurance in the midst of Darcy's bout of turmoil. Initially, it was a conversation he thought quite unnecessary, but as his cousin went on, he felt that apprehension dissipate. When he returned to his room, perhaps a bit later than he had intended, he had immediately picked up Elizabeth's letter, only setting it down when absolutely necessary as he readied for bed. He kept a candle burning when he knew he should at least try to find sleep, but her words… petulant in his impatience, he wished for sunrise. As he read again and again, he thought back to the ball, the memory seducing him. They had not many instances of reckless passion as that moment in the last four weeks, but each of those precious moments had been convincing enough that indeed, there would be no lack of enthusiasm on both sides in this marriage. And his cousin was right; Elizabeth would not hesitate to talk with him, to encourage him to learn with her and explore past that surface they had scraped. Tomorrow would be the last morning he woke with only the thought of her next to him. He would respect her wishes, of course, but Darcy wished her to sleep in his arms as he had imagined countless times. He would entreat her not to feel an obligation to leave him, for he would have her in his bed. That strange possessive instinct he could hardly ignore, no matter how much he attempted to, would allow for nothing else. Those imaginings were becoming less like dreams and he felt them turning slowly into a reality so near, he could reach out and touch them.
Elizabeth at breakfast, sitting to his right and talking to him of her plans for the day. Elizabeth with him in the library or in his study as he worked and she read, perhaps they would both attend to their correspondences and he would watch her from across the room as she sat at her own escritoire. Elizabeth at the theater, holding his hand in the dim privacy of their own box as she watched on with great pleasure. Elizabeth at Pemberley, calling it her home and treading every acre of the park that she would become intimate with in no time. Elizabeth with Georgiana playing duets, embroidering side by side in the drawing room, whispering together as sisters might do. Elizabeth rambling the grounds with him at sunset in summer, a late dinner, and after a brief spell in the music room, retiring together where he would reiterate every powerful feeling for her and not cease pleasing her until sunrise. How he would coax those marvelous sounds from her with lips and tongue, how he would make her yearn for more until his ministrations would break that patience of hers and she begged to have him, pleaded for the release only he could give her.
More than any of these desperate dreams, Darcy treasured the friendship she had given him. Should he find himself conflicted and lost, he would seek her counsel. Should he feel the absence of surety or be overcome with fear, he would take solace in her comfort and assurance. And if she should ever experience moments of lacking confidence, fall victim to anxieties and discomfort, he would be there to assuage all in an instant. There was nothing he would not do to make their lives as perfect as they could be. Whatever wish she had, should it be in his power, he would grant it.
At long last, he blew out the candle at his bedside, his thoughts of Elizabeth and what tomorrow would bring lulling him to sleep.
The stanza at the end of Elizabeth's letter is a quote from Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice (I know, so cliche of me, but I couldn't help myself).