Chapter 2

Delivering the Letter – Almost

…

Monday, 20th April

As Jane was sitting in the hired carriage going towards Mr. Darcy's home, she tried to calm herself. Why was she doing this? She was on the verge of turning back, but something made her hesitate. She wanted to present Mr. Darcy with some closure at minimum, a vindication for having influenced Mr. Bingley. Her sister had been harsh with him for that. Jane did not want him to be miserable, least of all for anything to do with her. She clutched her small reticule to her chest as if it wanted to escape from her. In it was a letter she had been compelled to write. She knew that a lady did not write to a single gentleman. She glanced out of the window without seeing the beautiful homes they passed.

She had considered her options for sending the letter. There were not many. Either she did it herself or she had to involve someone else. The latter was out of the question. She could not risk the chance of other people finding out and so endangering her own and her family's reputations. Then, she lied. She could not remember a time she had done that. It was just not in her nature. She had lied to her beloved Aunt Gardiner. Her aunt now thought that she was on a mission to get a last-minute gift for her family from Gunter's. She chose her destination well. Gunter's shop was a place a lady could go without a chaperone. She had avoided Elizabeth and the need to lie about where she was going. She had fled. She had never gone behind her sister's back. This mission, including writing the letter was out of character for her – she admitted with a heavy heart. Arguing with Lizzy would have been pointless. Regardless, she felt it was right to help Mr. Darcy so that he could heal. She had to leave before Lizzy could ask to join her for 'shopping.'

...

Jane noticed that Elizabeth was not herself when she arrived on Saturday. She was impatient. She could hardly wait for them to retire. They burnt several candles before they finally fell asleep. What a tale she told! Mr. Darcy proposed to her! She was genuinely happy for her sister until she realised that the silly girl had rejected a man from the first circle without a second thought.

She rejected a man who had listened to her arguments and taken them seriously. She rejected a clever, educated man who liked to read. She rejected a man who always did his duty and took care of his much younger sister. She rejected a man who helped his aunt with her estate every year and who generously guided a friend with his first lease of an estate. She rejected a man who loved her.

Jane listened in shock as Elizabeth told her the things she said in response that she felt were an attack on her person. Oh, Lizzy! What a mess you made! As her sister kept talking, all Jane could imagine was the man suffering. He did not deserve her vitriol. His letter proved it.

Jane told her sister that Mr. Darcy was actually correct about her feelings for Mr. Bingley. She had welcomed him as her suitor, but her heart was not really touched. She was flattered, but that was not love. He was not the kind of man she imagined for herself. She just let that go because she knew they had not many options; her mother, her sisters, and the whole town expected an engagement. He paid attention to her. Then he left her. Now she knew that he left her because his friend and his sisters dissuaded him. That did not show Mr. Bingley in a good light. She had tried to explain to Elizabeth that it was Mr. Bingley who allowed himself to be persuaded. Why would she want a husband like that? She was not overly injured by what Mr. Darcy did. His intentions were pure.

...

Before she had enough time to stop her hands from shaking, the cab came to a halt. She heard the driver descend. Her heartbeat was so fast and so loud that she hardly heard the man speak to her. Without thinking, she reached out her hand to take the driver's to alight from the vehicle. As she stepped onto the street, she looked around but did not recognise her surroundings. It took her a few seconds to register what she saw, a wide street. It was empty, an unusual sight compared to where her uncle's house was situated. The homes here were grand, white, and tall. The morning sun on the glazing of so many windows blinded her. In front of her hired carriage was a much more grand one. Her driver gestured with his hand to the home in front of the grand carriage, her destination. She could still turn away. But then her letter would have been written in vain.

She took a long steadying breath; she straightened her posture and adjusted her bonnet and her favourite gloves. That gave her confidence. She would simply knock on that big dark wood, overly decorated intimidating door – and she would leave the letter for Mr. Darcy. Then she would leave.

At that very second, the elaborate door opened. She looked on helplessly as Mr. Darcy descended the stairs. He was formidable. His handsome features were grim. He looked tired, pale, and thin. Poor man. She had not seen him since… the ball at Netherfield.

...

Mr. Darcy had not had a good night's rest. He had awakened this morning just as tired as he had been the night before. The woman he loved, no, had loved, he corrected himself, had rejected him. He was impatient to forget her. He was impatient to feel whole. He was impatient to be free. He had been rejected in the worst possible manner. He was the last man she could ever be prevailed on to marry! To his great shock, she simply despised him. He had offered her his heart, and she rejected it without mercy.

It had been only ten days. He forgot to think about her considerations. It never occurred to him that she might say no. Everybody wanted him. For years, women of all kinds tried their best to receive his favour. He smiled bitterly as he thought of the many times that some had tried to compromise him. He had become good at detecting and avoiding these created situations. No matter though; now the woman he wanted did not want him. He had paid her the greatest compliment a man could give to a woman, and she threw it away as if it had been nothing. Her general, happy countenance had not given away how she had really felt about him. He had had no idea.

He had never had to put any effort into pursuing a woman, so, perhaps, his words were not the best thought out. After all, he had been nervous. He hardly could recall his very words, but they had definitely caused offence. How could a proposal of marriage be insulting to a woman? He even tried to explain to her that her situation did not matter to him, that she had conquered him totally even against his station, his family's expectations, and her own situation. How could she so misinterpret his words? He was not insulting her; he loved her! That was not his greatest sin though: she had learnt about his role in separating her sister from Bingley. How did she know?

Then she accused him of mistreating Wickham. That was the ultimate nail in his fragile love's coffin. The woman he had thought would not just be a wife, but a partner in life thought that he had no honour. She thought that he had gone against his own father's will and was capable of throwing his childhood friend out for no reason. Worse, she thought Wickham was an innocent victim of his malice.

He was proud of how he had vindicated himself. He addressed everything in a letter. Now she knew that she had been unjust in her estimation of his character. In her sister's case, he genuinely thought she did not care for his friend. Gaining wealth and not loving his friend was just too much. It was not that he thought Miss Bennet was a fortune hunter, but he felt she would say yes because of the family pressure. He had wanted to protect Bingley. A thought occurred to him that maybe he was influenced by the fact that he wanted to escape his own lady's presence, but soon he dismissed that thought as that did not alter his observations of the lady. She was nice and pleasant, but she did not look like someone whose heart was touched. Mind that, who was he to tell… he could not even tell that his own beloved hated him.

These and similar thoughts kept intruding and putting him in a treacherous mood. Nonetheless, it was time to face London. He had buried himself in his study to lick his wounds. Yesterday was the first time that he came out of his den and bathed, had his man shave him, and got dressed properly. He was angry at himself for letting himself go. Today, he was on his way to his club. He took his hat and walking stick from the footman. As he stepped out, he noticed what a heavenly morning it was; the sun shone on him. He needed this. Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, he straightened and descended the stairs.

...

Dear Reader,

As you can see ... Jane is gathering the strength to deliver her letter, and they are about to meet...

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Circa1910 checked my work.