15 December 1811

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Hullo Lizzy,

I am sure you must miss me something terrible. Probably more than I miss you, for I have not had the chance to miss you because everybody talks about you all the time. It is not so bad though because I think it annoys Miss Bingley. Whenever your name is mentioned her eye twitches, but she does not say anything. She is very quiet now. I confess I thought her much more interesting when she was her usual horrible self. She visits with Mr. Bingley when he comes to see Jane. I wish Mr. Bingley would just propose already. I must chaperone them sometimes and they are very dull and behave all the time. I have not caught him trying to kiss her once. I bet if Mr. Darcy was there with you, he would try to kiss you. I think he feels more than Mr. Bingley. He just seems more…fervent. Is that the right word? Do you want to kiss him? He also reacts when you your name is mentioned. He listens and asks questions about you. He had me and Kitty take him and Georgiana up Oakham Mount. You know I do not enjoy walking like you do, especially uphill, but I did it for you because I thought it would please you. And a little bit for him. He seems to miss you as well. I will like him for a brother, I think. I actually talked to him about books. I think he is surprised when I tell him what I have read and authors I like, and he suggested some others that he thought would interest me. When I read them, I go into your room because it makes me feel closer to you. I have found my sisters in there as well. We must all have the same idea. It is still your room, but we spend quite a bit of time there and have made it into a sitting room of sorts and moved things around. But we will move it back if you do not like it. We have not yet removed your chair from the dining table. I do not think we are ready for that. Luckily, Mr. Bingley dines with us frequently, so the empty chair is not obvious, mostly just at breakfast. Do you mind Mr. Bingley sitting in your chair? Mr. Darcy and Georgiana come often, too, so does Miss Bingley. Do you like being the youngest now? Is it not fun to be pampered as the baby of the family? I suppose you are even more pampered considering everything. I am so jealous; imagine all the dresses and gifts you must receive. I am ever so eager to open the Christmas gifts you left for us. Gifts from London are the height of sophistication, I am certain. The gifts we sent with you are from Meryton but I think it is better for you to have something that reminds you of us and Longbourn and Meryton so you should not mind if they are more homey than elegant. I am sure I will miss you on Christmas.

Think of me often, Lizzy, for I am often thinking of you.

Lydia

By the time she reached the end of the letter Elizabeth had experienced a number of emotions. It was a stream of consciousness tour de force. It was just so Lydia. Elizabeth could hear her voice in every line. Lydia wrote like she spoke, flitting rapidly from one topic to another. There was a carelessness of youth, tempered by flashes of maturity and insight. Paragraphs would not go amiss though, Lyddie.

She read the letter several times over, as she wrote her response. She purposefully avoided answering one particular question, if not in her mind, at least on paper. She did not believe it served her well to think too much about kissing Mr. Darcy as it would make the distance that presently separated them intolerable and their next meeting awkward, for she did want to kiss Mr. Darcy. She also believed that, should she answer truthfully, Lydia would no doubt make that intelligence known to him. Well, that would be one way around her father reading her letters, she thought. It was with that in mind she reached for the letter from the gentlemen.

14 December 1811

Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire

Miss Hurst,

You must certainly realize by now I have never before written letters for the purpose of courtship. I hope you find this and my earlier effort agreeable. Though I am afraid the first was rather perfunctory. I can only hope the second is more pleasing, and that you find sincerity an adequate substitute for eloquence.

How shall we proceed? Do we discuss books or your families or my family? Shall we play chess? Do I ask questions? (More questions, at least, than I have already imposed upon you.) Or do I simply say, 'Tell me everything', for everything you are experiencing is of interest to me.

Your sisters indulged me and took me up to Oakham Mount. I understand it is a place you cherish. It is a lovely spot even this late in the year. I hope you find a comparable place at Raber Hill that you may visit in times of contemplation and when you need solace. I find solace in thoughts of our courtship. The kitchen stores at Netherfield and Longbourn will soon be barren of apples, I am sure, for it is now common knowledge that I favor the dish. Luckily, the reason remains unknown, as that memory is something I cherish and do not wish to share. Georgiana, though, is a bit baffled as apple tarts never graced our tables with much frequency.

Georgiana and I will be returning to London to spend the Christmas festivities with my Fitzwilliam relations. (Your father may direct your missives to Darcy House until further notice.) I hope my good uncle and cousin will have some information to share on the scoundrels responsible for compounding your family's misery. Regardless, after Christmas, depending on the weather, Georgiana and I will make our way to Pemberley by way of Raber Hill. In his previous letter, your father extended an invitation from your grandparents for my sister and I to stay at their estate. I hope that is a pleasant surprise. I appreciate the kindness of the offer itself, as well as the privilege they granted me by allowing me to share this happy news. It is happy news, is it not? I must confess that I have always been partial to the Christmas holidays and celebrating the blessings of the season but this year my thoughts stretch beyond to the blessings of my heart, to when I may see you again…

At that point, Elizabeth stopped reading and thought for a moment on its writer. Agreeable? Adequate? Silly man. She thought he wrote a very fine letter, indeed. She could feel a blush rise on her cheeks. Maybe thinking a little bit about kissing Mr. Darcy would not be such a bad thing, after all.