Fitzwilliam Darcy sat in his study, bathed, shaved and fully dressed, staring out the window watching the sun come up. Today was the day… his thirtieth birthday, and the day he had promised himself to turn the page and start the next chapter in the story of his life. He truly believed that this time he would keep his promise to his best friend, though it remained to be seen whether he would keep the promise any better than he had on his previous dozen self‑imposed drop-dead dates.

As he had been doing for many of the days of the last two and a half years, he pulled the letter out of the top drawer in his desk. He had long ago memorized it, but there was something soothing about running his fingers along the edges, though the letter would disintegrate soon if he kept handling it.

26 November
Library, Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire

Dear Mr. Darcy,

I must apologize for this unorthodox method of communication, but we are not to meet again, and there are things that must be said, and I do not have the strength to tell you directly. It occurs to me, Sir, that you have apologized enough times to me that I had to chastise you, but I have never apologized to you even once, though you may have been due several. Please let this note redress the balance.

As I mentioned during our last dance, I have some travel plans. At the time I told you, my departure was uncertain, but events have made it inevitable. Please do not be dismayed over it. I am leaving my home on my own terms, going to a place I want to go to do something I want to do. I have not been coerced by anyone, but I have found it is time for me to put away my childish things. I am afraid I cannot tell you exactly why I need to leave so precipitously. Perhaps this concealment, this disguise is beneath me; it is done, however, and it is done for the best.

I once heard you say that disguise was your abhorrence. I am going to encroach on our friendship one more time and ask you to hold your nose and help my father. I have given him a letter with several ways to explain my absence, all of them complete fabrications. When he chooses his story, I would ask you to support him. Your name carries some weight.

While I do not hold any real sway over your actions, I will ask you as a friend to do something for me. I beg you, Sir, to live your life in a joyful way and be happy. That is all I ask. I believe you have had a number of difficulties in your life, and when you appeared in our county, may I be so bold as to say that you were not happy. Now, six weeks later, I do not know that you are happy, but you have shown that you have the capacity. My only request is that you allow that capability to flower.

In other words, embrace your life, Sir. It is high time you were married and settled, as I believe you will be a good father and your estate needs an heir. You know exactly what to do, so I shall not presume to advise you, aside from the small push I am giving you now. Be the man I have known these past six weeks, and all will be well.

The last thing I will say is the most important. You, Sir, are the best man I have ever known. You are honorable, kind, forthright, thoughtful and best of all, implacably stubborn. It has been a privilege knowing you and being called your friend.

And so, my friend, I must bid you adieu. One last favor I ask is that you remember me from time to time, and when you do, rest assured that I am somewhere in the world thinking well of you.

Your friend,
Elizabeth Bennet

As he had the last dozen times he read the letter, he took the handkerchief that came with it to dry his eyes. The letter had been delivered in the early morning hours after the Netherfield ball by a servant who knew nothing more than that the package was to be delivered to his hand privately. It contained the letter, and one of Elizabeth Bennet's embroidered handkerchiefs. Jane always said it was easy enough to detect because the embroidery was so atrociously bad, and they always managed to laugh together over the assertion.

He was just wiping his eyes when he heard a knock on the door and bade his sister to enter.

"William, today is the day. Are you reading your letter again?"

"Yes, Georgie."

"Are you any closer to understanding why she left?"

"I fear not. Something happened the summer before she met me, and we believe it may be related, but that is all speculation."

"Are you still determined follow her direction and turn the page?"

Darcy took the note and moved it towards the flame of a candle burning on the desk, but he could no more move the last inch to the flame than he had before. His face broke out in a cross between a frustrated sigh, and a crooked grin, while his sister just laughed at his predicament.

"Perhaps, save it and burn it on your wedding day."

Darcy laughed, and said, "At my present rate of progress, you will be burying it in my coffin."

Georgiana just grinned. After her trip to Scotland two years previously while her brother was in Hertfordshire, she had become much closer to him. She had of course kept her word to her long‑ago rescuer and told him nothing of the incident in Ramsgate, but otherwise, she had let her brother into all her concerns, and their relationship had flourished like never before.

Georgiana Darcy had thus far delayed her coming out twice, but at nearly nineteen, it was past time for her to get on with it. She had made a compact with her brother that they would both effectively enter the 'marriage mart' together to offer moral support, but thus far had not made good on the threats.

"Are you ready for our guests? They are to be here for breakfast?"

"Yes. I am expecting Bennet, Charles, Jane, Lydia and Lina. Kitty and Mary are visiting Lambton with Mrs. Gardiner."

Georgiana smiled, and replied, "It will be good to have a war council with Lydia."

"Are you two still planning to come out together?"

"Yes, we are. She has been surprising resilient in her demands. She lets her mother's effusions just run off her back like a duck, but we shall come out together at Aunt Matlock's ball."

"Well, I am happy to see it. I never understood young ladies desire to be out as soon as possible."

"Says the man who is not really out at 30!", she replied with a twinkle in her eye, "I shall leave you in peace and see you in a few hours at breakfast."

Darcy turned away from his desk, and thought, 'now is the time, Darcy.'

Despite the early hour, he turned to the cabinet behind his desk to complete his birthday ritual. He pulled down the brandy bottle, a gift from Mr. Bennet and poured the very last glass. This was the end of the brandy from the bottle Mr. Bennet had used the very first day he came to apologize to Elizabeth over the chessboard. When she left so unexpectedly, and with an explanation that implied she was leaving out something enormous, Mr. Bennet had gifted the remainder of the bottle to the gentleman as a remembrance. Now, with his self-appointed time expired, and the last of the brandy poured, he thought it might just be time to follow his last instructions from Elizabeth and get on with his life.

Just as in that long-ago day, he upended the glass and drank the entire amount in one swallow. Then, he carefully cleaned the bottle with a cloth, put it back on the shelf, and went out to begin at long last following her instructions.

Darcy reckoned the best preparation for the day was a hard ride. The best spot for riding he had found in London was a small copse about halfway to Cheapside. He stumbled on it one day while going to visit Mr. Gardiner to work on some investments they were sharing.

When Elizabeth left, she threw her family and friends into turmoil. She had left a long letter to her father that he shared with Darcy. That letter contained much more than the letters for each of her sisters that she had apparently written sitting in that library while the denizens of Netherfield danced, but it did not have the crucial piece of the narrative. To nobody did she give the real true reason for her precipitous departure. It turned out that Mrs. Bennet probably precipitated it by demanding Elizabeth either seek a husband or seek another place to live, but both her father and Darcy believed that changed nothing but the timing of the event.

Elizabeth had left her father a choice of several stories he could use to explain her absence, and they eventually decided on the simplest to tell and keep straight. An express had come in with news of an illness by a distant but important relative, and Elizabeth had left to tend her. The whole thing had seemed entirely inadequate to Darcy, but that was only because he had not observed the master at work.

The Lucases had been visiting by the time the two gentlemen finished conferring, and Mr. Bennet went to join their discussion. A half‑hour later, both the male and female gossip circuits in Meryton were awash with the details of Elizabeth's ill relative, and certain that all would work out well. The possibility of the vaguely identified relative being wealthy was hinted at, and by the time a week had passed, the deed was done. The departure of Elizabeth Bennet had been explained, and speculation was rampant about how sick the relative was, when an inheritance might be available, and if the second Bennet daughter would return at all.

Not knowing exactly how to reconcile the loss of Elizabeth, Darcy had spent quite a lot of time, somewhat surprisingly with Caroline Bingley, who seemed to be just as desolate as he was. They found out almost immediately that they both liked the after-Elizabeth versions of each other quite a lot, and that they had not the slightest hint of romantic feelings between them. For the gentleman, the lady may as well have been his sister, and for the lady, she had not the vaguest idea of what she had ever seen in him in the first place. They were now quite good friends. Darcy occasionally teased her about being on the shelf, and she replied that he was so much worse that he could only on good and restful nights dream of his glory days on the shelf long ago.

Darcy found the copse that contained a substantial meadow and ran his horse for quite some time. He firmly believed man and beast both enjoyed the exercise, but he had guests coming, so after a half‑hour, he returned to Darcy house in time for a bath and change of clothes and was in the yellow parlor with his sister when his guests arrived.

"Bennet, it is good to see you. Jane… Bingley… Lydia… Lina."

"Darcy. Georgiana. It is good to be here."

"Georgiana, we are to visit Uncle Gardiner before the day is out. He has some new fabrics like we have never seen."

"Is that a wrinkle, Fitzie?"

The usual pleasantries were exchanged for a few minutes, and then the group went into breakfast, which was a lively affair, practically as noisy as the Bennet dinner table.

After their repast, the group returned to the yellow parlor, where Georgiana, Lydia and Lina huddled together to discuss dresses or some similar subject, while Darcy and Bennet gave serious consideration to a chess game.

They were just about to get off the sofa and commence the slaughter, when the butler entered the room and announced, "Colonel Fitzwilliam," and pandemonium erupted.