Elizabeth

Dear Father,

I am sure that by now you have received a most entertaining letter from my dear cousin Mr. Collins. However, I regret that that I can not truthfully repute the majority of the contents of his missive. I do not know that I could have done anything to prevent what happened from occurring. In all honesty, I still feel that this episode is a strange nightmare that I can not shake off.

After services yesterday, I took a walk to enjoy the clean air and avoid the stiffness and formality of tea with Lady Catherine. I was caught up in a sudden rainstorm and ran to take shelter at the marble summer pavilion with in the grounds of Rosings. Trying to catch my breath, I did not notice that someone approached until Mr. Darcy spoke.

He asked for my hand in marriage. His offer, I assure you, was very characteristic of his person. He proceeded to list all the faults of my situation and family before saying that he proposed despite his better judgment. After recovering from my surprise at his entreaty, I am sorry to say that I found great satisfaction in turning him down. I need not ask you to avoid showing this letter to Mary. If you do I will never have another moment's peace in her presence. She will insist on reading Fordyce's sermons until she turns blue in the face.

After my rejection something happened that I do not know how to account for. During the course of our argument we had gravitated closer together, the better to trade accusations, or so I presumed. When our argument ended I lifted my gaze and locked eyes with his. I could feel the anger pouring from own stare, but I saw something different in his. There was anger, but there was also something else. Suddenly, his face hovered close to mine and before I could react his lips met mine.

I assure you that I broke away as quickly as I could. Speechless, I could only take a few stumbling steps backward. Mr. Darcy seemed as surprised as I and apologized quickly before taking his leave. He walked out into the rain, back to Rosings.

I hope your opinion of your dear daughter has not changed too much for the worse. I do not consider myself an irrevocable sinner, doomed to burn for all eternity. Still, I do not know how to continue. Even now, I lay in wait for Lady Catherine to swoop in upon me and run me through the wash board for daring to taint the lips of her precious nephew.

On the whole, I do not know if I should laugh or cry. In my eyes, at least, I find my unwelcome tryst with Mr. Darcy excessively diverting. It should have remained so, but for the interference of Mr. Collins. I long to come home and escape this scene, a scene that could have easily been avoided had my dear cousin been a little more discrete. Yet, I fear that every servant at Rosings now knows of the events that have transpired. I worry, dear father, that my name has been soiled irrevocably.

I have always believed that finding decent men willing to marry my numerous sisters would prove a difficult task, considering our financial circumstances. I fear that this added piece of malicious gossip may spoil the chances of all. I could never forgive myself for ruining Jane's happiness, with a gentleman who deserves her. O dear father, you may end up living out your years with five spinsters and not a shilling to your name!

I feel trapped both physically and socially. My cousin will not let me out of doors for fear that I will attempt another meeting with Mr. Darcy. He also attempts to block Charlotte from conversing with me, and he shuns me from his household. Keeping me sequestered away in his guest room upstairs, I presume, until he receives a reply from you. I feel a little like Rapunzel locked away in her tower. Unfortunately, I possess tresses too short to consider using them for escape or even rescue. Who could come to my rescue in any case? Mr. Darcy? The very idea makes me smile, but I am pleased that I did think of it. I have not smiled for what seems like an age.

Mayhap my cousin possesses more intelligence than I thought, for I do desire to converse with Mr. Darcy. Though, not for the same purpose as he supposes. I fear that I may have to go back on my rejection of his hand. It is the only solution I can contemplate that does not end in scandal and poverty. I foresee a marriage of bleak and languid evenings, but I do not anticipate mistreatment. He may possess a little harshness but I know he harbors no brutality. He has a friend in Mr. Bingley and that speaks well of him. I always wished to enter matrimony with someone I felt deeply for but I see now that fate had other ideas.

Now I must find a way to post this letter. I must wait for a moment of opportunity, when circumstances distract my cousin long enough to allow me to steal a moment with Charlotte. I have never prayed with such a fervent heart that the unhealthy Ms. Anne De Burgh will desire a ride about the park in her little phaeton.

Your Loving Daughter,

Elizabeth

P.S. I apologize, dear father, that this letter is not in my usual jocular style. I must confess that I have found very little to laugh about after what has transpired. Although, an ingenious little village child did slip a toad in Mr. Collins hat last Sunday. How the deft little creature managed it I will never know. I had planned to give you a blow by blow account, but I find that I lack the enthusiasm to do the scene justice. I have saved a peppermint in my purse if I ever do unearth the identity of the miscreant.