Mr. Darcy,

First, I want to assure you that I forgive you for the familiarity of your letter. Clearly, you needed to relate the truth in it entirety and a written explanation allowed both of us a less painful alternative to a protracted conversation, where emotions often run unchecked.

I do not deny that your letter surprised me, both in its content and its eloquence. Providence has thrown us together more than an informal acquaintance generally allows. I often pride myself in my ability to decipher a person's character, but I must admit that I misjudged you.

I have read your letter. I read it again and again. I will not deny that at first I comprehended your words with an angry and incredulous attitude; however, my sense of honesty eventually gained footing. With each reading, the truth of your words grew more evident and I forced myself to reconsider my past conduct in reference to our dealings. I accepted Mr. Wickham's account of you; never questioning his motives or the impropriety of his conduct in revealing such information to a perfect stranger. You ruffled my pride the first night of our acquaintance when I overheard the conversation between yourself and Mr. Bingley. I am afraid that pride poisoned my opinion of you thereafter.

You assume correctly that I value my independence. A young woman has the power over few decisions in her life. My father's affection led him to offer his daughters a great deal more than most. My father allowed me the choice of my future husband; he supported my refusal of Mr. Collins when he asked last fall, to the displeasure of my mother. However, even the affection for his favorite daughter can not undo the interference of Mr. Collins; he has had his revenge after all. The generosity and respect that you have offered me in our future marriage is much more than I hoped for since this disastrous ordeal began. Please understand that I feel the full weight of this offer and appreciate it more then words can express.

However, in reference to your dealings with Jane and your assessment of my family's fault, I can not feign indifference. I can not deny that your opinions of my family mirror my own. Yet, understand that this makes it no easier to accept the criticism of a passing acquaintance. I believe you exercised genuine intentions in breaking the attachment between my sister and Mr. Bingley, and I work to forgive you for your actions. My protective instincts for my sister prevent me from exonerating your actions. You believed, and hoped to believe her indifferent; however, after reading her letter, I suspect that both of us now know that you made false assumptions about my sister's lack of feeling. I find it difficult to watch her suffer in stoic silence. Her selfless temperament prevents her from seeking out others to confide in and lighten her burden. Jane has great concern for the comfort and feelings of others; often to her own detriment. After meeting your sister, I feel that you must understand my sentiments.

I find your sister delightful. She reminds me of Jane, and I can give no higher praise than that. I had always assumed that no one in all of England could possess Jane's generous temperament, and yet I delight in finding another in Georgiana. It shocks me that God could be so liberal and imprudent to bestow two such souls upon the earth. I use the word liberal because of the amount of joy and peace they will spread throughout their lifetime. I use the word imprudent for a much different and some what painful reason. Persons like Georgiana and Jane live in a perfect world, where everyone around them has spotless intentions. They never search for motives, or faults. Their naivety makes them vulnerable to the imperfections of the world; even as it brings joy to those who can not shut their eyes to the ugly sight. It is rather like seeing a beautiful flowering sapling growing in the middle of a busy street. Those who love them must practice vigilance to protect them from the thoughtlessness and malice of others. I wish myself harm before allowing others to trod over Jane as they otherwise would. After witnessing the manner in which you treat your sister, I know you feel the same about Georgiana.

Perhaps, after reading this, you will understand my continued anger regarding your interference between Jane and Mr. Bingley. I saw Mr. Bingley's worth as assuredly as you saw it when you formed your friendship. I thought I had finally found someone who could care for my sister in the way that I did. Jane may hold the title of eldest in my family, but I have long felt the burden of shielding her from those who would take advantage. I doubt that anyone could convince Jane to do anything immoral, but I do not doubt that she could be easily deceived. I also know that Jane fast approaches the age when I will be unable to protect anymore. She will marry in the next few years. I could have felt confident in giving over my responsibilities to a man like Mr. Bingley. Yet, now I resume my worry over her future. I grow frustrated with my lack of power and my father's nonchalance.

I hope you see now, I think no less of your sister for Mr. Wickham's actions, nor do I blame yourself. I assume that Mrs. Young possess as much art in deception as Mr. Wickham. You could never have left Georgiana in her care if you had thought her remotely unqualified.

Here ends the serious portion of my letter, I hope to never mention these topics again. I make a formal request of you now as a gentleman, Mr. Darcy. I suspect with mirth that you can not deny me my demands on these grounds. Let us start afresh. Let us form a new acquaintance without allowing the shadows of the past to distort the present moment.

I confess that I have wanted to send this letter to you for quite awhile. I have written several drafts, the first, not nearly as rational or charitable as the current one. Perhaps you may not even see this one, and are destined to read a better version of the current copy. The ink that dries even as I write may be destined for the flame of my bedroom fire.

My mind has undergone much trouble in devising a plan to deliver this letter to you. I dreaded an awkward handoff in the presence of my relatives and disliked the thought of entrusting the service to a servant. Quite happily however, you, Mr. Darcy, provided the perfect messenger. May I observe that you play a diligent, though distracted, host.

In the process of bestowing and inordinate amount of praise for the duet that Georgiana and I performed after dinner, I suspect you may have misplaced your book on the piano arm in a moment of preoccupation. I condemn your admiration as inordinate so far as it lends me credit for the performance; I suspect that you and I both know that my musical skills are indifferent, at best. Your sister will convince me that I am a concert level piano player if I do not practice vigilance in assessing my own musical shortcomings. Nevertheless, after our recital and after you took my uncle away for a game of billiards I found your poor dog eared book lying quite alone. I must take you to task for such a practice; my father may have a fit of apoplexy if he sees his future son in law mistreating the great works of literature in such a way. There is no need for such abuse! I am confident that if you search hard enough, you may find a sister very willing to make embroidery bedecked bookmark especially for your use. I must turn away my face as I continue to write this letter, to maintain my concealment. You have returned to the music room and seem to be in search of something, of what I can only guess.

You have a beautiful home here Mr. Darcy. Other grand estates that I have visited often possess a sort of forced elegance, to detriment of its occupants' comforts. Pemberley seems to have achieved a perfect balance between the two. I understand why you are so proud of where you come from; it would be difficult not to be proud of this place.

Elizabeth Bennet