Here it is

Thanks to all my betas who contributed in different ways: lovingyouisbest, JD Bell; Joy Booth and Fredrica.

Final tweaking is my own.

Please Read the Letter

Lizzy hadn't even opened Darcy's letter until after Christmas break started. She was too mad, too tender, too careful to avoid everything involving him. Gratefully, he only lectured for two weeks- on the Romantic Artists, including the Preraphaelites, Art Nouveau, Symbolism and the Arts and Crafts Movement, all areas of specialty, before turning over the Fauvist, Pointillist, Impressionist and other late movements to Bingley.

Initially she successfully repressed thoughts of him, or channeled those thoughts into long hours of study or her final project in Jewelry III and Special Projects. It was satisfying to actually get A's in Art History and Anthropology and a B- in Applied Sciences.

Even more shocking, she actually placed in the juried exhibit. Her Mourning Veil had won a nice cash prize, which would come in handy in the summer during her internship. She'd hoped to win the Grand Prize- a summer at the Artist's School in Santa Fe. But, that had gone to Mary King, highly deserving of the prize as the ceramic anatomical heart she made was a wonder. Lizzy considered herself lucky to have placed at all after the scathing critique of… well, she wouldn't go there.

Jane left the previous Thursday to spend the holiday with Charles and get settled in, and Charlotte was off with Richard; Maya had gone to her family's in St. Louis, Aunt Phil and Tia Lena were busy with their respective holiday rushes, and so there was no one to with whom she could further distract herself.

That Monday of Christmas Break Lizzy could no longer escape that folded packet of Arches papers in the pocket of her women's rights jeans. She'd avoided wearing them ever since that Monday and they still lay on the floor of her closet, taunting her. Just now, no one in the Bennet household knew, which meant she could react however she wanted and there wasn't anyone to badger Lizzy about her reactions or tell her to deal with her feelings.

For once, Elizabeth did not want to confront anything. She wanted to read the letter, perhaps burn it afterward, then do whatever she could to avoid thinking about this past semester's mistake. Locking her bedroom door, Lizzy unfolded and read it.

PPPxoxNMxoxPPP

Elizabeth,

I've taken a great deal of time to reflect on the charges lain before me and am compelled to answer them- at length- as it may turn out. I hope you will do me the honor of reading this.

First, I was clearly mistaken in my belief that could know your wishes or you without truly seeking to know you better. You shared your plans with me early on. By my presumption, I minimized your own ability to work things out. I thought you'd want things to be 'easier' and to have more access to places where I think your talents would be better appreciated. It is now too late to learn more about what you want- in the moment, and life- and for that I am sorry. As for your frustration at my lack of communicating my wishes, I am also sorry. I should have told you more about my hopes and concerns instead of thinking you could intuit them.

I clearly presumed too much when I gave you unwanted advice. I was taught to think well of my talent, having been nurtured from a young age as a prodigy. Until I came here I've never been so out out of the familiar. The discomfort has been good for me; I have seen that there is more to the world than I knew.

Obviously I am still a product of my environment and upbringing: My family, despite their tragedies, was blessed in material and social aspects but unconsciously promoted a certain privileged naivety about the world around me. I thank you, your family and my experiences here for enlightening me. While your family enjoys its own success, I see you all have known struggles that I've not, that I'd never have to worry about- keeping the farm and your way of living going in a time that makes such occupations more and more difficult.

I have felt protective of you toward your family, at least, those members who either don't appreciate your talent or seem to want to actively squelch it. I also was furious that your family would behave in the manner they did on 'your' night. But recalling how my own family can behave despite their love for me, I have realized how arrogant I have been in my presumptions. And again, I am sorry for my arrogance on all counts.

As for my unwelcome proposal: it may have been too soon, but I sincerely hope I was not mistaken that you had or have some feeling for me. You told me you liked my attentions, my company, and I certainly enjoyed- loved- yours. Was it so misguided to want to be generous to you, someone for whom I have such deep hopes and feelings?

I had no idea that the woman who would capture my heart at a club was also a student where I was to be a guest faculty. It is true that, had I taken the trouble to know more about you, I would have at least realized your name was similar to the one on the cast and crew list. I know it is hypocritical to say that as I claim to be a man of honor, because I allowed my desire for you in the moment to get the better of my reason. I truly thought I had acted in a manner to show my belief that we are equals. For my rashness and inconsideration, I am sorry. You have to understand, for what my word is worth, that I'm generally not so rash to 'jump into bed' and I intended more than that from the very beginning.

It is ironic that I could be so unaware of my sense of superiority when I have visions that are supposed to give me greater awareness. You may not believe what you saw that day in my studio, or what I am telling you, but it is true. You were in visions I've had. Can you deny that you thought those pictures were of you? I made them from those visions before we set eyes upon one another.

I felt a deeper connection to you. I don't care if you think it's crazy. It's true. And because of my feelings for you, I respect and care about you enough to not push you now that I see how unwelcome my affection is.

You claim you've heard me say you lack talent, and went on to list other of my apparent criticisms. I've never said or even thought that. I realized later that you quoted a conversation I'd had that morning with my Aunt Catalina, who, you know is a great artist in her own right and chairs Rosings Foundation. Some Rosings clients are true talents or seekers but too many consist of badly behaving idle rich.

Her previous lack of checking what went on under that roof resulted in a scandal. She could have used the learning opportunity to make Rosings a place to heal for people who need it. While she does enforce a strict ethics code of no fraternizing, it is perfectly ok, as far as she is concerned, for her staff to act as yesmen to clients who can pay for her to look the other way about other bad behaviors.

Despite this, I still appreciate the opportunity to serve- I appreciate the Art Therapy that does take place with the good clients who far outweigh the bad. That is the main reason I still teach there. Catalina has this delusion that I'm going to take over for her when she dies and I lost my temper when I spoke with her that day. It had absolutely nothing to do with your work.

If I've not been clear before, this is how I see you: Elizabeth Bennet, you are generous in your attentions to those you love. You have a keen wit and remarkable understanding about beauty and meaning. Your aesthetic, the manner in which you combine lost arts and found objects astounds and inspires me. I also looked up your other work. Extensively. Maeve was helpful with that, as were the faculty here (don't worry, I did this after the juried exhibit. I wanted to remain as blind as I could, although your piece was unmistakeably yours when I saw it)

Your workmanship is advanced for someone of your stage, and couldn't be more appropriate for the projects you choose. I deeply respect your commitment to your heritage. Artists mature and go through rites of passage, some of which you've already experienced. I'm in a different stage of maturity. That's not to say you're inferior to me as an artist. You're merely in another stage, and you can't jump ahead. I wanted to take those steps with you but you wisely pointed out that people must make their own way in life, no matter how intimate they are with other/s.

There is another important matter I was very wrong not to tell you about: the relationship of myself and my family with George Wickham. The history is painful and you can imagine why I had difficulty discussing it. I ask you to keep this confidence but hope it may guide you in regard to that man.

I can't remember a time Wickham was not in my childhood. His parents were close family friends and directors of the Darcy Arts Camp for Special Children, a beloved camp endowed by our extended family's far reaching wealth. My father was the head of the board; my mother, an artist in residence. We often spent weekends and holidays togeher. George was a little older than me, very outgoing, and I admired him very much. George was 14 when his parents were killed in a car accident coming home from a party one night. His aunt took him to her horse farm in _. I lost my best friend. I wrote, but when he didn't answer my letters, I stopped.

When I was 18, to our great joy, George found my dad and was hired to work as a chef at the Camp. Not only did the man make delightful, nutritious meals that the kids ate, he contributed to planning events and held the entire staff in his thrall. I was excited to see my old friend, but from the moment of his return, I intuited something had changed. George had a hard edge most didn't see.

The Camp had a tense atmosphere because some of the teens got into trouble after being at the camp. Drugs were involved, and eventually, my dad traced them back to Wickham. Dad had a lot of pressure to prosecute from the board. Dad worked with George's legal defender so he pled down and served time in treatment. Months later George got out 'a changed man', and Dad got him a good job in the city at a 'clean' restaurant. George was clean and really making an effort.

The family's foundation consumed my father and he spent a great deal of time repairing the far reaching problems George was a part of. I think my mother kept from him how sick she was because they were so passionate about the Camp. She wanted this legacy for them both and didn't want him to worry about her.

Meanwhile, I had gotten into _ Design Institute. I had dreamed all my life of going to RISD but chose this smaller school because it was close by. When mom was sick, I could take care of her and Jorge. I don't know what I would have done without Reynaldo, our personal assistant and the staff she employed for our everyday care: For me, just watching out for mom, having Jorge do his homework between my own schoolwork was stressful enough.

So, evenings when George came over were an enjoyable routine while I was in school. We ate out at 'George's' restaurant often, especially after mom died in my sophomore year. He and Jorge seemed to forge a close bond, but, in our grief, neither I nor dad took great notice. After Mom's death, Dad distanced himself from us when started dating again about 6 months after mom died. By now I was a surrogate mom and dad to my brother.

Things changed drastically when Dad had a massive heart attack and died my last year of college. In the middle of graduating, had to get the family's affairs together along with other family members. We reorganized the foundation and I, along with my aunt and uncle temporarily shared Dad's responsibilities as interim co-chairs of the Camp's board.

I didn't realize until later Wickham's offer to 'help out in' meant that he was asking for his dad's old job as Camp Director. Nor did I realize how badly he took rejection when we didn't hire him like he wanted.

I didn't notice how Jorge, then 15, and Wickham- in his mid 20's- had gotten even closer. Nor did I recognize erratic behavior was not due to grief but drugs. Wickham had started taking my under age brother to clubs. What started out as just dancing and socializing, became a reason to drink and use whatever was available. I had a rude awakening when I got a call that Jorge had not been in school for 3 days. I was worried sick, but believed good old brotherly Wickham would know where he was.

I was overwrought to find Jorge in his bed, both of them obviously high, Jorge looking ill, emaciated, and having an abscess on his arm. I screamed at Wickham for ruining my brother and told him to never go near us again. Because he saw me punch Wickham in the face, Jorge wouldn't listen to my pleas to go inpatient. I frantically called my aunt and she rushed over.

Thank G-d my Aunt Beatrice, Richard's mother, convinced Jorge, in his state, to get treatment. As he gained sobriety, Jorge started talking to me again, but was guarded. It took a lot of counseling for me to learn that lecturing my brother and getting mad at him wouldn't help either of us recover.

Jorge had the harder work of us, but it was damn hard for me to not try and control him, and to learn to trust him again while holding him responsible in the right way. He got out after a few weeks and moved home where our work continued.

Oblivious to our concerns, Wickham came to our house, days after Jorge's discharge, apparently having lost his job. He blamed it on us, certain that we'd told his employer. From his even worse appearance than before, it was clear he'd lost his job from his problem with drugs. I offered to send him to rehab but he took that as an affront, coming back days later, desperate for a place to stay, and took me up on the offer.

I was careful to keep Jorge out of sight when Wickham came around, but they had gotten into contact again while Wickham was in rehab and they kept secretly meeting when he got out. Wickham told Jorge that his parent's accident was caused by unsafe road conditions at the camp that our parents had refused to correct. It was dad's fault that Wickham was 'discriminated against' at the camp because he knew the truth.

He told Jorge that I had refused his application as the camp director and that my and the extended family's 'rejection' was due to his being gay. He convinced Jorge that I was against their relationship for the same reason. Jorge was poisoned against me and the whole family, but he had found another 'family' in recovery who he knew accepted his orientation. Jorge's sponsor fortunately saw through a lot of Wickham's lies and convinced him to talk to me. Thankfully Jorge believed me. He was crushed that Wickham held such irrational rage against me.

To this day neither of us believe Wickham is coming from a bad place, but that the addiction impact his sense of right and wrong, cause and effect. We both wish him well and still hold out hope that he will recover. We, neither of us, can trust him, though until he has a long history of sobriety under his belt, along with work showing his new credibility, before we can make amends. I give greater credit to Jorge here. He has learned- taught me- to sit with disparate feelings of rage and pathos for the same person. At this time, however, we must contain any sympathy and let Wickham take his own path as he has done enough damage to our family.

Certain critics, for example, easily believed the words of this unwell, embittered man who besmirched our family after everything happened with Jorge, and who was also intimately involved in the scandal at Rosings (which is another story to tell). Jorge was devastated that his 'first love' would out him and allow his private issues to be leaked. I think this finally caused him to think about the age difference and how inappropriate it was.

It took a long time, even still, for Jorge to work out his sexual orientation independent of the way in which he discovered it. He is still clean, and has found healthier relationships and his own way in the world, thank goodness. He knows that I, and the rest of our family, support him as a person, and just want him to find a man who is healthy and deserves him.

The reason for the story is that the pattern that looks quite similar with your own brother and hope that he, too, has not been poisoned by Wickham. I hope your family can find a resolution which will support Lydon for who he is and encourage him to have more healthy relationships. And now you know what that means; with men who are of an appropriate age to Lydon, who are sober, and who are an asset to his life, loving him unconditionally.

In the ways I've communicated with you about your family, I have been judgmental. As you can see, my own family has struggled as well, and I hoped to spare you from similar pain from a man who can do great damage if he is crossed. You know I'm a very private person. I ask you to honor that reserve with which I conduct my personal affairs. I would never out my brother to anyone, but felt in this circumstance, it couldn't be avoided. I know you are ok with people of all orientations and have utmost faith in your discretion.

Of course, my sincerest hope is that you might take a certain action in a particular quarter, but I leave everything up to you and will always wish for your highest good and the continued well being of your family. I won't prevail upon you again. Should you wish any kind of relationship with me, anykind, I leave it up to you.

I apologize for the length of this letter, but now you have all the details.

With deepest affection,

F. Darcy

After reading it, Lizzy felt the absence of something indeterminate, and it left only hollowness behind. Folding the letter, she put it in a secret compartment of her tool box with deliberate, slow actions, then went to the stable and prepared Eos. She rode him on down the Rio Grande levee so far she could have sworn she was almost to Hatch when she came to her senses, turned back and went home.

Exhausted after reading the missive, Lizzy regretted her assumptions, her selfishness at not trying harder to understand Darcy or get to know him. She mourned the loss of potential that could have come from relationship. Not for the privilege, but for the mutual living out of their work that she experienced in glimmers while they had worked on the Production together.

Ironically, there was also a great sense of relief that she wouldn't have to carry the burden of such responsibility at the moment. It somehow added weightiness to her will to work, a burden for which she had not been prepared. Its gravitational pull to her ego been long lasting and she merely went through the motions of the holidays, only slowly emerging from semi consciousness as she struggled unsuccessfully to set her aspirations aright, that hollowness pulling her under with its growing weight. And she hadn't even begun to consider other parts of the letter, the ones about her family.

OK, so the letter was long.

I don't think it far exceeds the cannon letter in word count, but I could be way off.

reviews would make me everso happy:)