Note: For the satisfaction of knowing that Darcy and Elizabeth belong in every world together.
Chapter 1
Fitzwilliam Darcy brooded in his study, as he did almost every hour of the day since he fled from Kent. He knew it was unproductive, but he had little enthusiasm to do much else. Perhaps he would manage to recover half of his spirits in time, but for the moment, his loss of Elizabeth Bennet was too painful. Could he have lost her if she had never been his? She had never wanted him. His heart was broken, and it was his own fault. His disdain for others, his treatment of the woman he loved, and all the rest of his arrogant manners had costed him the esteem of Elizabeth. Elizabeth, the woman he had wanted to call Mrs. Darcy. The woman he still wanted to call Mrs. Darcy, his wife. He was not worthy of her, and she was graceful enough to open his eyes to his failings.
She was stunningly beautiful when she was furious. He had been angry himself, but her words, which cut him so deeply, eventually penetrated him with a force and wisdom he could only be grateful for. He loved her more than ever. He would listen to her, and strive to become a gentleman in her fine eyes, even if he would not have the opportunity to see her again. Perhaps, one day—no, but he could not hope!
There was a knock on his door. His butler entered and placed on his desk the daily missives to the house.
"There is," said the butler, hesitating, "one more letter."
Darcy frowned, and upon seeing his name in an unfamiliar, feminine hand, knew why his butler was unsure whether or not the envelope should have been given to him at all.
"I suppose you are as curious as I," said Darcy. His butler acknowledged that he was. Thus, Darcy opened the missive and began to silently read.
He was at first confused, and worried if something terrible had happened to Elizabeth. Then, he was disgusted, and increasingly so. That Miss Jane Bennet would write to him about her knowledge of his proposal to her sister, that she would admit to admiring his mien and character more than she had any gentleman, including Bingley, that she would then make some strange declaration of her paltry hopes regarding him—the letter was so entirely undesired that to specify its every word would require the gouging out of his eyes. The sentences might have been kind and gentle, and if it was Elizabeth who had written, he would have admired the courage to defy propriety to write to him. However, the sentiments were not returned, and nothing was appreciated. It was all very distasteful to him, and his opinions of Miss Jane Bennet declined drastically. Before, he could say to Elizabeth that he found at least one of her relations not embarrassing. Now, when he was supposed to be mending his condescending thoughts, he could not say that he found any of them laudable! He had a very strong urge to throw the letter into the fire in repugnance.
Yet he could not, for he thought of Elizabeth. Elizabeth, who was heartbroken for her sister and Bingley, did not deserve to be miserable for them. He had in his hands proof. It might, at first, cause her pain to comprehend her favourite sister, but he could not hide from her the truth. It was evident that Miss Jane Bennet had betrayed Elizabeth's trust in more ways than one. Poor, innocent Elizabeth! Would she even appreciate his daring to share with her the information he newly received? He did not want her to think that he was acting for his own selfish reasons.
"Sir?"
Darcy looked at his butler, who appeared worried for him.
"Indeed, this letter is in every way unwelcome," said Darcy. "I shall write no response to it, and receive no other letters by the same hand."
The butler nodded and apologised for the inconvenience caused by having to read the thing.
"Do not be sorry. We did not know what it contained." Seeing the butler's inquisitive countenance, Darcy continued, "It was a nonsensical letter from a lady I have never cared for. In fact, it is her sister I esteem."
The butler's eyes widened.
"Yes, I esteem a lady. Now the staff may cease wondering if I am partial to my friend Bingley."
The butler spluttered.
"I am afraid the lady I esteem does not know of her sister's duplicity in writing to me," said Darcy. "I value your opinion—do you think that I should reveal this letter to her? I only hesitate because when I last saw her, I offended her greatly. I fear that she will hate the sight of me. We even argued about this sister. The letter proves that my opinions were correct, but I might appear too arrogant by presenting it to her."
"If the lady is sensible, she will appreciate the truth," spoke the butler. "Surely, she cannot think so badly of you."
"She does. You would be ashamed of me if you knew how I terribly I behaved."
"But you wish to change her opinion?"
"You do not know how much I do."
"You and your father are the best men I have known, sir. Be open with your lady, and I am certain that all will work out for you."
Darcy was touched by the kind words. The support made his decision to seek Elizabeth easier. His heart fluttered at the thought of seeing her. He should not have had any positive expectations, but he could not repress the inexplicable sliver of hope he felt. Did she read his letter? Was she reforming her opinions of others as much as he? With a lightness he had not felt in days, he jested to his butler, "If I did not care for the woman who wrote the letter before, I certainly do not care for her now that I know how dreadful her penmanship is. Her writing might be as ghastly as Bingley's."
