Chapter 13

Mr Goodwin's cold was now in the trifling stage, but he was still procrastinating about returning to work. He preferred instead to help his sister prepare for Esther and Jamie's wedding breakfast than pay bills. Elizabeth began to believe he was serious about retiring. His current plan was she would go with him to the Gardiner's. She enjoyed London over Hertfordshire, but if they moved to Cheapside, she would be forced back into the role of young lady of quality, even if she was not anymore. Thinking of her future, consumed much of her hours.

Daily she prayed for more news from Kent. While she waited, she considered the consequences of decisions, past, present and future. Would her dear Jane soon be betrothed? Such news would allow her to consider other possibilities beside a return to her previous life. Still, there were so many things she had never thought to consider about how to achieve happiness for her sister, not to mention her own. How would Colonel Fitzwilliam afford to support Jane if he sold his commission? And yet, if he stayed in, what would happen if he was wounded again or killed in battle? The dispute between her parents loomed large in her contemplation of her sister's contentment. The colonel had told her he was to return to war very soon, as early as May if she remembered correctly. Her sister deserved to be cherished and cared for. She believed him attentive enough to do so, but what if he was not present? How would she care for any children they had? The realization that marriage was much more than just two people who loved one another caused her such anxiety. These thoughts, almost but not quite, caused her to pity her mother's plight. Should Jane have been like Charlotte and accepted a ridiculous man as her husband rather than be trapped for life in reduced circumstances. The world was all so unfair!

Finally, she awoke to a glorious, sun filled morning. It was the perfect day to walk to Fitzwilliam's waterfall. Within minutes her ramble proved restorative. A broad smile brightened her eyes with new imaginings. Hope does indeed spring eternal! The daffodils, heads nodding in the breeze, beckoned her to believe there was a way. A blue bird suddenly appeared to sing a song of possibilities. Without thinking about appearances, Lizzy began to skip toward her destination.

The time spent watching the cascade of water disturbing the placid surface of the pool reassured her that safe and certain did not have to be her future. Chances were meant to be taken and it was time for her to do something daring.

She had the ability to write to her sister without a go-between. Inside her correspondence would be a letter for him. No one but Jane would be the wiser about her illicit communication. Knowing it was no guarantee he would agree, she composed what to say.

Yes, she had refused, and rumour had it, he had moved on to find a more appropriate wife. There was even his cousin who was available for him to wed. Still, dare to propose, dare to be accepted, must be her expectation when she put pen to paper.

Fitzwilliam Darcy sat on a fallen log in a densely wooded area of his aunt's estate. The trees hid him from the view of all but the most determined seeker. He loved to sit here throwing stones into the stream that meandered through. The ever-widening circles allowed him to fill his mind with all the tasks he must accomplish so Richard could resign his commission immediately upon the end of their visit to Kent. Only a sennight remained before their departure.

He and Mr Wright had been corresponding about Ashcroft Abbey since his meeting with Bingley. The two stewards had been acquaintances for at least ten years. Shortly after Darcy had alerted him of his interest in leasing the estate, he had ridden over to question Mr Brown about the possibility. Sir Arthur Dugdale was never at home. His time was spent in London, and as Darcy expected, he was an incurable gambler, just like Bertie. Mr Wright reported to him that Sir Arthur was lucky to have a steward like Mr Brown. The land was well cared for. He had actually been the source of the idea Mr Wright had been urging him to try—raising horses for the military. The revenue acquired from the hard work of his steward and tenants kept Sir Arthur with enough money to gamble. Beyond that, he seemed to care for little. According to his steward it was a sickness with him much like those addicted to drink. The house was practically a ruin as Bingley had said. It had great possibilities. Darcy would track down Sir Arthur as soon as he was back in London.

This place had been his Rosings' refuge since a child when he needed to be alone, or with no one but Richard, to think thoughts contrary to duty or family obligation. The sort of spot often needed when visiting Lady Catherine. He needed it today to help him think through the obstacles in his pursuit of happiness.

He had asked Richard not to disclose the information to Jane about who had kissed her sister in Vauxhaul Gardens until after he had confessed to Elizabeth. In retrospect, he should have told her during their talk in Netherfield's library. It was wrong to allow her to flee the next morning. Insisting they marry immediately had been the gentlemanly thing to do. Surely, they would have grown to love one another.

Darcy shook his head and threw another rock, gaining awareness as its wake widened. Neither had been prepared to be forced into anything at that moment. Her prejudice against marriage was much beyond a silly childhood notion. His pride in his esteemed position in society had yet to be tamed. At that moment, Darcy's David was even more exposed than Michaelangelo's, standing naked in the town square for all to ogle his manhood. He had not even considered the need to kill the Goliath of her doubt before proposing he should rescue her. Still, once he had these love birds married, his most important mission was to confess his part in the loss of her place in society.

Hearing an unknown sound, he looked up to see her sister, Jane, coming toward him. His first impression upon seeing her emerge from the narrow path beside a grouping of trees was how uniquely beautiful she was. Since his mind was already on the art of Florence, he was immediately reminded of a painting he and his cousins had seen depicting Spring. It was the ethereal quality of her expression and the benevolent tilt of her head that made him recall Richard being so struck by the loveliness of the lady they stood before

"Mr Darcy, Richard thought you might be here. He told me it was the place the two of you came when trying to elude any members of your family when visiting Rosings."

"You have caught me at my seditious musings, Miss Bennet"

"I would not have bothered you if it not for my sister. She wrote me with instructions to attempt to give you this letter immediately. Please do not judge her so very harshly for her impropriety. Though she insists not, I believe her mood is low."

His alarm at her disclosure was impossible to subdue. "I owe your sister entirely too much gratitude to disregard her request because I value proper behaviour over her welfare."

"Thank you Mr Darcy. I was afraid I would not be able to carry out her wishes. I too owe her much gratitude."

"You should call me Fitzwilliam. We are soon to be family."

Her face lost all signs of uncertainty with his offer. The smile in her eyes welcomed the familiarity. "And Fitzwilliam you must call me Jane. I will now leave you to uncover what is on the mind of my dearest sister. Do let me know if there is something you need from me upon reading her letter." She turned and walked down the narrow path disappearing into the trees.

He opened the letter and began reading. The first thing he noticed was she addressed him formally. He admonished himself for assuming what was to come.

Mr Darcy,

Forgive my lack of propriety, and please know my expectations of you continuing to read this letter are minimal. However, I have long valued you as a friend, and you did me the greatest honour months ago by offering to protect me from life's slings and arrows.

As you know at the time you proposed, I had the dream of finding a way to prosper through my own accomplishments. Despite being disowned by my parents, I was certain I could make my way apart from the life to which I was born. All was going according to my plans until the turn of the new year. At first, I had some of the best news. My friend, Miss Golden, was proposed to by Mr Swift. I realized they were quite taken with each other upon meeting shortly after our arrival in Derbyshire. It truly seemed to be love at first sight as in some novels my younger sisters are always reading. I had expected this news for them since the assembly in Lambton last November. She further won him over with those scrumptious pancakes I told you about. It even caused me to recall a bit of wisdom I recently read, "'the shortest road to men's hearts is down their throats." On the other hand, they are a true meeting of the minds. The two are able to talk for hours about all manner of things.

Sadly, I did not imagine the additional news I learned from my friend when she told me of their impending marriage. They are moving to Dublin, and his mother is going with them. He has been offered a position at Trinity as a professor of Renaissance history.

If that was not enough unsettling news to crush my hopes of independence, I was soon told by Mrs Thatcher my services will no longer be needed once Miss Golden leaves. I believe a word about my lack of deference to her consequence from the Countess of Matlock may have been to blame. Ah well, I did so enjoy reminding her of her unseemly behaviour toward you. The moral of the story is, I must live and learn not to be so prejudiced.

However, my major dilemma caused by their departure was the impropriety of my living alone with Mr Goodwin. I thought about asking you if I could be hired as a companion to Miss Darcy. Unfortunately, Linus has told several acquaintances in Lambton that you and I are 'well acquainted.' My living under your roof with such information being gossiped about in the neighbourhood would not be good for either of our reputations.

I had yet to find a solution, when Mr Goodwin told me he was planning to sell his businesses and retire to London to be near my aunt and cousins. He has persuaded Mr and Mrs Gardiner to allow me to live with them once again. All these plans happened without consulting me. The thought of returning to that life has left me feeling hopeless.

To add insult to injury, my cat, Iphigenia, who adopted me upon my arrival in Lambton, has run away. She probably decided I was planning, as had Agamemnon, to sacrifice her now that I faced so many tribulations. I should not have been so pretentious and chosen a simple name like 'Kitty' for her. However, that would have been totally inappropriate—we call one of my younger sisters Kitty.

To make my point let me say, I came across this appropriate phrase while studying Italian the other day, 'La donna e mobile.' It seems particularly appropriate for what I am about to ask, because It translates to 'the woman is fickle.'

Circumstances has caused me to change my mind. If you are still willing, I accept your offer of marriage. Please know you have every right to refuse. The decision is completely yours. According to my sister, Mr Collins believes you are betrothed to Miss De Bourgh. If so, I wish you joy. Or have you, like Figaro, perhaps met your Susanna since you proposed to me? If not, please read the conditions of my proposal before deciding.

At this point his laughter was so raucous it caused the birds to flee in fear from the surrounding trees. His Elizabeth has conditions! Suddenly, he tamped down both his mirth and his delight when fear made him wonder whether they involved marital rights. He calmed himself at the thought of her refusing him too often and prudently continued to read.

There is no father to negotiate my marriage agreement, so I have written out my own terms,

My first requirement is my sister, Miss Jane Bennet, must be allowed to live with us. I am not willing to negotiate this. My parents recently attempted to force her to marry a man with little sense. You know him. He is Mr Collins, the parson from Hunsford. My fear is she will not always be able to withstand the pressure put on her to wed against her wishes. Your own fondness for your sister should allow you to apprehend my urgency. However, once she is married, this will no longer be necessary. It is with certainty, I affirm there must be an appropriate gentleman who will want to marry someone as lovely and as filled with kindness as she, despite her paltry dowry.

For my second requirement, I insist I must have complete access to your library. As I have told you, my plan was to encounter life beyond the confines of my Hertfordshire existence. Since my hopes for experiencing much beyond my previous confined life are dashed, I must be able, to consume information about the world whenever I want. This too is something I need unconditionally. I promise as your wife to be content to read my way to broader horizons. I would also appreciate the ability to help you add to the library I have heard so much about. I do not insist it be my privilege, but it would mean much to me to help you. I am quite knowledgeable in choosing titles that are pleasing, especially for young women. It is possible we might have daughters as well as sons.

My third request involves something you are unaware about me. I love to walk. My mother thought my desire to roam about the countryside unchaperoned to be decidedly inappropriate for a lady. Still, there is nothing more conducive than a long ramble to contemplate life's joys and finding solutions for disappointments. I would appreciate your agreement to allow me complete access to the grounds of Pemberley for my wanderings. I particularly love the spot by the waterfall your father so graciously allowed the residents of Lambton to visit. It was where I composed this letter to you. I do not insist, I be allowed to walk when and where I want, but it would allow me to be a more pleasant companion.

As for my pin money needs, I do not understand the thoughts of most ladies in this regard. Since I am bringing nothing of any value to our bargain, I leave matters of such things to you. Fitzwilliam, I believe you to be a good man.

He paused to consider her now calling him Fitzwilliam. He much preferred to have her think of him so. He wondered whether one of her conditions would be to never refer to her as a shop girl again. He must continue reading to find out what other demands she had in store for him. So far, she seemed quite rational.

Fitzwilliam, I believe you to be a good man. The obvious affection you have for your sister, and your belief I have been ill treated by my father, tell me so. I know you will do the best for any children we may have—even if they be five daughters. My greatest concern is giving them an education that allows them to make appropriate decisions about their lives. Please know, I have learned to live with very little. However, if you tire of me to the point of contemplating murder, my suggestion instead would be a small annuity and a trip to Italy (where I could reportedly die mysteriously). My contentment with a small bookshop in Florence where I could see David on a regular basis would suffice. Seeing him could be some comfort if my feelings are perhaps less resentful than yours. Please know, I do not want your kind rescue of me to ruin your life.

If you must have a solicitor to advocate for my demands, I am certain my uncle Phillips in Meryton would agree.

I am still at the same place you returned me to after our delightful visit to Tompkins Peak. The danger of ruining my reputation by living there will not happen until after the middle of April when the Swifts will depart for Dublin. If Mr Goodwin has found other arrangements for me to live in Lambton, you will always be able to find me at the book shop.

Please let me know if you are willing.

Sincerely, Elizabeth Bennet

PS If Iphigenia does decide to forgive me and return, would you consider allowing her to live with us as well?

His dream had come true. She had agreed to marry him. He read her letter a second time to make certain it truly meant she was to be his wife.

His joy was quickly replaced by trepidation. There had been no mention of feelings of affection at all. The proposal was an amicable business transaction she was asking him to accept. His role was to save her as she wrote from the 'slings and arrows,' of her life. How could he make their marriage be the glorious union it ought to be?

His cousin and her sister, her friend and Mr Swift were entering into marriages based on love. He wanted the same for them, but he first needed to confess. His decision of how to reply was fraught with consequences much like Hamlet's. How could he let her know he was willing, while simultaneously confessing his drunken kiss had created the 'outrageous fortune' she had endured. From the dreadfulness of his too-long-delayed revelation, he must also tell dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth of his ardent desire to cherish her for the rest of their lives?