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On the day that marked the two months anniversary since Mr Darcy's wretched proposal and subsequent refusal, Elizabeth could not concentrate on her breakfast. She nibbled her cake while staring with empty eyes at her sister Mary, who sat opposite her at the table.
Not a day had passed by without her regretting— Well, not her refusal, of course, but the way she had refused him. She had been so harsh and uncivil. He had not deserved those words and Elizabeth felt heartily ashamed of having ever thought him cruel.
Elizabeth looked at Jane, who was wearing the sad air that her disappointed hopes had left her as a farewell gift, and wondered if Mr Darcy had been suffering even a small fraction of her sister's pains too.
But no, he had certainly forgotten Elizabeth by now and only thought of her when congratulating himself on his lucky escape from a miserable life full of vulgar relatives.
Would it truly have gone that way? She suddenly wondered. Would we have been unhappy together, as my parents are?
Mr Bennet, who was looking through the morning mail, interrupted her thoughts. "And here are some for you, Lizzy. One from Charlotte, one from… It does not say. A secret suitor acquired during your recent travels, perhaps?"
Elizabeth forced herself to laugh. "He is a poor secret suitor indeed, Papa, if he could not devise a cleverer way of communication than the morning mail."
Her father laughed, while Mary pointed out how improper it would be for a young lady to entertain a correspondence with a gentleman without the approval of her parents and Kitty started bickering with her over that, while Jane tried to appease them both.
Elizabeth ignored the fuss and went back to thinking about Mr Darcy.
Mr Darcy had indeed found a cleverer way to contact her, on that fateful morning. He had waited for her in the park to put the letter in her hands, only barely crossing the line of impropriety. And the letter had been so revealing, so mortifying. She had read it countless times, she could quote it from memory, the paper had started to fall to pieces, she was afraid her tireless scrutiny would consume the ink. Which is why as she took the letters her father was holding out for her, Elizabeth immediately recognized the Darcy family crest impressed on one of the seals.
Her heart stopped. Then it started to flutter rapidly. Her vision blurred and Mary's speech on female virtue became irrelevant and distant, as her attention focused solely on the letter's red seal.
Elizabeth excused herself from the room and ran outside without knowing what she was doing. She made sure of being out of sight of the house before she ripped open the letter with a strange feverishness trembling through her hands.
Her eager eyes saw that the letter was dated two days prior, written at Darcy House in London. Incapable of waiting, Elizabeth looked at the signature, only to go back to the beginning with confusion and burning disappointment.
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
please forgive the impropriety of writing to you when we are not acquainted, but I do not know how else to act.
My brother is dying, Miss Bennet. Ever since he came back from Rosings, he has spiralled in a series of self-destructive behaviours that caused him to contract a fatal illness. Its progression was heart-wrenchingly sudden and the doctors say he has a week left, at most.
I am telling you all this, Miss Elizabeth, because, during one of his crisis earlier today, Fitzwilliam rambled about a great wrong he has done by you when you last saw each other, which was at Rosings last spring as you will remember.
I do believe that the fault he committed against you has crushed him, leading him to the series of behaviours that made it easier for the illness to overcome him. Sometimes I wonder if he even tried to fight the illness at all.
Oh, Miss Bennet—! He drank himself to stupor every night. He barely ate, he would not sleep, he disappeared during the day and came home in the wee hours of the morning, always collapsing in an armchair in the library with yet another drink in his hand.
I begged him that we remove to Pemberley, hoping that being away from Town would help him, that he would become himself again once in our ancestral home, the place he most loves and cherishes in the whole world, but his only answer were eyes filled with the deepest despair and saying that he could not, he would not go back, he had become unworthy of Pemberley, he would never cross its threshold again if it meant going alone, without, by his side—
But I digress.
My brother is reduced to the shadow of the man he used to be. Now his guilt will not even allow him a serene passing.
I do not know more about your acquaintance and I can not imagine what wrong he committed, but Miss Elizabeth! If you can find in your heart to forgive him, please send a word or join us here if possible, so that I will at least be able to reassure the best of brothers, the best of men, that you do not despise him as he is convinced you do.
He told me so much of your goodness and generosity when he first met you in Hertfordshire, and he still talks about it during his hallucinations, that I can hope you will not deny a dying man his final peace.
Fitzwilliam does not know that I am writing to you. He is far too proud to ask, but I must, or I would not be the sister he deserves.
I beg of you, Miss Elizabeth: do write or come.
Georgiana Darcy."
"Lizzy! You bolted out of the house without even putting on your bonnet."
Elizabeth quickly hid the letter and turned to smile at Kitty. She was holding out to her her bonnet and gloves. "Thank you. It must have passed my mind."
Kitty laughed. "La! You going out without being all prim and proper. I wish Lydia was here to see it, she would have found it so droll." Then, suddenly noticing her sister's complexion: "Lizzy, you are as pale as a dead body."
"Thank you, Kitty, I am quite well."
"If you say so. I was thinking of going to Meryton. Do you want to come with me?" And she started to chat about Aunt Philips and ribbons and how she did not care at all that Lydia was in Brighton with all those officers.
But Elizabeth was already reading the letter again, just to make sure she had not imagined anything. She folded it with great care and put it in her pocket. Then, she started to walk.
"I have found this very old bonnet," Kitty kept chattering, "but it could be saved with a couple of purple flowers and some nice ribbons and— Lizzy, where are you going? Lizzy! I know I'm your least favourite sister, but you can't just walk out on me like that!"
Elizabeth found herself, the following day, in front of Darcy House. She had to insist with the footman that had answered the door to call for the butler and with the butler to call for Miss Darcy, as she had matters of extreme urgency to discuss with her.
The butler had just let her into the foyer, as he did not want to have a strange woman with twigs in her hair wandering out the front door for the all neighbourhood to see, when they both saw Mr Darcy casually going down the stairs.
"Mr Darcy!"
He froze in his tracks and looked at her, the business documents he was going to retrieve from his study thrown completely out of his mind. "…Miss Bennet?"
Elizabeth ran towards him but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "I don't understand. What— what are you doing here? You should be in bed, victim of hallucinating crisis."
"I am… not?"
"But, the letter said—"
Darcy could not care less about the letter. He wondered if he had finally gone mad or if the figure in front of him really was his Elizabeth in the flesh. He stared at her, suspended between disbelief and fear that this would all reveal to be yet another cruel vision of her.
The butler interrupted their staring at each other. "Mr Darcy, sir, this woman insists that she was invited by Miss Darcy. I tried to make her leave, but she would not budge. Shall I send for the watchman?"
"You will do no such thing! Miss Bennet is my guest and she will stay for as long as it pleases her."
Well, thought the haughty butler leaving the foyer. The master could certainly do better in his choice of a mistress.
Darcy realized that he had instinctively grabbed Elizabeth's elbow at the butler's mild threats. She was warm to the touch. He took his courage in both hands and let go. Elizabeth did not dissolve into the air and disappear but looked at him with a befuddled expression. Her eyes were just as fine as he remembered and with that peculiar brilliancy that he had never been able to conjure just right in his dreams.
"Miss Bennet, please tell me," he asked a little heatedly, "how come you are here? Are you in need of help? Has something happened at Longbourn?"
She blinked, even more befuddled. "No, why do you ask?"
"Your appearance makes me think of… a hasty departure."
Elizabeth looked down at herself and found that her gown was filthy. Her hair was probably dishevelled too. She had not thought of it until that moment.
"Miss Bennet, I repeat myself but, are you in need of assistance?"
Elizabeth reddened and took a step back. "Mr Darcy, I am the one who should be asking that. The last I heard of you, you were on your deathbed."
"Deathbed? Whoever told you that?"
"Your sister! She sent me a letter."
Darcy frowned. "Miss Bennet, I have been in excellent health, ever since our last encounter two months ago."
Elizabeth reddened even more. "You… have? But— Then, what…?"
Sensing her distress and confusion, he offered: "Would you like to refresh yourself? I will order tea in the drawing-room and wait for you."
Once they were both settled with tea and biscuits and the servants had been sent away, Elizabeth showed Mr Darcy the letter. He read it silently for a while.
"Miss Bennet, this is certainly my sister's handwriting and signature, but I have never found myself half near the state she describes." Elizabeth, who had not been very forthcoming ever since coming back from upstairs, only nodded. Darcy looked at the letter again. "But I can not imagine what she could mean by it. Its content is clear, but it does not justify…"
Suddenly, a precise suspect tickled his mind with cruelty, making him twitch in the seat, the mysterious origin of the letter completely forgotten.
No, it could not be. It simply could not be. But it was the only possible explanation for her being there in his house.
Mr Darcy gulped and folded the letter with shaky hands. He took a sip of his tea and asked in a low voice: "Miss Bennet, how did you arrive here? Where are your companions?"
He was met by a blank stare. Darcy reiterated the question. "Did your father accompany you? Are you staying with your uncle in Cheapside?
Again, Elizabeth stayed silent, but her confused expression slowly left the place to a petrified one. Her empty cup of tea trembled in her hands. She stared at Mr Darcy without seeing him.
"Miss Bennet, what is the matter?"
Miss Bennet pressed a hand to her mouth and let out a single sob. Before Darcy could do anything, she sprang, letting go of the cup of tea, which crashed to the floor. "Oh, wretched, wretched mistake! What was I thinking?"
Fearing Elizabeth would faint and fall on the ceramic pieces now scattered on the floor, Darcy was quick to grab her arms and steady her.
"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling than politeness; then recollecting himself, "Dear madam, I assure you, the letter was perfectly believable. I would have been fooled too." He hesitated. "You have been more than generous to come—"
She shook her head, letting out another panicked sob. "You do not understand!" Elizabeth clenched his arm. "I had no companions! I left without saying anything to anyone. I did not even have a penny on me."
Darcy's surprise was great. "But then, how did you come to be here?"
"I pawned my grandmother's silver cross to pay for the coaches. It was not even enough to get to London. I walked half of the way here by myself. I had to sleep in the forest because I had no money left for an inn. In the forest! What was I thinking?"
"Elizabeth…"
"My parents have no idea of where I am. They will have organized a search party by now. My father must be dying of fear, and Jane!"
"Elizabeth—"
"My reputation will be in tatters. I did not even stop by my uncle's house, I simply came here. What was I thinking?"
"Elizabeth! Dearest, can you please— just give me your attention for a moment."
Elizabeth stopped talking and fixed her gaze on him, her erratic feelings quieting down. He was closer than she had realized and she could not help holding her breath, waiting for him to continue.
Darcy had not thought of what to say after that, so he tried to gain some time by nudging her to sit back on the settee. After a moment's deliberation, he sat with her.
He gently freed his arm from her grip and held her hand in his.
"Miss Bennet. The— the situation you describe is very serious indeed—" He began to say when a maid entered the room to clear the tea table. She widened her eyes seeing the teacup shattered on the floor and the master in the company of a crying lady, and in such close proximity!
"Not now, Martha, please." Barked Mr Darcy and the maid scurried back out of the room, running to relate everything to Mrs Hughes.
Alone again, Darcy saw no use in starting a new preamble. He grabbed both of her hands. "Miss Bennet. If the behaviour you have just described was motivated purely by Christian charity towards a dying man, say so now. Send me away at once, if I must go, and I will help you in any way I can to come out of this unscathed. But if — I have presumed once, I will not repeat the same mistake — if there is even a possibility that you were led by something else, a different feeling—! My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever."
He stayed there, in anxious anticipation of her answer. She was silent for some moments, her eyes wide but filled with an unreadable expression of wonder.
At last, she returned his grip and, keeping her eyes on their intertwined hands, breathed: "I was not thinking. I could not, after receiving that letter. I was so afraid you would die before I arrived. You can not imagine my relief when I saw your footman was not in mourning."
"You can not imagine my relief now."
His voice was thick with emotion and when Elizabeth finally raised her gaze, she found that Mr Darcy was looking at her with such a loving expression, that she could not avoid blushing and lowering her gaze again.
"Oh, I must look a fright!" She blabbered. "Certainly worse than those six-inches-deep in mud petticoats I once sported at Netherfield."
He chuckled.
"What?"
"I was just thinking, at the time I could have never imagined I would one day be the recipient of the same care you showed for your sister." Elizabeth looked puzzled so he explained further, smiling. "When you received news of her being unwell and of my being on my deathbed, you reacted in the same way and did what you do best. You started walking toward the people you love."
What could have followed such passionate declarations can easily be imagined. Unfortunately for our heroes, Mrs Hughes chose that moment to burst through the door, determined not to allow her master to disrespect any woman under her roof.
Mrs Hughes was thus the first person Darcy was exceedingly happy to introduce Elizabeth to as his future, if at the moment slightly embarrassed, wife.
Darcy personally accompanied Elizabeth to Gracechurch Street, where they were met by both Gardiners. Once explained their misadventure (leaving out the night spent in the forest), they quickly agreed on a story of Elizabeth being suddenly summoned by her aunt to London for some trifling reason. An express was sent to Longbourn, where Mr Bennet and Jane had already reorganized the whole militia in a search party.
We could spend rivers of ink talking about the happy couple's happy future, but there are already too many tales dedicated to singing that melody, so we will limit ourselves to relating the true origin of the letter.
Georgiana had much to say on the matter.
"My dear brother. I was so worried after you first came back from Rosings, because you did drink to excess every night and act in an erratic way. Well, I noticed that, while imbibed, you would get very chatty and then forget all about it in the morning. So I took advantage of it and simply asked you what was afflicting you at the first favourable opportunity. You were, again, very talkative. It was obvious that something needed to be done to help you out of your sad state, so I decided to write to Elizabeth, thinking that her answer would help me determine what was best to do. How could I have ever imagined that she would have walked all the way here in a frenzy? Oh, Fitzwilliam, how she must love you!"
Fitzwilliam only smiled but resumed his scowling countenance when Georgiana started to giggle at him. "There may have been happy consequences to your actions, dear sister, but this does not condone you from meddling in someone else's affairs."
Georgiana huffed. "Oh, just as you did with Jane and Mr Bingley?"
Fitzwilliam coloured. "Just how much did I tell you in my altered state, Georgie?"
"Everything, brother. Yes, even about your proposal. I still can not believe you thought such a wretched declaration would win you Elizabeth's hand. It should be common knowledge that a woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked, or because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter. Oh, if only you had followed my reading suggestions, you would have known that. Think, Fitzwilliam: if only you had not been so averse to novels! If only you had paid attention to Evelina or Cecilia, or even Pamela! Then you would have known how not to propose and there would have been no reason for me to meddle."
"Or a story to tell at all." Would Elizabeth add after her betrothed had recounted the conversation to her. "But, dear me, I fear she is right and we will have to declare her not only the wisest of us all but also the best of sisters. I only pray Jane can forgive me my disloyalty."
And as Jane was herself on the way to reconciliation with a certain Mr Bingley thanks to another example of Georgiana's interference, she found that she did not mind at all.