Work Text:
Clandestine Correspondence
Wednesday, the 8th of April, 1812
Hunsford, Kent.
Elizabeth Bennet stormed towards Parsonage; her boots aggressively beating along the trail, as if the very ground of Hunsford had offended her. When Mr Darcy had given her his missive, she had by no means expected it to bring her pleasure, but neither had she expected it to have wrought so many conflicting emotions upon her soul. Elizabeth splashed heavily through a puddle; muddy water bespattered her pelisse right up to the waistline. Such occurrences usually brought a smirk to her face, reminding her of how aghast the Netherfield party had been with her appearance when she had arrived on foot to care for Jane. Today though, she could find no amusement in this remembrance. No, instead she could only look back at her conduct the previous Autumn with embarrassment.
Embarrassment that she, who prided herself on being a studier of character, had been taken in by that smiling cad Mr Wickhams story. Her mortification had only deepened as she realised that it was her own wounded pride that had prompted her to accept the reprobate's tale of woe so easily; for who does not wish to believe that a man who insulted your before you were ever properly introduced was uniform in his disapprobation? She had sat in the grove for upwards of an hour reflecting on how blind she had been and grateful that Mr Darcy had confided in her the truth of the matter.
This gratefulness, however, soon turned to anger. The entire village of Meryton were blissfully unaware of Mr Wickham’s dissolute character. The rake was received into their homes, welcomed by the local businesses. How many maidens had he seduced? How much debt had he accrued with the merchants? And Mr Darcy had stood by silently and allowed this to happen.
Elizabeth scoffed as she swung open the gate, the high-pitched screech of the metal in tandem with her own inner turmoil. Mr Darcy had not seen fit to offer assistance then, but he apparently had no scruples in interfering in Jane and Mr Bingley’s courtship. Elizabeth headed straight for her room, unable to quell her surging outrage. Throwing her bonnet upon the bed, she reached down and tugged her walking boots from her feet, lobbing them across the floor. From the pocket in her pelisse, she retrieved the hateful letter before the garment too was heaped upon the floor.
She paced back and forth, rereading the portion of the note in which Mr Darcy had waxed eloquently on his nefarious deeds.
“It was done however and done for the best. - on this subject I have no other apology to offer.” Elizabeth mocked, reading aloud in a haughty monotone that she fancied was an accurate impersonation of the taciturn man. “I have not yet learned to condemn my actions.”
It was his sign off that irked her the most, “I will only add, God bless you,” she seethed. Who did that pompous man think he was? To send her such a letter and then flee the county ensuring he had the last word!
No, this would not stand. Propriety be damned; she would have her chance to say her piece. A frightening calm ascended over Elizabeth, her course of action now clear. Sharpening her quill with ruthless precision, she pulled forth her parchment and began to write.
Friday, the 10th of April, 1812
Darcy House, London.
Fitzwilliam Darcy groaned, rubbing his hands across his weary face. He pushed back from his desk and the mounting piles of business matters upon it and made his way to the sideboard, pouring a generous helping of port from the decanter. He had been in his study for over four hours, and he had not yet attended a single task. Each time he picked up a letter, his thoughts strayed to the missive he had handed Elizabeth that day in the grove. Had she read the letter? What did she think of him now?
Darcy cringed at the thought. Initially he had been pleased with the contents of his note, in finally having the last word against the witty and contrary Miss Bennet. He had laid bare all the facts intending that she be humiliated when he exposed the truth of her favourite and how he, Darcy, had out-maneuvered the Bennet family’s efforts to ensnare his friend. But now that some time had passed and his righteous anger had cooled, he could not stomach the self-satisfied tone and regretted - if not the sentiments themselves - then how he had expressed them.
His musings were broken by a knock on the door, signifying Haslett, the butler, bringing yet another batch of post. Darcy sighed and settled himself behind his desk before bidding Haslett to enter. Darcy’s curiosity was immediately peaked by the agitated manner of his usually stoic butler.
“Sir,” Haslett moved to stand before the desk. “The post has arrived for the day.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow as Haslett sat all but one letter upon the desk. “Yes?”
“There is one other letter sir.” Haslett shifted from foot to foot before spluttering out, “It is, that it seems – it is quite unusual in that-”
“It is what Haslett?” Darcy replied.
“The letter sir.” Haslett laid it gingerly before Darcy and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It appears to be written in a female hand, not one that I recognise. Nor does it appear to have any direction of the sender included.”
Darcy’s eyebrows rose to his hairline at this tidbit. “Indeed?”
“Do you wish for me to dispose of it sir?”
Darcy glanced at the letter. “No, I think I shall open it,” he mused aloud.
When he brought his gaze back up to meet his butler, he was met with a scandalised expression before Haslett managed to school his features. Darcy scoffed inwardly, no doubt poor Haslett now thought he was carrying out some clandestine affair. He did not dwell on that thought though, as the pull of the mystery missive was growing. Waving a hand in dismissal, he picked up the letter, examining the handwriting which was indeed unfamiliar. Once the door clicked home behind Haslett, Darcy wasted no time in flipping the letter over and breaking the seal.
8th April, 1812,
Sir,
I would like to begin this letter by expressing my sorrow for having egregiously believed the tales of that man based on nothing more than my own wounded pride. I should not have allowed my own prejudice against you to blind me to the willful presumption of a relative stranger confiding such shocking information after so short of an acquaintance. I am ashamed of my conduct towards you in this regard and can only offer my humblest apologies.
There are some things that cannot be said in a letter – lest it go astray – but please know that growing up with several ladies, that their hearts are more resilient than one would think. Time heals a multitude of hurt and having a loving support network is surely the best remedy for troubled souls.
Darcy inhaled sharply in surprise; his heart rate spiking as blood roared through his ears. Elizabeth had replied to his letter, and what is more, she had apologised for her part in believing Wickhams falsehoods. He had not meant for her to feel ashamed, indeed, several others had also been blinded by his charming facade, his own father included. Yet through all that she still managed to convey her compassion for Georgiana. Guilt twisted his stomach and swallowing thickly; he continued to read.
I, however, cannot reconcile the thought that a man such as yourself would allow such a cad to roam freely amongst unsuspecting citizens. I do understand that fear of exposure may have silenced your voice, but you cannot expect me to believe that there was no other course of action? That the local populace could not have been warned of the nature of the regiment as a whole? That a few words in the right ears would have kept the livelihood and the virtue of the denizens of the village safe from such evil.
You alluded to the man's unscrupulous habits in your missive – surely such a man would have accrued a vast sum in debts? Debts which could have been used to see the man taken off the streets and placed in a debtor's prison where he could not harm anyone else. Did you know he has since attached himself to a local heiress? You are allowing history to repeat itself, except this girl's family are unaware of the nature of the beast courting their daughter. I shall say nothing more on this subject but to add how utterly disappointed I am that you have not seen justice done.
In terms of the other matter, namely the separation of two good and kind souls, I cannot forgive you for your interference. You congratulate yourself in deciding their fate based on nothing more than a depth of regard you could not perceive. May I point out to you sir, that you yourself do not have an open and expressive countenance, yet you would punish another for displaying the same reserve.
In terms of the decorum displayed by the family in question I would caution you that those in glass houses should not throw stones. Every family has a relative whose behavior is blush worthy. The only real difference here is that wealth buys acceptance of these breaches in etiquette, allowing them to be labeled as eccentricities.
You once said disguise of every sort is abhorrent to you, yet you purposefully colluded with others to conceal information from your friend. How can such a action possibly be ‘for the best’ as you stated? If anything, it is a betrayal of your friendship. How can one be expected to trust you when you perpetrate such deceptions?
You have not learned to condemn your actions? Well, allow me to do so for you now.
It is ungentlemanly to state a lady ‘is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt you’ within their hearing.
It is ungentlemanly to refuse to take part in the local entertainments such as dancing at assemblies - where gentlemen are scarce due to the vast majority being gone to defend king and country in the war.
It is ungentlemanly to sit in company and ignore all around you.
It is ungentlemanly to turn a blind eye to a cad in our midst, leaving everyone unprotected.
It is ungentlemanly to sneak away like thieves in the night without taking your leave of your neighbours.
It is ungentlemanly to separate a couple based upon your dislike of the lady’s circumstances.
It is ungentlemanly to deceive and hide information from your friend.
It is ungentlemanly to advise someone you like them against your better reasoning and character.
It is ungentlemanly to tell that person that they would be a degradation to your name.
It is ungentlemanly to lay such information as was in your missive bare, yet not leave room for the other party to reply.
I shall only add, God bless you.
E.B.
Darcy sat stunned; he could not deny any of the charges she had so deftly laid at his feet. It was now his turn to feel ashamed of his conduct. Is it any wonder that Elizabeth would not have him? Her letter seemed to hold a mirror up to his soul and the reflection was not one of a man he could respect. Elizabeth Bennet was the only person who had dared to call him out on his behaviour and he would forever be grateful.
He would change; he would become a better man. A man deserving of Elizabeth. He would attend to every reproof and then he would set about winning her regard. With single minded focus, Darcy pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from the stack on his desk and set about composing his reply.