“Well, I shall just have to gather my courage and give my man another chance, do you not agree?” he asked his horse as he gave its neck a soft pat. “We shall just have to make sure all of the windows are shut tight first this time.”

And the thought of an annoying buzz reminded him that he would need to stop in at Rosefarm today, since it was the first day that Darcy would not be able to look in on Miss Bennet for himself, having left promptly yesterday morning. The visit an imperative. No way around it that he could see. Not that he wished to avoid it. Not at all! He had promised to do it and he liked chatting with Mrs. Tournier well enough, but there was the unpleasant fact that he had not had to speak to Miss Tournier since that unfortunate incident last Sunday, and that was certainly inducement enough to make him plan the timing of his visits carefully. Of course his sworn mission would not allow him to avoid her all together, but one can still plot to put some things off as long as possible. This first visit would be a morning call, of course, when hopefully she would already be at Clyne.

With no small amount of relief, he reflected on how it seemed his library was almost in order, and according to Mrs. McLaughlin’s last report it would only be a matter of days before he could call it completely his own again.

Of course his trepidation also stemmed from his most ridiculous behaviour towards Miss Bennet. What must she think of him after his remarks to her, purposefully aimed to make her think Darcy fancied the company of other women? He had been a right arse when he uttered that bit of well-meaning mischief. In hindsight would she attribute his words to have been well-meant or might she rather see it from the standpoint of his attempting to cause mischief, and rather malicious mischief at that? Or worse yet, that he was an uncaring and heartless oaf? Her perception of that event and the emotional aftermath caused by it would make quite a difference in how she might receive him now.

This thought finally brought home the full implications of the repair work that truly lay ahead of him. He did not simply need to redeem himself in Darcy’s eyes, as had been his previous goal, he would also need to make a recovery with her as well. If he wanted a continuing, comfortable relationship with his friend, it would be much easier if he could win over the woman who might very well one day become Darcy’s wife.

It was while he was occupied with such worries that he spied a lady walking on a path between two fields. He realised with a start that it was Miss Bennet. Turning his horse in that direction, he set off to meet her.

He approached feeling uncommonly awkward and shy. He had been an utter fool, which was not so unusual a thing in and of itself, but the fact that she knew it was what complicated matters. It was not so easy to begin anew in such circumstances, but he would make the attempt and hope she would forgive him his ridiculous follies.

He dismounted, bowed slightly and tentatively began, “Ah, Miss Bennet, happily met.”

This brief greeting was returned, and then his mouth suddenly proceeded to force his tongue to participate in rattling off a long, mundane and meaningless series of words, strung together chiefly to fill the uncomfortable void that he now imagined lay between them. Wisdom did not intervene and allow him to stop his silly banter for quite some time, until at last, he finally noted the corners of her mouth straining to keep her small smile from turning into a wide grin, which invariably would become full-bodied laughter if he kept up this silly chatter much longer – not even letting her get a word in edgeways.

At this realization, he produced a grin himself to rival the one she was so valiantly holding back. She instantly returned it, sunshine beaming from within, and their eyes met. The two shared a rare and unique moment of insight; a clarity of understanding that one seldom experiences with another human being, where much is conveyed without the use of words. He stared in awed wonder and suddenly realised that he sincerely wanted to gain her friendship, not because it would make things easier with Darcy, but because he desired it for himself. He felt an odd, unfamiliar, and yet not unwelcome freedom to say more than he would have under other circumstances.

“I behaved in such a silly manner, I know, and I am not speaking of my ramblings of a moment ago, as you most likely know, although that was quite a silly performance as well. I would just wish you to understand that I have learnt my lesson. I shall endeavour to keep my tongue under much better regulation in future, at least until I have all of the facts necessary to form coherent and helpful sentences.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

She held his gaze as she firmly answered, “Yes. I had thought it was possible before, but now I am certain of it.”

“Thank goodness!” he sighed. “I would very much enjoy the opportunity to know you better.”

Darcy was familiar with travelling. Since his earliest years he had travelled long and often. The inns, posts, horses and carriages were just routine. He was accustomed to occupying his time with reading, using the daylight and free time to its best advantage. However, this time his journey seemed annoyingly long, the inns dirtier than usual, the sheets and dishes packed by his men inadequate, and there were no posts on the road with decent horses. The books he had brought along held no interest to him, and more and more frequently he caught himself looking out of the window at some distant point without any recollection of the words he had recently read.

His men tried to put up with him calmly, whispering behind his back that they had not seen their master in such bad spirits for a long time, while Darcy wondered whether the springs in his carriage would allow for enough comfort for his soon-to-be bride on the repeat journey.

Darcy, well aware of the true reason for his vexation, decided to shorten the travelling time as much as possible. They rode as long as daylight allowed, stopping only to change horses, but not for meals at all. Instead, they sustained themselves between breakfasts and dinners with the provision they had brought along.

But the lonely nights were even worse. Enwrapped by darkness outside, trapped in his inaction, he was left to his thoughts. At first he dreaded the anxiety of his own lack of confidence, but the small token Elizabeth had given him was a reminder of her words. His appreciation of her grew even more with his trust in her.

Yet he felt the mere lack of her company acutely. He could now see how quickly he had accustomed himself to her presence by his side. There were still so many things they needed to plan and discuss, but even more he simply missed her.

His appetite was lacking as well, and after sustaining himself with just a light supper he looked gloomily around the strange room. He could not send a letter to her, but he could write. He reached for his writing materials and a candle.

Elizabeth, the only solace of my heart!

I can see you smile, Madam, at the pathetic opening of my letter, but tease me as you wish. I miss you and therefore refuse to keep the mien of restraint when all I long for is the mentioned tease.

I have journeyed two thirds of the way so far, and the further away from you I travel the closer to my thoughts you become. I have so many new questions to ask of you that I wonder if you are able to bear the inquisition that I am afraid must take a lifetime now.

Above all, however, I must share my feelings with you. I will not attempt to conceal from you that I feared the separation. My love and trust in you are firm, but as they are also only recently reciprocated my knowledge of them is not as well established, as I am sure it will be in the future. Together with knowledge affirmation comes, therefore I hope it will not take you by surprise that it is affirmation I needed most.

I must tell you, then, that even though I could not love you more, I admire you more with every new day. Your understanding of me, your openness and generosity to my lack of confidence, instilled in me an even more powerful certainty than the profession of your feelings, the expression of which I am sure I could never tire of as well.

Your attitude speaks of a love that is not feeble, shy, or youthful. Your love for me is all that is mature, loyal and brave. Your understanding, your willingness to surrender a part of yourself for my own comfort is the greatest gift I might ever wish for. I promise that my love for you will never be less. With you at my side – as my wife, my mistress and my friend – I am certain of a union worth every sacrifice.

I did not always understand that. When I met you, although drawn to you from almost the very beginning of our acquaintance, I was too attached to the popular idea of marriage to see the material truth. Having the union of my own parents as the prime example, I could not see that the bond between two people should be so much more than social convenience. I have always imagined that there would be mutual affection in my marriage, but only by meeting you and knowing you better have I come to understand the vital importance of joining together with someone who completes me in every way.

Elizabeth, I could never praise your wit, charms and beauty enough, but when I miss you I miss my friend.

Sleep well, my love!

Fitzwilliam.

Lizzy sat at the piano, softly playing. She did not engage in the activity to entertain the others, but rather to distract her own mind and mixed emotions. After all, what she played did not seem to matter to the other three in the room, for they offered no requests or protests to her choices, nor did her aunt or Holly seem to notice that she was even there at all, so she picked pieces that suited her own sensibilities while studiously avoiding Monsieur Vian’s all too frequent gaze cast her way. The Frenchman was making his first excursion from his sickbed this evening and was now being dutifully attended to by Mrs. Tournier and her daughter across the parlour from her. Elizabeth softly sighed and stopped herself from visibly shaking her head in utter frustration at his continued persistence.

While it had not been easy living in this house for some time now, it had definitely become harder after Mr. Darcy’s departure four days ago. Before, at least, she had had a few stolen moments with him to look forward to, the precious hours that had made the utter loneliness and rejection she felt at Rosefarm somehow more bearable. A simple breakfast while cradled in his arms had been enough to allow her the strength to carry on for the rest of the day, to feel that she could withstand anything. Now she was lost, a ship without an anchor, a hammer without a nail, and she wondered how she had ever managed before, without him.

The daily visits from Lord Brougham did help a little to break the monotony and gave some small relief to the unspoken strife that existed between herself and her relations. He was a kind man and did his best to entertain her, but he was not Fitzwilliam. It was not the same. Still, his visits were a comfort, but their sudden increased frequency had brought along a complication as well. Holly, for one, could not bear them and had spent the last few nights, before sleep would claim her, speculating about Lord Brougham’s intent. Her cousin was sure that he was only coming to personally punish her for her impulsive action after church last Sunday by blatantly making her face him day after day. She would complain that the man purposely spoke to everyone but her whenever possible, thereby performing his version of a public shunning in order to embarrass her. Holly was certain that everyone must notice his treatment of her, and she was humiliated beyond her ability to express it, yet she gave it her best effort all the same. The fact that Lizzy would not readily agree with that analysis of his behaviour, but instead tried to offer reasonable alternatives to such a fanciful idea, only worked to increase the distance already growing between the two women.

Elizabeth’s fingers stalled on the keys for a moment and she wondered briefly why she has stopped playing until she realised the problem lay in the fact that she had reached the end of the page and needed to turn it in order to continue.

“Concentrate,” she whispered to herself under her breath.

Looking up to see if anyone else had noticed the lapse, she saw that both Holly and Monsieur Vian were engrossed in a story her aunt was telling of a past adventure with her deceased husband. Lizzy attempted to follow it instead of playing, for their happy chatter was inducement enough to wish to be a part of it, but she soon lost the thread of the tale when she realised it was one her aunt had told many times before.

She let her thoughts drift where they would once more as she searched through the sheet music. It was growing dark outside and she could not keep from wondering how close to Longbourn Mr. Darcy now was. Had he arrived at Netherfield yet? She missed him and in his honour played a selection by Purcell that was among those he had brought for her from London.

Memories soon brought Burns to mind and, smiling to herself, she launched into the tune of “Comin' Thro' the Rye”, which recalled visions of sirens in a river and his laughter.

As she finished playing the first verse she looked up and noticed Monsieur Vian making his slow and careful way to the piano, his progress watched attentively by Mrs. Tournier who remained seated in her chair near Holly.

Once the song was finished, she began to softly play another Purcell tune and stared determinedly over to where he now sat comfortably in a chair next to the instrument, her look daring him to speak.

“It was quite an unexpected choice of songs you have been playing tonight, Miss Bennet. Especially the Burns’s song among Purcell’s. May I ask which of the two is your favourite?”

“I must say I like them all, but perhaps the one by Burns was a bit more lively and a little more endearing to me at present, as it has many things associated with it in my mind. Tell me, which did you enjoy more?”

Vian’s smile was slight.

“I enjoyed the piece by Burns very much, but I am not sure if it is for the same reasons as you yourself would choose it. May I ask what is associated with the song in your mind?”

Undaunted, she replied, “You may, Sir. It is Scotland itself and all that has come to me here that it brings to mind. May I ask why you preferred it to Purcell?

“I think that that song better mirrors your spirits.”

“Perhaps it does,” she smiled. “I have not spoken to you very much of late, Monsieur, due to your recovering from your injuries. May I enquire as to your health? Are you well?”

He smiled, “Yes, I am recovering nicely, thank you. May I enquire about yourself?”

“I am very well. I thank you for asking.”

She played a little before adding, “You know I often ponder how things do not always seem as they first appear. For instance, Purcell and Burns do not seem to be at all related in tone, and yet they both remind me of Scotland and seem to go together quite well in my opinion. Do you ever wonder about such things?”

Vian looked at her, a bit confused. “I am not sure of your meaning.”

Emboldened by she knew not what, utter frustration perhaps, she pressed on. “Only that something might seem one way to one person while being quite something else in reality. For example, it might appear that one thinks one sees something, say on a sunny day in a clearing by the river, that really is not what it appears, but by not knowing the full situation, nor staying to see more, one may assume it is something it is not.”

She finished that song and began to quietly play another.

“Is my meaning any clearer to you now, Sir?”

“Yes, it is,” Vian murmured. “But then it may be unwise to assume things at all, for then we would not be privileged to have any thoughts in general, only the bare facts. Where would science be today if that was our way of thinking?”

It seemed a rhetorical question, so Elizabeth only smiled.

After a pause, Vian proceeded. “However, it is also possible that one does not see too much, but that the object has shown much more than it was meaning to. Sometimes people know more about us than we know about ourselves.”

Her brow wrinkled slightly as she considered his words.

“I agree with your point. In many cases that may be so. I myself have been told that I often seem to say one thing when I think I am conveying something entirely to the contrary. I would not necessarily agree that it means that others know more about me than I do though. However, it is quite possible in such cases that the other party might be thinking wishfully. Perhaps their own expectations or wants get in the way of their understanding the true meaning?”

“Of course, it is possible. However, we do not convey our meaning only through our words. Sometimes, a smile or a look reveal much more.”

“That is also true, Monsieur, and I should have clarified my meaning, but what I declared still stands as my opinion regardless of whether one is referring to words or to actions.”

“If that is true, then you can be in no doubt about the extraordinary impression you make on men. And then I must be mistaken, because I thought you unaware of it.”

Lizzy blushed. She could not help herself. She was unsure how to answer him and so took a few moments to compose herself by playing an aimless tune. Finally looking up, she spoke as steadily as she could manage under the circumstances.

“I did not understand this previously, I will admit. It was only very recently that it was made known to me. I assure you that I will take care to govern my behaviour in future.”

“I am not certain that it is in your power, Miss Bennet. You see, your disposition seems to be exactly what every man would wish from a woman. It may be too tempting not to mistake your spirit for your feelings.”

He paused and looked in the direction of the door, as voices from the hallway seemed to announce the arrival of a guest.

“I am surprised that Mr. Darcy, being so fortunate as to have obtained your… good opinion, does not wish to declare himself. But those English gentlemen can be very haughty. He is probably torn between reasonable objections and his own passion.”

The door opened at that moment and Lord Brougham entered the room.

Vian turned a critical eye to her and quietly asked, “Pray, where is Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet? Did he abandon the neighbourhood?”

She smiled now and could not restrain it from widening into a grin before answering, “He has in fact abandoned the neighbourhood, temporarily at least. He has gone for a short stay with a friend of his. He will be returning soon.”

“London then?” he assumed.

“I do not think so.”

“You do not know where he went then? Only that he has left to visit a friend?”

“Where Mr. Darcy travels is his own concern, Monsieur. I would not presume to make his affairs a topic for general speculation and gossip. Would you wish to be spoken of in such a manner?”

Noting that her response seemed to put him into a contemplative state of mind – most likely her revelation that Mr. Darcy would be returning had been the cause – she cocked her head and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Could it be that you suddenly discover you do not read all situations or people as well as you might have thought, Monsieur?”

“Not at all, Miss Bennet. I was simply pondering the ability that women have to pick and choose an interpretation of events that is most satisfying to them. Some ladies trust far too easily.”

She took a few moments to finish the song she was playing, thinking all the while how this man had got it all wrong once again, and then folded up the music sheet. When she looked up again she was startled by the intensity of his gaze.

“Monsieur Vian, perhaps we should join the others and help welcome our new guest.”

Turning away, she walked over to greet Lord Brougham, who was busy sending the Frenchman a rather speculative and menacing look.

Once Darcy reached the borders of Hertfordshire, he left his carriage and mounted a horse. It was getting dark when he reached Netherfield, but he found that Bingley had delayed dinner in anticipation of his arrival.

Darcy did not dally with changing his clothing and, after sending Mrs. Tournier’s letter to her brother, joined his friend in the dining room. The dinner was spent on small talk about Darcy’s journey and Bingley’s reflections about the neighbourhood, but when the gentlemen moved to the seclusion of Bingley’s study, a bottle of brandy was opened and toasts were made to the happiness of the two most beloved sisters in England.

Bingley beamed, as Darcy expected he would, but Darcy felt happier. He sat down, sipped his brandy, and allowed the effects of the journey to slowly overtake him while being entertained by his friend’s unassuming talk.

“So tell me about you and Elizabeth.” Bingley leaned back in his chair.

Darcy’s lips curled into a hint of a smile. “What would you like to know?”

“We are both very happy for you, but Jane’s amazement at her sister’s news was as great as my own.”

“I assume such a reaction is to be expected.” Darcy stared at his glass. “I have been in love with her ever since I met her here last year, and she has reciprocated my feelings for some time now.”

Bingley smiled. “You know, Darcy, your secretiveness is perhaps not as surprising as hers, but what I wonder at in all of this is how it happened that the two of you managed to come to an understanding at all with your mutual reluctance to show your feelings.”

“Worry not. She is very bright.”

“You mean to say that I am not?”

Darcy laughed softly, but did not protest. “There is a major difference between the two of you, Bingley. I wanted her to know my feelings.”

Bingley looked at his laconic friend in wonder. There seemed to be no change in him, the demure countenance as it always was, the manner of speaking as natural as if nothing of import had happened in his life.

“Then you do love her?” He finally uttered, as if his source of information might be at fault.

“I am crazy for her,” Darcy’s voice was low when he looked out of the window. “She is…She is everything that matters”

“You do not look overjoyed.”

“I miss her,” Darcy sighed and turned to his friend. “And I worry about her. I left her alone many miles away. It will be days before I see her again. She might need me in the meantime and I will not be there.”

“Oh come now, Darcy,” Bingley smiled. “She is not a child. You used to leave your sister alone for much longer periods of time.”

“As dear as my sister is to me she is not the most important woman in my life, Bingley, and I never left her in a place I did not want her to be. This is different.”

“Well, for a man who does not jump up to the ceiling with joy you seem quite taken, but I do not see any reason for you to be anxious. What could possibly happen to her at her aunt’s?”

“I do not know.” Darcy seemed even more worried by the answer he gave.

Bingley looked at him, concerned.

“Surely you do not think Elizabeth’s regard unsteady?”

“No, indeed, I am in no doubt about her feelings. I just cannot help worrying, even if, as you say, it may be unfounded.”

Bingley laughed. “Oh, then you just have it harder than I thought. I would love to see the two of you together.”

“You will. Soon I hope. I want to bring her to Hertfordshire as soon as I can.”

“And even more eager to take her home.”

“Yes.” Darcy smiled.

“Well, perhaps you would like a double wedding then?” Bingley looked at his friend expectantly, although suspecting in advance that he would appreciate the offer.

Darcy’s eyes brightened. “I would like that very much. Especially since the alternative is that Mrs. Bennet would likely make us wait through long preparations. When is yours?”

“On the fourteenth of November.” Bingley grinned.

“Very well. I hope Elizabeth will not object. I still need Mr. Bennet’s consent however.”

“Do you think he might object?”

“I do not know. You were surprised, why should he not be as well?”

“Right. But I do not think you will find an opponent in him. He was very easy on me, considering that I left Hertfordshire and his daughter for such a long period of time.”

Darcy looked uncomfortable. “And what about Miss Bennet? Will she not object?”

“Jane? We have already discussed the possibility. I told you that she is overjoyed with the news.”

Darcy’s voice became serious. “I need to speak with her.”

Bingley looked at him, aware of his concern. “It is up to you, Darcy. I have not told her anything.”

“Considering that she is Elizabeth’s closest sister, and your future wife I think I owe her the truth. I would not like to be the cause of any discomfort between the four of us.”

“Did Elizabeth advise you to do it?”

“She did not, and I am certain she would keep my secret, but I do not think it fair in this case.”

“Very well.” Bingley sighed. “Just be careful. I do not want some past incident to taint my future with her.”

“I understand.” Darcy nodded and rose to leave. “I should get a good night’s sleep. The journey was taxing.”

Three miles away, Mr. Bennet sat sipping a brandy and reading one of his favourite books when he was interrupted by a knock, which was followed immediately by the frantic, high pitched voice of his wife, somewhat muffled by the thickness of his study door.

“Mr. Bennet. There is a messenger just arrived!”

Normally she did not enter his private domain without first knocking and waiting for a reply, but that was all the courtesy he was to expect this evening in her frantic state, as the door burst open before he could bid entry and she bustled in, a timid young footman at her heels.

“Mr. Bennet, he would not put it into anyone’s hands but your own!” she cried indignantly. “As if our own servants could not be trusted, or even Mrs. Bennet herself!”

He looked at the boy enquiringly.

“Mr. Darcy said to deliver the letter to Mr. Bennet, Sir,” he explained quickly. “I assumed that meant directly to you, Sir.”

He took the envelope and dismissed the messenger while his wife began to rattle off speculations about what could be the meaning of it all.

“Mr. Darcy? What ever could he want? That boy was from Netherfield, you know. Has something happened to Mr. Bingley? He seemed fine this afternoon when he was here, but what if he has taken ill? You must read it at once, Mr. Bennet!” she demanded as she wrung her hands helplessly.

Peering indulgently at his wife over the top of his spectacles, it was his own curiosity rather than hers that prompted him to finally look down and examine the envelope. Breaking the seal, he found a brief note folded around a letter from his sister.

“It is nothing for you to worry yourself over, my dear. Mr. Darcy has simply performed a favour and delivered a letter from my sister. All is well with Mr. Bingley.”

“Thank goodness for that!” Her curiosity satisfied, she turned to leave, firmly closing the door behind her. Yet he could still hear her talking to herself as she moved away down the hall. “I suppose he is here for the wedding,” she sighed. “Well, we shall just have to make the best of it, since I suppose he will come to call with Mr. Bingley. There is nothing for it. I shall just have to make Kitty and Mary entertain him so he does not get in the way. Such a disagreeable man…”

As her voice finally faded into an unintelligible buzz he briefly wondered how long it would take before his wife began to wonder how Mr. Darcy came into possession of a letter all the way from Scotland, as he himself now did, or if she would even come to consider that an oddity at all. He supposed the explanation might lie within the contents of the letter, and he broke the seal to discover if this was so.

Dear Brother,

I write not only with a heavy heart, but with what I fear you may see as a heavy hand as well. What right, after all, does a sister have in dictating how her brother should act concerning his own daughter? But you know me well enough to know that I cannot sit idly back and watch a travesty unfold when it is in my power to do something about it. The admiration and love I hold in my heart for my niece’s future welfare lends me the courage, even the duty, to speak out now before it is too late.

Brother, my intention is to plainly and simply warn you against a man, a Mr. Darcy to be precise, who pays undue attention to Lizzy. I shall begin at the beginning of our acquaintance with him here and tell you everything. Since I suspect you may already know of him in some way yourself, I am certain that your previous knowledge will only confirm my ill impression of the man rather than contradict it.

Pour a brandy, brother, and make yourself comfortable, for I intend to use up a month’s allotment of paper if necessary in telling my tale – I am that sure and determined in my convictions.

When Mr. Darcy first made himself known to me he was haughty and without gentlemanly manners or amiable conversation. Were it not for a favour his kind friend rendered unto me, I would never have invited such an arrogant man into my home, and hence also directly into Lizzzy’s path (which was likely his design all along as you shall see). Over time, this first impression of him proved true. There was no mistaking that this man deemed himself a gentleman of intelligence, but this only runs as deep as the typical knowledge conferred by an average English education. He has displayed no original insight to me or anyone else in my presence, nor has he shown any interests to speak of that are not dictated by the ton’s impression of what is the current fashion. He is a veritable lamb among those sheep, in fact.

I suspect that he followed Lizzy here by design, as a previous association between them soon became apparent. He pretended indifference to her at their first meeting by keeping a brooding distance, perhaps thinking that this tactic might help ease his way so that no suspicions of him were aroused in me. However, it became clear later that this behaviour was, indeed, a ruse on his part. He sought her out on many occasions while she was alone, coaxing Lizzy into regular private meetings under the guise of teaching her how to ride. It was under this pretext that they met clandestinely every morning, no doubt with the intention on his part of taking liberties with her that a lady should never allow. Scandal, in fact was barely avoided when my own servant heard from another that they were both seen riding together on the same horse! I was able to hush up any gossip before it began, but it was only by the grace of God that I discovered the situation at all.

If it were only this misbehaviour, Brother, if I had thought his intentions pure and beyond question… If I had thought his feelings for her so strong and his actions only irresponsible rather than misguided and dubious, then I might have held my tongue and demanded that this man court her properly. But it was not all! For you see, Mr. Darcy was busy publicly courting other women in the neighbourhood. Ones better suited to his position, and Elizabeth is simply too young and blinded by the attentions of such a man to recognise his true motives and duplicity! She does not see what age and experience would allow both you and I to see in the same situation. I believe with every fibre of my being that Mr. Darcy’s only object was (and may still be) to seduce Lizzy. Indeed, perhaps he already has. For when my nephew, Maurice Vian de Fonteney, compte de Poitou, was brought home with an injury he suffered while saving the life of the man I so vehemently warn you against, I witnessed Mr. Darcy holding Elizabeth in an intimate embrace while she was clad only in her nightgown, which has led me to believe she might have already offered him far more than is proper.

When questioned by me, he led me to believe that he intends to make her an offer. Of course I cannot be certain whether he will really do so in the end, or if it was perhaps only something uttered in the heat of the moment by a man defending a perceived slight to his honour, but I do think he was convinced of it himself when he said it. Yet I also wonder if perhaps he fools himself and his ardour will cool with time and distance. After all, he is a very wealthy man, brother, and when he stops to ponder the full implications of a man of his position marrying a woman whom he may feel in the end is not quite of his own circle, he may come to his senses. It is entirely probable, and it would not surprise me knowing what I do of his arrogant nature. (And what if, God forbid, he begins to think of such matters after it is already too late to save our poor Elizabeth from such a fate?)

What complicates the matter is that Lizzy will not listen to reason, nor will she hear a word spoken against this vile and most inadequate man. I have tried to keep her home and well chaperoned, but the girl is defiant in both her opinion and her behaviour. Under the circumstances I feel it would be wise for you to call her back to Longbourn as soon as possible, and I offer my nephew, Monsieur Vian, as escort and guard in case Mr. Darcy should attempt to follow. Otherwise I fear that one of two things will occur: either Mr. Darcy will ruin and then abandon her, or, if Elizabeth has and does continue to resist his advances, he may very well be so determined in his lust that he will propose marriage. He is an obstinate man who is used to getting what he wants when he wants it, so it would not surprise me if he chose such a path.

That union would be a disaster for Lizzy. Not only would she find herself in a loveless marriage with a man who would more than likely come to flaunt his mistresses in front of her, she would slowly become dull and wither away inside. Each day she would spend in his company, living the dour and confined life she would be forced to assume, wearing the mask of reserve he would require of her as his wife, would sap the very soul from her. It is my firm belief that Lizzy possesses the sort of disposition that would not allow her to live as a respectable woman if she cannot respect her husband, and I have no doubt that once he tires of her the man would not refrain from using any misstep on her part as an excuse to get rid of her. He would bring her to a greater ruin and scorn from the world than anything she risks now. I say it is far better that such a man, along with all the worldly trinkets he might have to offer, be turned down soundly. Let the future bring what it may, rather than see her lose the lustre that makes her so special, so precious, and so very dear to us both.

You may wonder how I can so easily dismiss Elizabeth’s betrothal to such a rich man. After all, her future (and the rest of her family’s for that matter) would be well secured by it. Quite honestly, I fear those very concerns are what guide her own thoughts about the matter. She is so clearly bewitched by him, or rather by his position and fortune, that she follows him blindly and plays right into his hands. I ask you, is a comfortable future, full of material items yet devoid of all spirit and happiness, the life you want for Elizabeth?

Yet on such matters I would add a ray of hope. Our Lizzy has attracted the attention of another. My nephew is a noble man of great means, much more suited to nurturing her lively nature, for he has such a spirit living within himself. I am certain that the only thing keeping him from proclaiming himself, besides being bedridden by his current injury – a fact that Mr. Darcy has taken full advantage of – is the very interest she so unwisely shows in Mr. Darcy! I say this last to allow you to see that Mr. Darcy is by no means her last hope for marriage, regardless of what she might think or fear herself, for I know that all young girls worry over such things when they reach a certain age, and that such thoughts might drive her towards accepting the wrong man should he actually propose. Yet I fear the other opportunity may be lost soon if something is not done to make Elizabeth see the error of her ways.

I would hate for our Lizzy to settle for someone whom I am sure in her heart she knows is not the one she would wish to spend the rest of her life with, only because she worries about her family’s welfare or that she might end an old maid if she did not. Brother, would you want such a fate for your most beloved daughter? I cannot believe that you would, and so I warn you most vehemently so that you cannot unwittingly succumb to outside pressure and fail to see in time what is so plainly obvious to me: this man is utterly and completely wrong for our Lizzy!

Sincerely,
A. Tournier.

P.S.: Since writing the above, Mr. Darcy has left the neighbourhood for destinations unknown to me. He did not come to officially take leave of us. If nothing I have said to you already in this missive has given an adequate portrayal of his arrogant nature, perhaps that piece of news might complete the picture. I know not if he intends to return, or if both time and distance will bring him another perspective, as I hope it will. Still, I would rather appear an overly cautious shrew in your eyes, than err by not warning you at all on the chance that we might finally, at long last, have seen the last of him.

 

Mr. Bennet laid the pages down and picked up his glass, his mind a bit beyond the amused state that he usually found it in after one of his sister’s missives. He thought it rather ironic that the very man it had warned against had carried the letter to him. It was clear by its content and the postscript that Arabella had not placed it in Mr. Darcy’s hands herself, so it must have been Lizzy who had given the mission of delivery to him. But did his daughter know what the letter contained when she had handed it over? Somehow he thought she might, especially if things were in the state that Mrs. Tournier seemed to think them.

“Well, one thing is certain,” he said quietly into his glass before draining it. “Mrs. Bennet will certainly not have to take the trouble of assigning Kitty or Mary to Mr. Darcy when he calls. I shall certainly reserve the duty of entertaining him for myself.”

He refilled his glass and picked up the letter once again.

This story is written by Laura and Sylwia, and they own full © copyrights to it.

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