I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes; but now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu!
I take up my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not; but circumstances are such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well that I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. My father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her. What he means to do I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again tomorrow evening. In such an exigence my uncle’s advice and assistance would be everything in the world; he will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness.
Jane
Mr Darcy to Colonel Fitzwilliam
Carriage, on the way to London,
August 8
Something terrible has happened. Wickham! How I curse his name! Oh, do not fear, it is not Georgiana he has run away with this time, but another young woman. If you have not yet returned to your regiment, meet me in London at my club. If you cannot meet me, pray let me know Mrs Younge’s address as soon as possible; I know you discovered it last year and I have urgent need of it.
But I must explain. I must go back, in fact, to make you understand my interest in the matter, nay my determination to put everything right.
I returned to Pemberley a few days ago and having occasion to ride on ahead of the rest of the party in order to attend to some business with my steward, I turned the corner of the stables to find myself looking into the eyes of Elizabeth Bennet! Never had they looked more beautiful, and never had I been more tempted to take her in my arms and kiss her, but I could do nothing except stand and stare. I thought for a moment it must be a dream, a hallucination, for the day was very hot, but when she blushed I knew it was not a dream. Recovering myself, I advanced and spoke to her, if not composedly, at least civilly. As I spoke I could not stop my eyes from roving over her, taking in every small detail of her face and hair. From the depth and beauty of her eyes to the remaining blush on her cheek, I was drinking her in.
She turned away, embarrassed, but she turned towards me again when I spoke to her. I know not what I said; something about the weather, her journey, my surprise at seeing her, the date on which she left Longbourn, her stay in Derbyshire and the health of her family; in short, nothing, but simply words to hold her so that I would have more time to look at her and love her and wonder how I ever thought I would be able to conquer my feelings for her. And all the while she was as uncomfortable as I was, and yet she did not turn away; not after the first time, which, I am convinced, was only because of embarrassment.
And when I could think of nothing further to say, I still remained rooted to the spot, unable to leave, unwilling to relinquish one second of her company, glad to be with her, wanting to be near her; wanting to look at her, and to hear the sound of her breathing and to feel my fingers shiver with the desire to reach out and touch her.
I still want her. I cannot disguise it from myself. No one else will ever do. Only Elizabeth.
I knew it as I stood there, unable to leave, whilst the gardener looked at me curiously and her aunt and uncle watched me from a distance and I knew I must depart, but could not.
At last I tore myself away and went indoors, making sure that the house was ready to receive my guests, as had been my original plan. But I could not remain long indoors. I wanted to be near her, and to show her that her reprovals had been attended to; that I was no longer insufferable or disdainful of the feelings of others; that I had changed.
And so I left the house. I found her at last as she walked by the river. She was at that part of the grounds where the path is open and I saw her long before I reached her. I could tell she saw me, too. The walk seemed endless. A turning in the path hid her from view and then I was suddenly in front of her. Mindful of her previous words about my incivility, I set out to please and to charm her. She seemed to sense it and to want to imitate my politeness. She remarked on the beauty of the place, then blushed and fell silent, as if remembering that, had she accepted my proposal, it could have been hers. Any other woman would have made it hers, even if she despised me. But not Elizabeth. Only love will do for her. And I have known, deep down, for many years, that only love will do for me.
Our conversation faltered and I asked if she would do me the honour of introducing me to her friends. Something of her mischievousness returned, for she smiled with a gleam in her eye as she introduced them as her aunt and uncle. I was surprised; I knew they lived in Cheapside and had therefore not expected them to be so fashionable. To please her, and to show her I was not the rude, arrogant and unfeeling man she thought me, I walked with them, all the time wondering how I could make sure I saw her again. Her party were on a travelling holiday and I did not want them to leave Derbyshire, and so I hit upon the happy notion of inviting her uncle to fish at Pemberley.
And so we continued, the two ladies in front and the two gentlemen behind. I was just wondering how I could alter things when luck played into my hands. Her aunt became tired and leant on her husband’s arm, leaving me free to walk with Elizabeth. There was a silence, but I was not anxious. I was content to catch her scent and to watch the play of colour on her cheek. But she was not easy and soon made it clear that she had been told the family were away from home, and that she would not have taken the liberty of visiting Pemberley otherwise.
I blessed my good fortune. A day later and I would have been in residence, in which case she would not have come; a day earlier and I would have been in London and missed her. I acknowledged that I had arrived earlier than expected and told her that Bingley and his sisters would be joining me.
It was not a happy thought. She became withdrawn and I could tell that her thoughts had returned to her sister and my interference in the matter of Bingley’s attentions. I sought to divert her and found a happy topic in my own sister, asking if I might introduce Georgiana to her during her stay at Lambton. She was surprised, but agreed, and I was content. I would very much like the two of them to come to know each other.
We walked on in silence, each deep in thought. My mind was wondering how I could have stayed away from her so long and wondering how soon I could offer her my hand again. Her mind I did not know, but I hoped it was not entirely set against me.
We reached the carriage and I invited her to walk into the house as her relations were some quarter of a mile behind. She declined, saying she was not tired, and we talked of nothing in particular but each one of us, I am sure, was thinking a great deal. At last her aunt and uncle joined us and the three of them departed.