Page 141 of Colour My World
Anne tilted the teapot and eyed the dregs. “No, Mother. I have merely refused to be ruined.”
Her mother said something low and quite unrepeatable.
Anne winced. The headache throbbed behind her eyes, but it was nothing new.
She would have a second cup. This time with brandy.
* * *
Longbourn, November 1811
Mr Bennet glanced up from his periodical as Hill entered, a folded note in his hands.
“A letter for you, sir. From Netherfield Park.”
Bennet peered at the neatly folded parchment, the wax seal bearing the Darcy crest.So, it begins.
He broke the seal with a flick of his wrist. The note inside was brief—direct and unmistakably Darcy.
Mr Bennet,
I write to you with a delicate request. Some matters remain unresolved between your daughter and me—issues of great importance. I do not wish to impose upon your household nor invite the scrutiny that such a conversation would inevitably garner.
If you would permit it, I would ask for a private word with Miss Elizabeth, away from the eyes and ears of others. I defer entirely to your judgement on how this may be arranged in a manner that safeguards her reputation.
Should you find this request improper, I shall not press further.
—Darcy
Bennet folded the letter in half. Concise, respectful, and earnest. He leant back in his chair and tapped the letter against his knee. There was no demand, no assumption of consent, only a man who had learned enough to ask.
His gaze drifted towards the window. Beyond, the world glistened in the storm's wake, the air damp and the roads slick with the rain’s remnants.
After four days of confinement, Elizabeth had grown restless. He had seen it in how she paced with her fingers curled aroundthe spine of that book. That Book.
If she was to see the world anew, it should be under the best of circumstances.
Mr Darcy,
Sunrise upon Oakham Mount is a tolerable way to see the world afresh, particularly for young people possessed of great stamina. It is peaceful, well beyond the reach of spying eyes, and a delicate setting for meaningful conversation.
Elizabeth has long been in the habit of morning walks. Now that the storm has passed, I see no reason she should not resume them.
I trust you are a man of your word.
—Bennet
Bennet folded the note and reached for his seal. A faint chuckle escaped him as he pressed the wax, the imprint of his signet ring setting the matter in stone.
“Hill.”
His man reappeared in the doorway. “Sir?”
“Was a reply expected?”
“Yes, sir. He waits in the kitchen.”
Bennet held out the sealed letter.
