Page 67 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
The letter was dated from Rosings, at eight o’clock in the morning:
“Madam, be not alarmed that this letter contains any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were yesterday so disgusting to you. This letter would be unnecessary had not my character required it to be written. I trust your sense of justice will require you to read it.
First, on the matter of Mr. Wickham—”
I stopped reading with a snort. “What is his obsession with Wickham?” I skipped forward until I saw this:
“Next, at dinner, I observed your dismay and revulsion at Rosings’s investment in colonial plantations. Your—”
The remainder of that sentence was crossed out. Curious, I held the page to the sun. I made out“Your eyes”but the ink had been wet when covered, and the rest was obscured.
After that hidden passage, it continued:
“It was only when I came into my inheritance that I had authority to act as my conscience dictated. Pemberley was then purged of all investment that benefitted, directly or indirectly, from slavery. This was accomplished at great financial risk and cost due to the speed with which I acted. My only delay was first to separate and protect my sister’s inheritance in case disaster resulted. I will write no further on the specifics, other than I have striven since to restore Pemberley and my family’s fortune.
As our lives are not to intersect, I see no necessity to rebut your accusations of selfishness in pursuit of wealth and influence, other than to say my conscience is clear.”
I hmphed. Doubtless he prided himself on creating jobs for tailors.
“Lastly, and for you, most importantly: I had not been long in Hertfordshirebefore I saw that Bingley preferred your sister to any other woman in the country. But it was not till the dance at Netherfield, when I had the honor of dancing with you, that he told me his feelings were a serious attachment.
My initial concern stemmed from observing your sister. Although she received Bingley’s attentions with pleasure, I was convinced she did not return them in any serious manner. Your superior knowledge of your sister requires that I accept your judgment. If by my error I inflicted pain on her, your resentment is not unreasonable.
However, my concerns sharpened when I saw your mother’s obsession with binding and her public and unconscionable pursuit of Bingley’s marriage gold. And then I was repulsed by your father’s cruel public shaming of your sister Mary. From the history I have recounted, you understand the irony and potency of your final words to me that evening—‘Speak to me again when you have defended a heartbroken sister.’?”
What had he recounted? I must have missed something when I skipped his passage on Wickham. The letter finished:
“This, madam, is a faithful narrative that I provide, trusting to your honor and discretion.
Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
I had stopped walking as I became engrossed. Now, for the first time, the incredible nature of his proposal sank in. Mr. Darcy, a man of extraordinary consequence and wealth, had asked me to marry him. He had been in love with me for some time. All those long walks and sudden silences, in hindsight, seemed charged with significance.
It was, of course, unbelievable. But Charlotte had noticed. She even warned me that he was promised to Lady Catherine’s daughter. What had happened to that? Presumably, this would annoy her ladyship more than refusing a tart.
In fact, Charlotte had prodded me several times about Mr. Darcy’s attention. Was I so oblivious?
“Miss Bennet?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam was a dozen yards down the lane, hesitant to break my reverie.
I put away the letter, remembering I had promised to meet the colonel before I left. “Good morning, Colonel. I am sorry I did not find you sooner.”
“I am happy we have met. Do you have some time before you depart?”
“Of course. Shall we walk?” Lighter conversation would be a relief.
“I am honored.” He bowed, and we set off toward our favorite path.
I walked in silence, considering Mr. Darcy’s letter. His excuse for interfering between Jane and Mr. Bingley was offensive and cruel. But Jane’s restrained manner did conceal her feelings. So perhaps that part was credible. With a shock, I realized Mr. Darcy did not know his interference had hurt Jane’s health.
Colonel Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “I wished to speak with you before your travel separated us.”
“Yes?” I stopped. We were in a pleasant treed area, dappled with sunlight.
The colonel turned decisively to me, his posture exact. A gentleman officer, and extremely serious.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He took a breath. “I have, for some time, wished to speak with you on a topic that is most personal and significant.”
