Page 65 of The Same Noble Line
Elizabeth hesitated. She could have spoken up, announced herself, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the certainty that her father, however well-meaning, would not take her news seriously. She turned away.
Her footsteps led her to the music room, where Mary was seated at the pianoforte, practising with studious intensity. Elizabeth paused in the doorway, reluctant to disturb her sister’s concentration. When the music stopped for more than a moment, she stepped inside.
“Mary,” she began.
Mary glanced up at her. “Elizabeth, unless there is an emergency, I am afraid I must ask that you wait. I have just begun this piece, and it requires all my attention.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Of course, Mary. Another time, then.”
Mr. Darcy had asked to call.
The idea filled her with a restless energy, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. She longed to share it with someone, but there was no one in her family who could stand in Jane’s place. Even Charlotte was gone to Kent.
It was foolish to feel alone in a house full of family, but she supposed it could not be helped. She finally retreated to her own chamber, sat at her desk, pulled out paper, a pen, and a bottleof ink. Aunt Gardiner would understand. If anyone could offer a sympathetic ear and wise counsel, it was she.
With a deep breath, Elizabeth began to write.
29 January 1812
Dear Aunt Gardiner,
I have only just bidden you farewell. I hope this letter finds you and Uncle Gardiner well, and that his brief absence from his business has not set him back. We were not even to have a complete conversation, were we? Well, allow me to remedy that with all the comments I would have made were the wedding breakfast not such a crush.
Jane was as lovely a bride as I think I shall ever see. Mr. Bingley scarcely took his eyes from her the entire day. I am convinced he is utterly besotted, and Jane was so happy. I know she will visit Gracechurch Street with her Mr. Bingley soon, and then you must report her happiness to me in detail.
After everyone returned to their homes, Mamma was forced to agree that Jane needed no extraordinary embellishment to be every inch the picture of refinement and beauty, though I suspect her approval stemmed more from the match than the gown.
The breakfast was much complimented by all, and deservedly so—Mamma outdid herself with her preparations, which were nothing short of splendid. Yet, once the guests departed and the house fell quiet, I felt Jane’s absence most keenly. I have already turned to speak to her more times than I care to admit, only to recall she no longer lives here. How strange it is to think of her as Mrs. Bingley!
Jane excels in everything she undertakes, of course, so I have no doubt she will master this new role as gracefully as she has every other. It seems I am the one left to gather my courage around me and face the future, undaunted.
Dear Aunt, I admit that there is more than one reason for this letter. I find myself in need of your advice. Oh, if I could only have spoken to you immediately afterward! There is a matter which I have not shared with anyone, and I feel you are the only one other than Jane who might understand.
Mr. Darcy has asked to call upon me. I am not sure how to describe the mix of emotions this has stirred within me. When I think of him, I recall both the proud man I first encountered and the more recent moments where his kindness and honour have shone through. He confounds me, Aunt, and yet I find myself drawn to him in a way I have never experienced with any other man.
Should I trust these feelings, when they are so new? You have often spoken of the importance of friendship and respect in marriage. I wonder if these sentiments are at the heart of what I feel, or if it is something more.
Please write soon and tell me your thoughts. I know I can rely on your wisdom, as I have so often before.
Your most affectionate niece,
Elizabeth
Elizabeth set down her pen and read over her words. She sanded the missive and, when the ink was dry, sealed it. For now, it would have to suffice as a substitute for the conversation she longed to have. She would send it out with the morning post.
The act of writing eased some of her more restless thoughts. Standing, she moved to the window and gazed out at the fading light of the day. Mr. Darcy was with his cousin and sister at Netherfield. Had he told them he had asked to call on her? Did they approve his choice? Was Mr. Darcy, even now, thinking of her? The thought sent a small thrill through her, tempered by a small, lingering uncertainty.
Still, Elizabeth allowed herself to smile. Perhaps she had more to look forward to than she had dared to believe.
Darcy handed his gloves to Mr. Hill before stepping into Longbourn's drawing room. Fitzwilliam and Georgiana followed closely behind, and he could hear the colonel muttering something humorous about bravery in the face of battle. Darcy ignored him, focusing instead on the task at hand. His purpose was clear. Court Elizabeth Bennet. Make her love him. Ask her to be his wife.
Not that he expected it to all happen today. One step at a time.
The drawing room was already bustling with Longbourn’s usual activity. Mrs. Bennet greeted them with effusive warmth, her joy at their arrival almost palpable. She was soon directing Georgiana to sit beside her while chattering about the Bingleys’ wedding. Fitzwilliam offered him a wry smile and settled into a chair where he could respond to Mrs. Bennet’s prattle with just enough interest to keep her talking without requiring much effort.
Fitzwilliam was an excellent cousin.
Darcy’s gaze, however, was soon fixed elsewhere. Elizabeth herself stood to greet him, her posture relaxed but her expression alert. Her gown of pale blue muslin was simple yet elegant, and her tentative smile drew him forward.
