Page 45 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
Aunt Gardiner’s voice was gentle when she next spoke. “And what will you do with this knowledge, dear?”
Elizabeth let out a breathless laugh. “I have not the faintest idea.”
Aunt Gardiner smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Elizabeth’s ear. “Perhaps, for now, you need not do anything at all. You must wait for him to speak.”
Elizabeth nodded, though her mind continued to race long after Jane and Aunt Gardiner had withdrawn to dress for dinner.
For now, she would do nothing.
But she could not escape the truth that had settled in her heart, nor could she shake the growing certainty that when she next looked into Mr. Darcy’s eyes, he would see it there too.
Elizabeth pressed a hand against her heart, willing it to slow.
The severity of her condition had been much exaggerated, in her opinion. The physician had made a great fuss over her bruises and her arm and had insisted that she be kept abed.
After that first day, she had never been less inclined to rest in her life. And now . . .
The truth of the matter was that she missed Mr. Darcy. Having admitted as much to herself—if only in the privacy of her own mind—she could not possibly wait another moment for someone else to tell her of his state.
With a decisive movement, Elizabeth pushed herself upright and limped to the small table where Jane had been writing her letter. There was still pen, ink, and paper there. She was grateful that her writing hand had not been injured.
She selected a sheet and took up the quill, hesitating only briefly before setting it to the page.
Mr. Darcy,
You must forgive the impropriety of my writing, but I find that I am a selfish creature. I am aware I ought to wait for yet another of your kind relations to assure me of your well-being, but I cannot. I must have it from your own hand.
If you are able, I beg you would write me a line. If the use of ink is beyond your present strength, I would be satisfied with the merest pencil scrawl, though you must not make the effort at all if it would cause you pain. I should think it excessively discourteous were you to faint before finishing your note to me.
I am, at present, as well as can be expected for one who has been sentenced to idleness, though I begin to fear that if I am confined to my chamber much longer, I shall be compelled to engage in the truly desperate act of taking up my embroidery.
Your anxious friend,
Miss Elizabeth Bennet
She set down her pen with some satisfaction, scanning her words with a critical eye. It was neither too sentimental nor too distant. A gentle demand, a light jest—it would do.
Now, the question of how to see it delivered. This would require more delicate handling. She thus waited for Aunt Gardiner to return.
Her aunt gazed at her with gentle reproach. “Lizzy, you ought not to be sitting up—”
“Aunt,” she interrupted swiftly, knowing that she could not send the missive in her hand without her aunt’s approval. She held up the folded piece of paper. “Will you please see this delivered to Mr. Darcy?”
Mrs. Gardiner’s brows lifted slightly. “To Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes.”
“May I inquire as to its contents?”
“Youmayinquire,” Elizabeth said cheerfully, “but I should rather you did not.”
Her aunt’s gaze was unwavering.
“Very well,” Elizabeth acquiesced. “You may read it if you like. It is not sealed.”
Her aunt nodded. Her lips twitched as she read the message. She studied Elizabeth carefully as she refolded it. “Very well, but it will be up to Miss de Bourgh whether she will allow it.”
Elizabeth sighed in relief as Aunt Gardiner departed, and then she settled back against the pillows with the novel sensation of having done something, however small, to remedy her dissatisfaction.
