“What did he do to your brother?” asked Elizabeth with apprehension.
“I did not know the whole story then, because I had been too young when it happened, but afterward I started asking questions of people who knew him. Mrs. Reynolds told me most of this.” She faltered for a moment. “He and Fitzwilliam were the best of friends when they were boys. As they became older, George apparently became resentful of the differences in their expectations, and began doing and saying terrible things to Fitzwilliam, but he was loyal and would never believe George did it on purpose. He caused trouble, knowing that Fitzwilliam would always try to cover up any problems he caused, even if it meant he himself was punished. The harder my brother would try to protect him and keep his friendship, the worse things George would do. This went on for years and years, until finally something must have been too much, I don’t know what, but at some point even Fitzwilliam seemed to give up on him and started to avoid him, but even then he must have hoped that things might change in the future. The financial settlement he gave him was more than generous, I know. But then, the next time George approached him for help, Fitzwilliam refused, which had never happened before. And shortly thereafter, George tried to hurt him in the worst way he could, and he used me to do it. You would only need to have seen his face when he looked at George to see how pained he was that his old friend would do such a thing to him. But I shouldn’t be telling you all this!”
“I’m very glad you did,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “It helps me understand certain matters that have puzzled me in the past. Though I can only imagine how painful it was to watch Wickham deliberately hurt your brother, I must be clear with my opinion that you actually had little to do with it. If, as you say, his goal was to hurt your brother, he would simply have found another means of doing so had you been unavailable. I must say Wickham seems to show quite remarkable creativity in that regard.”
“Someday I may even come to believe that myself, but you must have patience with me.”
“Healing always does take patience, Georgiana, and healing from betrayal even more so.”
“Elizabeth, I wish you really were my sister! Please, accept Fitzwilliam soon—he needs you so much!”
“I think that you need not worry; he and I are, I believe, quite close to reaching an agreement.”
“But if your parents still dislike him so, what will they do when they find out?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Actually, I am currently engaged in a stratagem I believe will improve their outlook considerably,” she told her in a conspiratorial tone. “The truth is I am currently in deep disgrace with my family, owing to the fact they have determined that I am engaged in a liaison with a militia officer of rather uncertain morals.”
Georgiana’s eyes grew wide, clearly unsure if she was serious or in jest, but Elizabeth relieved her mind immediately. “They based this conclusion on finding in my possession a rather compromising letter signed with his initials, which happen to be FD. I have refused to comment on the matter, which is taken as a sign of guilt, but I believe that by the time they discover that FD is your brother, they will be so relieved he is not Mr. Frederick Denny all the ill will of the past will be forgotten!”
Georgiana clapped her hand over her mouth in surprise, then burst into delighted giggles. “No, you are teasing me. I cannot believe it!”
“I am afraid it is quite true—I’m sure Kitty or Mary would be happy to fill you in on the details of my supposed affair. But you should feel no need to participate in the fiction; sooner or later I will have to tell them the truth.”
“I won’t say a word!” Georgiana’s eyes gleamed. “I might even have a bit more compromising material, if you need it.” She drew out a well-sealed envelope and handed it to Elizabeth. “I was told very strictly only to give this to you when I was sure we were alone.”
With a laugh, Elizabeth assured her that Darcy would soon be accusing her of corrupting his little sister if she started participating in such conspiracies, a description which made Georgiana giggle even more.
Elizabeth made no effort to find privacy to read her letter, and even on retiring for the night, found herself merely taking it out and looking at it without opening it. She ran her fingers lightly over the Darcy seal, conscious of feeling she did not deserve to receive any recognition from him at all.
How little she really knew him! And how great, apparently, was his devotion to her. Recalling Georgiana’s description of his despair after her refusal, tears began to fall down her cheeks. She had wondered about his disappointment, but it never occurred to her she might have caused him lasting distress. How she wished she had been more temperate in her words that day at Hunsford, that she had given him a chance to explain instead of pouring out her anger at him! A vivid memory came to her of Darcy’s face when she accused him on Wickham’s behalf—what worse could she have done? She did not deserve him, she thought to herself, but she would do everything in her power to make certain she never hurt him again. Gently, she broke the seal and opened the letter.
My dearest Elizabeth,
I feel I have so much to tell you, yet when I try to set it down, I find that I am, as the poet says, “as an imperfect actor on the stage who with his fear is put beside his part,” and so am I “oe’rcharged with burden of mine own love’s might,” and have not the words to express my thoughts. You are in my mind at every moment, and whenever anything of import happens, I find myself wondering what you would say, what you would think, if you were beside me. As I walk, I notice the sights around me as if for the first time, and hope that they will please you. I know it to be selfish of me, but I feel as if you somehow belong at Pemberley—as if Pemberley itself will not be complete until you are here, yet I know myself to be the one who feels incomplete without you. I miss the sound of your voice, the look in your eyes, your laugh—and I am certain you know which memories haunt my nights.—It causes me to wonder what has happened to the Darcy of the past who would never have violated proprieties so much as to write such a line, much less have given cause for the same, and all I can know is that he vanished when you first smiled on me.—I envy Georgiana, that she will have the privilege of being in your presence, while I must remain here without you. Until we meet again, know that all my love and devotion are yours.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
She shed a few more tears over her letter, thinking how fortunate she was to have not only gained his love in the first place, but also to be given another, much undeserved chance. She took a deep, somewhat ragged breath, and knew what it was she needed to do.
Picking up a lamp, she walked downstairs to the library where she knew Mr. Bennet would, by habit, be reading late into the night. She knocked lightly on the door, and entered in response to his call.
He looked at her inquisitively over his glasses, not putting aside his book. “Yes, Lizzy?”
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“What about him?”
She glanced heavenward for a moment, asking for patience. “FD. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Mr. Bennet carefully laid down his book and removed his glasses. “Are you attempting to suggest Mr. Darcy sent you that… love note?” he asked with a certain degree of incredulity.
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “That is indeed the case.”
“Lizzy,” he said, looking grave, “are you out of your senses, to be accepting the attentions of that man? Have not you always hated him?”