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Elizabeth had accepted that Mr. Darcy was cold and haughty, but she had never imagined he could be deliberately cruel…until the party at Lucas Lodge.

Under the guise of pretending to apologize, he had delivered the most hurtful thing anyone had ever said to her.

It wasn’t what he said. On the surface, it sounded like a compliment.

No, it was the way he said it. With coldness in his eyes and an expressionless face, he gave her a patently false compliment, exaggerated to the point where it could in no way be mistaken for truth.

By doing so, he had merely emphasized how very unpleasant she was to look at.

She couldn’t fathom why he did it or what he gained by such behavior. Maybe he was the kind of twisted soul who enjoyed inflicting pain. Elizabeth did not know, but she did know one thing. She would not allow herself to be subjected to any additional pain from that source.

Any time he attempted to approach her since, she had merely excused herself from the conversation.

She wished she could simply turn her back on him, cut him from her life and her list of acquaintances, but he was too far above her in society for such an action to be wise.

So, she contented herself with avoiding him while staying just barely within the bounds of acceptable behavior.

She looked forward to the day he left the neighborhood and went back to wherever he came from.

Two weeks after that horrid night at Lucas Lodge, Mary’s fiancé, Mr. Worsley, handed a letter to Elizabeth. When she asked who it was from, he would not say, only indicating that she should read it.

Elizabeth opened the letter and almost immediately realized it was from Mr. Darcy.

Her immediate instinct was to drop it like a hot poker, but she managed to contain that impulse.

She did, however, look at Mr. Worsley questioningly.

“Why are you delivering a letter from Mr. Darcy to me?” she asked.

“He can have nothing to say that I would wish to know. Besides, I do not understand why you are the messenger here.”

“I am the messenger, because he is a friend of mine,” said Mr. Worsley.

“An awkward, somewhat proud friend, but a friend nonetheless. I honestly think you should read the letter, as he has put a great deal of thought into it, nearly two days’ worth.

However, I would not blame you either should you choose to throw it in the fire. I understand how much he has hurt you.”

Mr. Worsley’s face was genuinely concerned for her, and Elizabeth was, once again, very pleased for her sister. She had found a very good man to marry. She looked over at Mary, who was sitting next to Mr. Worsley on the sofa. They were holding hands.

“Elizabeth, it would be good for you if you could find a way to forgive Mr. Darcy,” said Mary.

“Longstanding anger only festers in the soul, hurting you a great deal in the long run. Perhaps, Mr. Darcy’s letter will contain an explanation of his actions that will make it possible for you to let go of your anger. ”

Elizabeth was not nearly as religious as her younger sister, but she felt the truth of her statement. She did not want to be angry anymore, but given her own pain, she couldn’t find a way to not be angry.

She stared down at the offensive letter in her hand and debated with herself for some time. Taking a breath of courage, she opened it up and read it.

November 7, 1811

Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet,

I take up my pen to attempt to tell you what I failed to convey in person.

I wish to tender my most abject apologies for many things.

The list of my sins, I have learned, is far longer than I knew when I originally attempted to apologize to you at Lucas Lodge, but at the very least, I want you to know that I am aware of my faults and errors and am most diligently attempting to correct my behavior.

The first of my errors was that I insulted you within your hearing, though not directly to your face, at the assembly in October.

I will say that there is no excuse for such behavior, though I will also add that it is not particularly common behavior for me, so there will certainly be no repeat of such a reprehensible performance.

When I attempted to tender my apologies before, you asked me to be more specific, so I will.

First, I will say that it was the height of stupidity to excuse my actions based upon the fact that you were not currently dancing.

By that standard of behavior, only a few ladies would ever dance, and most men would simply be the followers of a few gentlemen who chose the fairest ladies.

Second, I will say that you are far from merely tolerable in looks.

I am certain you are aware of this, yourself, simply from looking in the mirror, but I will add to that knowledge and declare that, truly, you are one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.

I do not lie or even exaggerate with this statement.

It is truly how I perceive you. When you are animated, which is almost any time you are talking, there is a light in your eyes that makes you remarkably beautiful.

I simply did not see it when I glanced at you at the assembly, though I did notice it later when I spied you on the dance floor.

I will only add that I am truly sorry to have done anything that has caused you pain, and that includes both the insult at the assembly and my botched apology at Lucas Lodge.

I also would like to apologize for my haughty demeanor that I carried with me when I first came to this neighborhood.

I carried myself apart from everyone, thinking myself above my company.

I have since learned to appreciate many good qualities possessed by your neighbors, family, and friends and have re-learned something I knew well in childhood: the worth of a man is not measured by his wealth or status but by his actions.

I freely admit I was wrong to mistreat everyone so, and I apologize.

I have done my best to improve my behavior on this front.

I would very much like it if you and I could start over, since my admiration for you leads me to wish to know you better.

If you do not completely reject me, I propose to call on you tomorrow afternoon, in hopes that we may go riding together.

If you decide, however, that you would rather not have anything to do with me, you may send word through a servant or merely deny me access to your home tomorrow.

If you do so, I promise I will not bother you further.

I sincerely hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, and I look forward to the possibility of seeing you tomorrow.

With affection and hope,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Elizabeth did not know what to make of such a letter. Every sentence, every word, ran counter to what she thought she knew of Mr. Darcy. Suspecting that Mr. Worsley knew at least some of what was in the letter, she asked him, “What does this mean?”

“I do not know exactly what is contained there, but I suspect it is mostly an apology,” said Mr. Worsley. “Usually, an apology indicates that a person has recognized they have done something wrong, and they are attempting to either become better or make up for their error.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I know what an apology is,” she said. “I mean that he seems to be a far different man in this letter than he did in person. Which is the real Mr. Darcy? Are his apologies sincere? What does he mean by it?”

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Worsley, “it is entirely possible that both are the real Mr. Darcy. Do we not all make mistakes and behave in ways we later regret? As for whether his apologies are sincere, of that I can assure you with confidence.”

“Yes,” said Mary. “Have you not seen for yourself that he has been more sociable among our neighbors ever since the party at Lucas Lodge?”

Elizabeth did not wish to admit it, but she had noticed no such thing. She had been entirely focused on ignoring the man completely. Now that she was thinking about it, however, she realized that there had been a decrease in the number of people complaining about him.

“Then, what does he mean by it?” Elizabeth asked again.

“Are you referring to the letter as a whole or to his apologies?” asked Mr. Worsley.

“Well, I suppose his apologies are self-explanatory, but I do not understand why he would care enough to go to the effort of writing a letter. I certainly do not know why he would ask me to go riding with him tomorrow,” she said.

“He asked you to go riding?” asked Mary.

“Yes, he did,” said Elizabeth, “though he added that if I refused, he would leave me alone entirely so as not to bother me further.”

“And will you accept?” asked Mary.

“I don’t know,” exasperation making her raise her voice. “I still cannot tell what his motivations for such an invitation might be, and both of you seem to be avoiding the question.”

“His motivation is likely that he simply desires your company,” said Mr. Worsley in a placating tone. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes, it is,” said Elizabeth. “He has never wanted my company before.”

Mary lifted one eyebrow at Elizabeth causing her to rephrase her sentence. “By that, I mean that he has never sought my company before.”

Mary looked at her disbelievingly again, and Elizabeth tried to remember her interactions with Mr. Darcy objectively.

She hung her head and said, “I suppose he did try to engage me in conversation a few times, but I declined. But that just raises the question as to why Mr. Darcy would deliberately seek out the company of a lady who patently and obviously does not like him.”

Mr. Worsley answered her question. “I cannot speak for Darcy on this point, but as a man of privilege I can say that I quickly get tired of ladies who pander to my every whim and every opinion.” He looked at Mary affectionately and said, “It is entirely refreshing to speak to a lady who is capable of disagreeing with me on occasion.”

“But we do not disagree only on occasion,” said Elizabeth. “We disagree constantly. In fact, we have never agreed on anything.”

“You do not know that, Elizabeth,” said Mary. “You have not spoken to him for more than five minutes total. How can you possibly know if you will always disagree.”

Slowly, with each bit of explanation from Mary and Mr. Worsley, Elizabeth’s wall of anger toward Mr. Darcy was crumbling.

She didn’t like the feeling, but it seemed morally wrong to cling to her anger in the face of an honest apology and reasonable explanations.

With this last statement from Mary, the last of the wall tumbled.

Elizabeth sighed. “Very well,” she said, “I will accept his apologies, but I cannot go riding with him tomorrow. I do not ride at all.”

“Perhaps you could take the phaeton, instead,” said Mary. “You do so enjoy driving it, after all.”

“That sounds acceptable,” said Elizabeth.

“Just make certain to take the stablemaster with you as chaperone,” said Mary.