Page 23 of Moments of Truth

With one hand, Mr. Darcy unrolled the sheet of paper and, with the right hand, dipped his quill into the ink bottle.

He paused, unsure how to begin, causing a drop of ink to fall onto the page.

It was a beginner mistake that Darcy had not made in over two decades.

He took a deep breath and set aside the ruined page, reaching for another with determination. He then wrote:

Miss Bennet,

I, first of all, want to apologise for my behaviour.

I was too forward and insensitive to your expectations and opinion of me.

I understand if you wish never to see me again, let alone speak to me.

However, before you come to such a drastic conclusion, I would like to say that it would be a great injustice to me if you concluded so quickly without first allowing me to defend myself against the numerous accusations you have laid against me.

Among the many accusations laid against me, I first would like to address that regarding your sister.

I did not intend to cause you, your sister, or your family such pain.

I had my reasons for doing what I did. The first is the disparity in emotion shown when comparing your sister and my good friend, Mr. Bingley.

I watched your sister and my good friend, Mr. Bingley, throughout the evening of the ball and could see his immediate attraction towards your sister.

Initially, I thought nothing of it, as it had become common for Mr. Bingley to find himself attracted to the slightest bit of attention or interest. He is what I have learned to call emotional.

He has not learned to steal his heart in matters where women have shown interest in him.

As a result of this, I have seen, on numerous occasions, my good friend suffers at the hands of women. ”

Your sister, yes, showed great interest in Mr. Bingley, my good friend, but as the evening went on, I discovered that he had become much more enraptured by her than she was by him.

The balance had quickly, too quickly if I must say, tilted in his direction.

It was no longer an equally healthy balance of affection being shown, but rather, a one-sided show of love from Mr. Bingley.

Your sister had tacitly steered clear from him and showed a rather reserved attitude throughout her speaking with me. ”

That is one issue I have discovered. Another important issue also lies with your family.

None in your family, except for your father at intervals, showed the proper etiquette and behaviour expected from a respected family of class in public.

Their behaviour, I believed, at the time, was rather degrading and lacklustre.

I had equally studied you as well. There were…

Mr. Darcy poured his heart out in complete honesty as he wrote unhindered.

Such unguarded candour was unlike him. Usually, he was more reserved with his words, especially with women—and never more so than with Miss Bennet herself.

However, since things had already gone awry, and he needed to defend himself by proving he was not who Miss Bennet had labelled him to be, there seemed little reason now for restraint.

Yet doubt intruded. Should he be so direct and firm when writing to the woman he had just declared his love for—love that had overmastered both his reason and his will?

By bringing forth such accusations, even if they were true, was he not risking the appearance of pleading his case before her family as though to absolve himself?

But he had nothing to feel guilty about.

He reread everything he had written thus far.

It felt alien to him, as though another hand had guided the pen—someone anxious to justify himself rather than to reveal the truth.

Mr. Darcy was not satisfied with what he had written at all.

After almost an hour of writing and hesitation, Mr. Darcy stood up. He was exhausted, yet full of unspoken confession, especially when he realised how much he had been holding back until now. But with nothing left to lose, he resolved to let his words flow unhindered.

Still, unease shadowed him. Would this approach alter Miss Bennet’s opinion in the least? He needed her not merely to hear him, but to understand—to see the justice in his perspective, and to acknowledge the truth behind his actions.

Darcy placed the quill on the table and rubbed his hands over his face. Sleep pressed upon him with heavy insistence. Perhaps he could write again in the early morning, when his mind was clearer.

But after a pause, Mr. Darcy sat once more at the table.

No—he must finish now, while the words were sharp upon his memory, while the urgency burned within him.

Without realising it, he dozed off, still sitting upright, his head bowed heavily into his palms, the unfinished letter before him like a silent witness to his unrest.

***

Mr. Darcy found himself standing in the alley outside of Rosings, wondering when he had put on his coat and left his chambers.

The events leading up to this moment were a blur in his mind.

He was sure everyone else in the house would be asleep by now.

The silence pressed upon him like a weight, giving him space at last to wrestle with his thoughts.

Darcy decided he needed to sort through his phrases.

He wanted to be sure his words were well chosen and conveyed.

If this were the last time he would speak to Miss Bennet, he had to ensure it was without ambiguity.

“Cousin?” A feminine voice drifted into Mr. Darcy’s ears, startling him.

“What are you doing, awake?” Mr. Darcy saw a slender young woman seated in a dark room alone, the light from the moon gently cascading on her face as she looked outside through the window.

“What are you doing there all by yourself?” Mr. Darcy asked his cousin.

“I like it here. It is quiet, and I get to think,” his cousin responded, her attention still focused on the scenery outside the manor. “What about you? Why are you awake?” She finally turned to look at Darcy in the face.

He immediately felt uncomfortable looking at his cousin.

His aunt had always pinned for the two of them to get married, but he had never had an interest in Anne.

Since Darcy had never shown any interest in any other woman, Lady Catherine had not bothered him about it.

However, now that he was seeing her while brooding over the issue of Miss Bennet, he felt uncomfortable.

The weight of his aunt’s expectations, set against his present disquiet, made the moment the more intolerable.

“What is wrong?” Miss de Bourgh asked. She could tell something was bothering Mr. Darcy, but she had no idea what it was.

“Nothing. I could not sleep, so I decided to go for a walk.” Mr. Darcy smiled faintly. The smile was thin and fleeting, a poor disguise for the heaviness in his breast.

“May I accompany you?” Miss de Bourgh asked.

Mr. Darcy wanted to be alone, but it was different in front of this cousin.

It would have been a different story if Colonel Fitzwilliam were in her place.

Darcy would have no issues saying no outrightly, but this was different.

Her frailty and her quiet manner disarmed him; refusal felt ungallant, even cruel.

Seeing that Mr. Darcy did not refuse, Miss de Bourgh smiled faintly and walked towards her cousin. She stood before him and waited for him to lead before following him.

Even though the two of them were cousins, they did not speak frequently.

Things were not always like this between the two of them.

Miss de Bourgh had always been close to Mr. Darcy.

Her mother, Mr. Darcy’s aunt, misinterpreted this closeness as something much more.

Seeing how unreserved her usually reclusive and reserved daughter was around Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine had begun to have wild ideas nurtured in her head.

These had swelled into a conviction, and once formed, Lady Catherine’s pride could not relinquish them.

She no longer wanted them as thoughts; now, she wanted them as reality.

Ever since then, things between them had become estranged. Lady Catherine had seen that she had made a mistake in judgment, but her pride would not let her admit it. She was determined to finish what she had started, even if it further pulled the two of them away.

Although Mr. Darcy had never once said anything or done anything to suggest he was displeased, Miss de Bourgh could tell by the gradual distance between them that he did not agree with her mother.

Her instinct had always been more delicate than her mother’s wilfulness, and she read his reserve for what it was: rejection softened only by civility.

“What is wrong?” Miss de Bourgh asked.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Darcy was slightly startled by the question.

“Forgive me, Cousin, but I know more. You only stay up late when you are bothered, and something distresses you.” A faint smile was on the face of Miss de Bourgh as she and Mr. Darcy stepped out of the house.

“What makes you so sure?” Mr. Darcy asked. “Does my face reveal so much so easily?”

“Not at all, Cousin.” Miss de Bourgh could not hide her laughter seeing her cousin’s face.

“It is just…you have always been like this. Growing up, you would spend the night in thought as if something always bothered you. It never happened frequently, but it seems tonight, something plagues your mind.” Miss de Bourgh came to a sudden stop.

She turned and looked at her cousin as the only light was the full moon that shone on her face. The silver glow softened her features, lending a rare serenity to her usually timid countenance.

Seeing his cousin like this, Mr. Darcy could not help but say no. He took a deep breath before turning away and staring at the sky.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Mr. Darcy’s voice was quiet.