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“I believe nothing would give us more pleasure,” Mr Darcy said. Elizabeth was beginning to feel that Mr Darcy knew something about her that he was not telling her. She could not imagine what it might be, but there was something odd in his manner.

Jane and Mr Bingley arrived just then, followed by the Colonel.

They were all very cold and Mr Darcy ordered them more warm mugs of chocolate.

Elizabeth studied her sister discreetly.

Jane looked happy, but not enough to suggest any significant development.

Mr Bingley, too, seemed pleased with the morning’s events.

As they prepared to leave, Elizabeth found herself more confused than ever by Mr Darcy’s behaviour.

His attentiveness, his smiles, his gentle inquiries about her family - all seemed at odds with the man she thought she knew.

She wondered if she had misjudged him entirely, or if this was merely a facet of his character reserved for London society.

As they took their leave, promising to meet at the Fitzwilliams’ dinner the next evening, Mr Darcy lingered by Elizabeth, reminding her of her promise to play for his sister. He smiled at her as he handed her into the carriage. She was very confused by all of this.

Back at her aunt’s house, Elizabeth found herself unable to focus on the needlework before her. The letter from her father seemed to burn in her pocket, demanding her attention. Yet she hesitated, torn between eagerness for news from home and fear of what that news might contain.

Elizabeth retreated to their room and read the letter multiple times, blinking back tears.

My Dear Lizzy,

Mary has offered to write this letter for me as I do not feel well enough to write it myself, but I am sure she will do a better job of writing it then I would.

Be not alarmed my dear child, my health is not as bad as it could be, I am just waiting out the winter and reserving my strength.

As I am determined to let you be free for as long as humanly possible, Mr Collins must wait.

He has written to me, asking when the wedding shall be, I will write in reply when I am well enough to do so and we shall see.

His letter spoke of his eagerness to ‘claim his bride’ and mentioned Lady Catherine’s impatience to see you settled at the parsonage.

I confess, my dear, that his words gave me pause.

The rest of his letter was filled with much the same manner of thing as his conversation.

It is an amusing read, even if it was not meant to be one.

I find myself wishing, more than ever, that circumstances were different.

But we must make the best of what life offers us, must we not, my dear girl?

Mary has been keeping very well entertained by reading to me every evening.

Even our younger sisters have come to sit with me, although they cannot stay long before they are overcome by some silliness or other.

They talk such a great deal of ribbons and bonnets, I miss your company and that of Jane’s very much indeed.

You will be both missed extremely when your time to quit this house comes for once and all.

Lydia and Kitty have enjoyed being unattended and spending a great deal too much time with the officers.

I believe I will have to check their ways when I am well enough to do so.

There always seems to be one officer who is the current favourite, at the moment I believe it is a Mr Stone, but who knows next week it would well be Mr Wickham .

Mr Wickham continues to charm the neighbourhood, particularly your younger sisters.

His attentions seem to shift frequently as the sun rises, which I find amusing.

I have little news for you, as an old and somewhat boring man I do see little and hear less, if I can help it.

I have, however my best attempts not to, heard via Kitty that Miss Lucas is going to stay with an aunt in Bath indefinitely.

I know this news will bring you pain my dear as you will not have a chance to say goodbye to her since she is to leave before you are to return.

I hope Jane is enjoying her time in town.

Has she had any opportunity to renew her acquaintance with Mr Bingley?

Yours etc.

Your affectionate Father

P.S.

Lizzy, I picked up the most intriguing volume of sermons yesterday, which speaks at length on the virtues of patience and forbearance in marriage.

One passage in particular struck me as pertinent to your situation: “A wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.” (Proverbs 14:1) I do hope you’ll find time for reflection amidst the bustle of town life.

Perhaps Mr Collins might appreciate discussing such edifying literature with you upon your return?

Your affectionate sister, Mary

A storm of emotions raged within her - fear, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. How could she be here in London, planning for a future she dreaded, while her beloved father grew weaker by the day? The weight of her choices pressed down on her, threatening to crush her spirit.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, remembering her father as he had been just months ago - his eyes twinkling with mirth as he shared a private joke with her, his steady hand as he reached for a book from his study shelves.

The image of him now, pale and weak, unable even to pen his own letter, brought a fresh wave of grief.

Elizabeth folded the letter, her fingers trembling slightly.

Her father’s words about Mr Collins’ eagerness to “claim his bride” echoed in her mind, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

She could almost hear Mr Collins’ voice, pompous and self-important, expounding on the virtues of their upcoming union and Lady Catherine’s approval.

“To be mistress of Hunsford parsonage,” Elizabeth murmured to herself, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

She imagined the small, stuffy rooms, the constant proximity to Lady Catherine, and worst of all, the endless evenings listening to Mr Collins read sermons.

Would there be no escape from his tedious conversation and awkward attempts at affection?

She glanced at the letter from Mr Collins that lay unopened on her desk.

Even the sight of his handwriting, with its overly elaborate loops and flourishes, filled her with a sense of dread.

She knew she should read it, should respond with appropriate gratitude and enthusiasm, but she couldn’t bring herself to break the seal.

Not yet. Not when every word would be another chain binding her to a future she increasingly feared.

“Oh, Papa,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “How I wish things were different.”

She longed to rush back to Longbourn, to be by her father’s side.

Yet she knew she couldn’t - not without jeopardising the very future she had sacrificed so much to secure.

The irony of it all threatened to overwhelm her.

In trying to ensure her family’s security, she had never felt more powerless to help them.

Elizabeth battled her emotions, dreading what Mr Darcy might have glimpsed in the letter.

His softened manner puzzled her. Though she’d begun to reconsider him, Wickham’s mention rekindled her misgivings.

Was Mr Darcy’s kindness genuine? Despite his altered behaviour, she was determined not to like him.

Despite her resolution not to like him, Elizabeth found herself dwelling on Mr Darcy’s changed manner.

Was it possible that the man she had so thoroughly disliked in Hertfordshire was not the true Mr Darcy at all?

Or was this all an elaborate act, the purpose of which she could not guess?

She longed to understand the reason behind his transformation, even as she reminded herself that it should not matter to her.

She was not left long to her silent wondering as one of her nieces was calling her.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders.

She would carry on, for her father’s sake.

She would find a way to be strong, to be the daughter he needed her to be, even as her heart broke at the thought of the time they were losing.

Elizabeth emerged from their room, her eyes slightly red. Jane, ever attentive, immediately noticed her sister’s distress.

“Lizzy, what’s the matter?” she asked gently. Elizabeth managed a weak smile.

“It’s nothing, Jane. Just… news from home.”

Jane squeezed her hand in silent understanding.

There was no more time to dwell on the letter or her encounter with Mr Darcy in the park for they were to go to the theatre that night and there was much to do to get ready. Her nephews and nieces were not to be attending and required extra attention.

Elizabeth tied her bonnet, her father’s words echoed in her mind. She longed for the peace of Longbourn’s gardens, but perhaps an evening at the theatre would offer some solace. At the very least, it would provide a distraction from her tumultuous thoughts.

As Elizabeth lay in bed that night, sleep eluded her. The day’s events played over in her mind - Mr Darcy’s unexpected kindness, the weight of her father’s words, and the looming reality of her engagement to Mr Collins. She turned restlessly, wondering what the morrow would bring.