Page 18 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)

Elizabeth

A new diary; a fresh start, perhaps. We are to travel south for the remainder of the summer.

I am reluctant to leave, for Pemberley in summer is a sanctuary - cool, green, and still.

London grows unbearable this time of year, and I have always found relief in Derbyshire’s quiet, its calm far removed from society’s expectations.

Yet Georgiana has set her heart upon a sojourn in Ramsgate.

Her companion, Mrs. Younge, has praised it often - its air, its prospects, its supposed refinement.

I have consented, though not without unease.

I cannot say why this separation troubles me more than others have.

Georgiana has grown; she is no longer the girl I once watched with an elder brother’s benign detachment.

She is a young woman now, and with womanhood comes both beauty and vulnerability.

I trust Mrs. Younge; she appears attentive, warm, and firm - qualities that will serve Georgiana well.

Yet I mistrust the world. I know its deceits.

I have seen its charm and cruelty too closely to allow peace of mind where my sister is concerned.

Rosings will occupy me for a time. My aunt, Lady Catherine, has expressed a wish that I attend to some improvements upon the estate, though I suspect she is more interested in arranging improvements to my marital state.

Anne will no doubt be thrust upon me by her mother, as she always is – it is my belief that she cares for me in that respect even less than I do for her…

a feat that is impressive, for I have never viewed my cousin in any sort of marital light.

3 rd August 18--

The journey to Rosings was arduous. The roads get worse with each journey.

Georgiana could scarcely sit still as we neared Kent; she is most excited to take her first trip of such a nature without me, and I see more and more the future that lies ahead without her.

In my mind, she is still the babe that was placed in my arms when my mother lay dead, my father too consumed with grief to hold her.

Those days are long passed, but they will live in my memory forever more.

My aunt is pleased our arrival, but she is aggrieved that Georgiana will soon depart for Ramsgate.

“You cannot think to send her alone!” she said to me upon hearing the news, which I did not tell her in my initial correspondence for I knew she would only utilise the time to scheme a way to keep her here.

“She will not be alone,” was my reply, for Mrs Younge is well known to my aunt, who assisted in her selection along with Fitzwilliam.

I will not go to the lengths of transcribing the exact conversation, for it was of little interest to me at the time, and I imagine even less so if I were to reread the account in the future.

Elizabeth could not help the bark of laughter that escaped her.

Was it possible that, within the private confines of his confession, Mr Darcy possessed a sense of humour?

She continued reading, finding little of note.

He was meticulous in the detail of his day, and after two or three days had passed with this mysterious aunt, Elizabeth felt that she had experienced the tedium of his visit herself.

Miss Darcy departed for Ramsgate two days after their arrival at Rosings, and Mr Darcy passed the days riding and in the company of his aunt.

After reading perhaps ten of the pages, Elizabeth set the diary down.

She was not sure what she had been expecting, but this had been the account of an ordinary man – something she had not seen Mr Darcy as before.

His snobbery and pride seemed lessened within these pages, for his inner dialogue seemed far more reasonable when read.

Perhaps her true grievance with the man was that he did not seem to hold his tongue in the manner expected of a gentleman.

There was a knock at the door, and Elizabeth scrambled to put the diary away, hiding it beneath the covers.

The door was pushed open a moment later, the person on the other side not attempting to wait for permission.

It was Mrs Hill, and Elizabeth could see the figure of Mr Hill behind her, holding the door.

Elizabeth rushed out of bed, holding the door so Mrs Hill could huff and puff past her.

“I’ve brought you water, Miss Lizzy,” Hill said. “Really, what have you been playing at, my girl?”

“I really am quite alright. Once I am warm, I will be up and about as usual.”

“Oh no, that isn’t what your mother said! The whole day abed, those are her instructions.”

“I am wet, not dying!” Elizabeth protested.

Hill retreated back into the hallway, returning with a pile of linen. Her red face was just visible above the pile, which was unnecessarily large simply for the means of Lizzy drying herself.

“You and your tongue, Miss Elizabeth. Too much cheek! Wash yourself, and then straight to bed as your mother says!”

She left the room before Lizzy could argue back, the door closing heavily behind her.

Elizabeth bit back a smile. She dipped her fingers in the bowl of water, finding it pleasantly hot.

She dipped a cloth inside, and gave herself a dab or two just for appearances before diving back into bed and scrabbling for Mr Darcy’s journal.

She did not know why she was so eager to continue reading, for if she wished for a dreary account of one’s every thought, she could count on both Mary and Mr Collins for that level of excruciating mediocrity.

20 h August 18--

I received word from Georgiana that they are having a very pleasant time in Ramsgate.

The hotel I arranged is well kept, she says, and the sea air most invigorating.

Her letter was brief but informative. I suppose that she is simply too busy to pen a long missive to her brother, but I found myself missing the rambling letters she often sends me when we are apart.

My aunt has once again continued to behave as though her long-desired betrothal between Anne and me is an assured prospect. She states, as she always does, that my dearest mother (rest her soul) desired this above all things.

She is certain that the marriage will go ahead, as she and my mother discussed long ago.

No amount of protestation will sway her determined mind.

I believe my mother had no true intentions of seeing me wed Anne, but I do not think there is a person alive brave enough to argue with Aunt Catherine.

She grows fiercer and more stubborn with each passing year.

I will not be forced into an unhappy union.

I know it would be such, for Anne does not seem to particularly enjoy my company, nor anybody else’s – she is far happier in solitude, and I would not steal that contentment from her.

If I were to take a wife, I believe she would have to be quite an extraordinary sort of woman.

Marriage seems to me to be entirely undesirable; I see nothing at all to endear the arrangement to me. I have seen many marriages that seem to contain nothing but animosity and loathing.

And then, when I am alone in the dark of night, I think how nice it might be to have a warm body beside me; a fanciful notion that marriage could come from love and adoration. My parents were in possession of such a union, but it is a rare thing – as rare as a diamond, and as valuable.

I have begun to question whether I shall ever meet a woman I could truly admire.

Society parades before me countless eligible ladies, each more polished than the last, yet none have stirred anything in me beyond polite indifference.

Their accomplishments are rehearsed, their laughter practiced, and their conversation. .. uninspired.

Sometimes I wonder if it is I who am lacking.

Perhaps I yearn for a woman who does not exist. Perhaps my heart is too guarded.

But I cannot believe it is so wrong to hope for more.

More than beauty, more than lineage or propriety.

I want wit, intelligence, warmth. A woman who sees the world with clarity, who speaks not only to be heard but to be understood.

I long for someone who might challenge me - who would not flatter or fawn, but meet my gaze with confidence and conviction. Where is such a woman to be found? Does she even exist?

She could not help but recall all the times that she had felt his eyes upon hers, nor the heat that rose within her when he did so.

She shook her head; she truly must be ill, for she was surely not thinking of Mr Darcy in any sort of romantic manner!

She turned the page, noting that the date was far later than the previous entry.

She frowned; such a lapse was remarkable, for there were times he made two entries in one day – what could have happened that caused him to miss more than an entire week?

1 st September 18--

I cannot believe what I am about to write. The very thought of committing these events to paper sickens me, but I must – lest I go mad.

Wickham has committed an unbearable crime against my sister. He has betrayed any loyalty he might have owed to my father, who gave him so much. I have never felt such anger, such disgust. I am not a violent man by nature, but this past week, I have understood why men kill.

I do not know where to begin. I suppose the most logical place is the beginning.

As you know, Georgiana is passing this last month of summer in Ramsgate; the idea was first suggested to me by Mrs Younge. I see now that I was lured into a trap. I was too trusting of a woman I know now to be nothing more than a villain.

Georgiana wrote to me every few days, and I did not know that anything was amiss.

And then something about the tone of her correspondence changed.

I do not know what possessed me, but I left for Ramsgate at once.

I cannot say what I expected to find, but I certainly had never imagined the horror that awaited me.