Page 11 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
Darcy unfolded the second letter with more anticipation than the first, his fingers lingering on the familiar curves of Georgiana’s hand.
It had taken weeks—months, even—for her to find her voice again after Ramsgate.
To receive her words now, freely given and penned in her own hand, was more precious than he could easily express.
My dearest brother,
I hope this letter finds you well and at peace in Hertfordshire.
Aunt has told me you are residing at Netherfield Park with Mr. Bingley, and that the countryside there is particularly beautiful this time of year.
Do tell me if that is true, or if Aunt is romanticizing again.
She always says the air in the country clears the mind, though I suspect it is also her way of implying I ought to ride more often.
I have wanted to write to you for some time, but I found the task more daunting than I expected. I was afraid… of what you might think,perhaps, or of what I might discover in myself once I set pen to paper. But I must begin somewhere, and so I will begin here—with a simple truth: I am sorry.
I know now how gravely I erred this summer.
I was foolish, willful, and blind. And worse, I was proud in my own way, proud enough to believe that I could not be deceived, that my judgment was sound.
I see now how easily charm can disguise cruelty, and how ignorance may lead to ruin.
Iwas swept up in a fantasy, and I mistook attention for affection, recklessness for romance.
I cannot forgive myself easily, nor would I ask you to do so without cause.
But I am trying to make sense of my heart again, and I wish,above all, that you know I am no longer pretending innocence.
Aunt has been more gracious than I deserve.
She never speaks unkindly of what occurred, though I know she was greatly distressed.
She has done her best to encourage my healing, gently and without judgment.
Last week, she surprised me with a new volume of music—Twelve Divertimenti for the Harpsichord by Johann Samuel Schroeter.
It is delicate and thoughtful and unlike anything I have played before.
I have taken a particular liking to the fourth divertimento.
It begins simply, then becomes unexpectedly intricate—much like life, I suppose.
I hope to play it for you soon, though I will require more practice yet to do it justice.
In addition to my music, I have begun lessons again. My new master is Monsieur Morel, a French musician who trained in Paris before the war. He says my technique is sound but that I play as though I am apologizing for every note. He is not wrong. But I am learning to take up space again.Slowly .
I have also begun sessions with a dancing master—Mr. Latham. He is strict, but not unkind, and reminds me that confidence is not arrogance. It is the difference between hiding and standing tall. He has lovely posture and never needs to raise his voice. I think I like him.
Art continues to bring me solace. Aunt and I visited Somerset House again this week, where I saw several works by Angelica Kauffman.
Her paintings of tragic heroines moved me more than I can say.
There was one—“Ariadne Abandoned”—that I cannot stop thinking about.
The sorrow in her expression was so human, so familiar.
I found myself staring until my eyes burned.
I hope one day I might see the world with such clarity and still create beauty from it.
Now, tell me about Netherfield. What is the house like?
Are the stables well-kept? Does Mr. Bingley read as much as his sister claims in her letters?
Aunt says you have written of a family nearby with five daughters—what must that be like?
I confess I can hardly imagine such a household. You must tell me all about them.
But more than anything, tell me how you are.
Truly. I worry for you, Fitzwilliam. You carry so much and share so little.
Please write soon, and at length. I miss your counsel, your dry humor, and even your disapproving silences.
I am trying to be strong, but I would be stronger still if I knew you were near—even if only in ink and paper.
Your ever-loving sister, Georgiana
Darcy lowered the letter slowly, the final lines still ringing in his thoughts.
There was a fragility to Georgiana’s words, but also something new—a spark of resilience. For so long she had been quiet, subdued, content to let others speak for her. But here, at last, was her voice. Penitent, yes, but also curious, observant, alive.
She was learning from her mistakes—not burying them. That she could reflect on her own fault without despair, that she could once again take joy in music and art and the rhythm of daily life—it moved him more deeply than he had expected.
He smiled faintly at her questions. About Bingley’s reading habits, about the Bennet sisters, about Hertfordshire and its peculiar charm. There would be time to answer all of that.
For now, he held only one truth in his chest like a balm: she was finding her way back to herself. And for the first time in many months, he believed she would succeed.
Darcy stared at the final lines of Georgiana’s letter, his thumb tracing the edge of the parchment.
A thought—dangerous in its tenderness—had begun to take shape in his mind even before he’d fully realized it.
What would Elizabeth think of Georgiana?
And more telling still, what would Georgiana think of Elizabeth?
He could picture it with disarming clarity: Elizabeth seated beside Georgiana at the pianoforte, encouraging her to play louder, to play boldly.
Elizabeth would not coddle her, he suspected, but she would be kind.
She would see the sharp intelligence behind his sister’s shyness, would coax it forth with that steady, spirited grace of hers.
Georgiana, for her part, would likely be wary at first, but Darcy imagined her responding to Elizabeth the way he had—despite herself, despite her caution.
They would suit, he thought. Not only in temperament, but in spirit.
The idea filled him with a quiet longing, one he hardly dared name.
For now, it was only a hope, folded between the lines of two letters and locked behind his ribs.
But still, it pulsed. If Georgiana’s letter marked the beginning of her return to the world, then perhaps… perhaps Elizabeth could be part of it.