Page 23 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy

Darcy

D arcy sat at his desk in the library, the fire crackling as the evening had become chilly. He had been working half-heartedly through estate accounts, but his concentration had wavered ever since breakfast. A familiar longing tugged at him—an ever-growing ache to see Elizabeth’s face lit with something brighter than guarded politeness. He had scarcely made progress when a knock at the door signalled a welcome interruption.

“Come in,” Darcy called, setting his quill aside.

The butler entered, carrying a sealed letter. Darcy recognised the hand at once—Charles Bingley’s eager scrawl. His spirits lifted as he took it, his mind already racing with hopes of good news.

“Thank you,” he said, dismissing the servant before breaking the seal with uncharacteristic impatience. He unfolded the paper and began to read, his eyes moving quickly over Bingley’s exuberant words.

Netherfield Park,

25 th August 1812

My dear Darcy,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I write to you with much joy and gratitude, my heart lighter than it has been in months. It is with great pleasure that I announce I have at last shared with Miss Bennet all that I had kept from her—my thoughts, my fears, and my foolish mistakes. I have these past months done all I could to ease her burden.

I need not tell you, my dear friend, how much it means to me that I was finally able to make myself understood—truly understood. I apologised, as I ought, for my earlier hesitations and for the pain I must have caused her. She graciously accepted not only my apology and we are once more courting.

It is a joy beyond measure to know that she has forgiven me for my previous folly and that she now looks forward to our future together. Of course, I wish to propose as does her mother but I cannot in good conscience do so without first seeking her father’s approval, which of course he cannot currently give. He is improving more and more each day but speech is difficult for him and we do not wish to overwhelm him with excitable news. But in a few weeks’ time, we feel we shall be able to speak to him and get his consent. And then, we shall set the date. I know Jane is writing a similar letter to Elizabeth, so I ask you not to share this news with Elizabeth just yet.

Until we speak again I remain

Yours sincerely,

Charles Bingley

At the announcement of Bingley and Jane’s reconciliation, Darcy allowed himself a rare smile. Relief mingled with satisfaction. Of course, Elizabeth would be delighted by this news, yet the letter reminded him how precariously he had handled the situation in the past.

His first instinct was to seek Elizabeth at once. The news of Jane and Bingley’s courtship and impending marriage would surely bring her joy, a lightness he longed to see return to her features. His Aunt Catherine’s visit had cast a dark shadow over the progress they’d made, no doubt having reminded her of the unkind things he had said about the Bennets when he first proposed marriage.

Still, for a moment, he imagined her reaction—the way her dark eyes might brighten and her lips curve into a smile not marred by reservations.

But then he paused. As Bingley had said, Jane was also writing to Elizabeth. Indeed, when he’d looked through the post he’d seen a letter to her from her sister. It was a sister’s right, a private joy between them. It was not Darcy’s place to interfere, no matter how much he desired Elizabeth’s approval.

He rose from his desk and crossed to the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out over the grounds of Pemberley. The landscape was tranquil, but within him, a storm churned. Why did every decision regarding Elizabeth feel so fraught with risk? A single misstep, he feared, would only confirm whatever reservations she still harboured.

He sighed, frustrated by his hesitation, and resolved to do the only thing he could. He would reply to Bingley, expressing his delight in the news and, perhaps selfishly, seeking advice about his own troubles.

Returning to the desk, Darcy drew out fresh stationery. As he dipped his quill in ink, he forced himself to breathe evenly. His words must not betray his vulnerability too plainly. He began:

My Dear Bingley,

Your letter has brought much-needed brightness to my day. News of your reconciliation with Miss Bennet gladdens me beyond measure. You are a lucky man, though I do not doubt you are fully aware of this truth.

It is equally heartening to hear of Mr Bennet’s progress.

As for my own matters, I must admit that not all news is as joyful as yours. Lady Catherine has definitively refused any assistance in the matter of the entail no doubt because she remains upset about my refusal to marry Anne. My aunt had also learned about Anne’s fondness for Richard, so you can imagine that news was not well received.

I am certain there will be repercussions sooner rather than later. In any case, Lady Catherine is furious. Her self-righteous indignation was communicated with such vigour that even now, days later, I find myself fuming. It is clear we must find another solution to secure Elizabeth’s family’s future, but at present, I know not what that may be.

Elizabeth herself remains silent on whether she feels ready to deepen her connection to me. I cannot blame her; I would rather she speak in her own time than feign contentment. However, this waiting is more difficult than I imagined. If there is solace to be found, it is in the hope that her heart might one day mirror the steadfastness of my own.

You have always had the enviable talent of finding light where I see only shadows, so I ask, as my dearest friend, that you write back soon. I value your counsel more than I know how to say.

Yours ever,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Darcy set down the quill and carefully folded the letter. Bingley’s happiness and the slow but sure recovery of Mr Bennet reminded him of his place in Elizabeth’s life. As much as he loved her, it was not enough to will her love in return. He could only offer her space and time.

Yet, as he sat there, Darcy could not suppress the faint, foolish hope that Elizabeth might see something more in him than the flaws he had once so unthinkingly displayed. Every day that passed without her declaring her intention to annul their union brought equal parts relief and trepidation. If she left him, it would mean an end to the waiting—but it would also mean the end of any hope for the life he so desperately wanted.

The thought chilled him more than the coolness of the approaching autumn ever could.

Satisfied the ink was dry, Darcy sealed the letter. He tugged on the bell pull to summon a footman, instructing the missive be sent to Bingley at once. As the door closed, he returned to the window, gazing out at the horizon with a heavy sigh. The leaden, grey clouds mirrored his thoughts.

And so, he would wait, as he always did—with patience and a heart full of unspoken hope.