Love Letters from Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Novella Page 4

  Mr. Collins was quick to agree. “Yes, cousin Elizabeth, please read your letter aloud.”

  Darcy spoke up before either the colonel or Miss Elizabeth could do so.

  “I do not believe it to be necessary. Should she have phrased the matter incorrectly, I would not want Miss Elizabeth to suffer discomfort from having her family and friends know of her error. As it happens…” he reached into his own pocket and pulled out a letter of his own. “I, myself, have written to Mr. Bennet for the same purpose. Does your letter include greetings for your family?”

  “Yes, it does.” He could see the gratitude on her face.

  “Then I will include yours with my own. If I might add a post script so Mr. Bennet knows how I came into possession of his daughter’s letter, we can arrange for an express rider to send them on their way.”

  Charlotte moved to a desk in the corner and opened the ink well, placing the sharpened quill carefully at the side of the writing surface. Mr. Darcy wrote quickly, sanded the newly inked parchment. He then folded and sealed the two letters together. Yet, when he moved away from the desk, there was not one missive in his hands, but two. Odd!

  Mrs. Collins watched him carefully as he walked back to stand next to Elizabeth. As quick as a breath, the second letter was dropped into her friend’s pocket. Charlotte’s brows went up and her hand went to her mouth. Her eyes swept around the room to find that the only one other than herself who noticed was the colonel. When Darcy’s cousin slowly shook his head “no” and the corner of his mouth lifted, Charlotte knew not to make mention of the matter.

  Elizabeth Bennet had, against all the rules of propriety, received correspondence from Mr. Darcy. How shocking!

  Elizabeth felt the weight of the folded parchment on the left side of her garment and wondered that Mr. Darcy had risked her reputation and his in such a manner. Surely, she should have immediately responded by giving it back, claiming he had inadvertently dropped it in error. She did not. Her curiosity burned and she desired at that second in time to know why he had done so more than what the letter actually said. She could not ask. Her frustration built by the minute.

  Darcy was astounded when Mr. Collins chose that moment to exert his authority over his household. “Maria, you must have your share in the conversation. Charlotte, make her do so.”

  The poor girl looked at the company, fear radiating from her at the request. Both Miss Elizabeth and Mrs. Collins moved to stand alongside her, like sentinels guarding a treasure. Darcy loved Elizabeth even more for caring for her friend in this way. It foreshadowed her future treatment of Georgiana, once he brought Elizabeth to Pemberley as his wife.

  “Mr. Darcy, it is a testimony to your elevated rank that you condescend to aid my cousin Bennet. I only hope that when I am master of Longbourn, I am able to apply the fine counsel my patroness provides daily. At your marriage, I will most likely be more in your company as you visit your aunt Lady Catherine. We can, then, share our ideas to benefit all three estates, Pemberley, Rosings, and Longbourn.”

  The reactions in the room were varied, though all were immediate.

  Mrs. Collins’ jaw dropped at the effrontery of her husband. Miss Lucas continued to sit in silence, although she, too, looked at her brother-in-law with disdain.

  “Mr. Collins!” burst from Darcy’s lips, as the colonel started laughing.

  It was Elizabeth’s response that was of most concern to Darcy. Fists on her hips, she stared straight into his eyes. He had never witnessed such fire-like intensity. “Married?”

  Before he could respond, she turned on her heels and left the room.

  Elizabeth Bennet was livid. Her first thought had been to run outside to find solace in the calming beauty of nature, but she would take no chances. Mr. Darcy would search for her and find her. The bedchamber at Hunsford became her refuge. To a man of honour, it was a barrier never to be crossed.

  How dare he propose to her when he was already attached to Miss de Bourgh! While she had been shocked at Mr. Collins’ statement it was Mr. Darcy’s failure to deny the engagement which hurt her heart to the core.

  She took a deep breath and willed her mind to keep from imputing the worst motive to a man she had come to respect.

  Of course he could not deny the engagement. She had not allowed him even a moment to reply before she stormed out of the parlour in as unladylike a fit as she had seen her youngest sisters perform many times at Longbourn.

  Dropping down onto the patch-worked coverlet, she heard the crinkle of the parchment from the letter still in her pocket. Frustration filled her to the brim as she removed the folded paper and tried to crumple it in her hands. The heavy quality of his parchment and the thickness of its layers made the task more difficult than she could have imagined. Had it been the parsonage stationery, she could have ruined it with ease. Irritation filled her until realisation hit that it was not the paper she wanted to mangle, but Mr. Darcy himself.

  Smoothing out the surface, she noted the penmanship was exactly the same as the day before. ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet’ was neatly formed with even-sized letters in a firm hand. The missive he had given her the day before was the first ever written to her by a man. Even the notes penned to her by her favourite uncle, Mr. Edward Gardiner, were done by his wife. Now, she had two.

  Using her thumb and index fingers, she lifted it by the top corners until it was several inches off her lap. It weighed more than the letter he had given her the day before. She moved her fingers away so it fell back to her dress. What does it matter how many pages he used? It simply did not matter at all.

  Elizabeth set the letter on the bed and walked to the window overlooking the vegetable garden, determined to purge its presence from her mind.

  Mr. Collins was extraordinarily proud of his cucumbers. He was a silly man, though never malicious. His sole purpose in life seemed to be to serve his patroness. Charlotte did not appear to mind his odd behaviour so, in light of Mr. Darcy’s own officiousness, she should look to the example of her father’s cousin as an honourable man. Elizabeth suddenly wanted to slap herself in the forehead. Mr. Collins? An example?

  Her inborn curiosity started to churn and she knew from prior experience that she would not be able to expel the presence of the missive from her mind.

  I wonder if he purchased all his paper from one source. Did they have the same maker’s watermark? No, I will not look at or think of the letters. It was improper for Mr. Darcy to give them to me and equally as improper for me to take them.

  Three small steps was all it took to return to where the letter lay face down on the bed clothes. Did he offer blessings as he did on the closing of the other letter? She forced her eyes not to look.

  They looked!

  ‘from my humble heart to yours. Your servant, Fitzwilliam Darcy’

  Such a lovely sentiment. How could he! He is betrothed to his cousin so it is ungentlemanly to write such sweet words to another female. Elizabeth wanted to tear the parchment into the tiniest of pieces and throw them out of the window to be carried by the wind to the far corners of the earth. However, with the gentle breeze of the afternoon, they would most likely land in the cucumber patch for Mr. Collins to find. She huffed into the silence of the room.

  Her father had forever declared her the most curious of all his daughters. At this particular moment in time, she wished he was not so astute.

  She stared at the letter, only stopping when she realised she probably looked like Mr. Darcy when he had stared at her. She glared at the letter to the same effect. Finally, Elizabeth picked it up and stuffed it under her pillow where Mr. Darcy’s first letter was nestled.

  “Humph!” It was no wonder she had been restless in her sleep the night before.

  At the soft knock on the door, Elizabeth spun around and stepped in front of her pillow, shielding her guilt with her sage green muslin gown.

  Charlotte Collins, nee Lucas, had been one of her closest friends for the last six years. Though older, with a much less curiou
s nature, she was often the clear voice of reason to Elizabeth. In turn, Elizabeth had aided Charlotte to read more, learn more, and take more risks— never to her detriment, of course.

  “The gentlemen have returned to Rosings, Eliza, so you may come downstairs if you would like.”

  Elizabeth heard the tease in the words. “You must think me frightfully silly, my dear friend.”

  Charlotte cleared her throat and moved to sit on the bed. “Silly? No. Confused? Possibly.”

  Sitting next to her hostess and flopping back on the quilt, Elizabeth sighed loudly. “Men! Why are they such miserable creatures?”

  “Why are they miserable, or why does one man in particular make you miserable?” Charlotte chuckled.

  “Mr. Darcy is so…he is so…” Elizabeth had been going to say “arrogant”, “unkind”, and “proud”, but realised from their conversation in the glen that he was much different to how she had always thought him to be.

  “Yes?” Charlotte’s brow lifted, and Elizabeth knew she would not be able to get away with not sharing her confusion with her friend.

  “Oh, Charlotte. I do not know what to think of the man. First, in Hertfordshire, he was so disdainful it was easy to hate him and wish him forever removed from my life. When I cared for Jane during her illness at Netherfield Park, I would imagine all sorts of devious means of banishing him to the most distant parts of the British empire— my favourite being him getting lost in the jungles of India with Caroline Bingley being his sole traveling companion where he was forced to choose either marriage to the woman or being attacked by a venomous snake.”

  Charlotte tried not to laugh. “What a horrid future for the poor man. A viper either way.”

  “Poor man!” Astonished, Elizabeth blurted. “Hardly poor. He throws his wealth around…” She stopped and her tone softened. “No, I cannot claim truthfully that he uses his funds inappropriately.” Shaking her head, she looked at the woman sitting next to her and then threw her arm over to cover her eyes. “I am a blind fool, Charlotte.”

  “He loves you, does he not?”

  “He has said as much.”

  “Do you believe he will make you an offer?”

  “He already has.” The words came out slowly. At that, Elizabeth lowered her arm and sat up. “Two nights ago when my headache kept me from Rosings.” She acknowledged the look of shock on Charlotte’s face with a nod. Clasping her hands in her lap, she squeezed her fingers together until her knuckles turned white. “How can he have done so when he was already engaged to Miss de Bourgh? What kind of man would do that?”

  Charlotte patted her arm, offering the comfort a companion who knew the best and worst of you could provide.

  “You refused him, then?”

  “How could I not!” Elizabeth stood and walked to the window. “He phrased his offer in such a way as to inform me of his struggles to overcome his aversion to the people I love most in the world—my family.” She turned to look at her friend. “We spoke yesterday in the glen, and I came to understand that his ability to make conversation under stressful conditions is a difficulty for him. Immediately he offered an apology. Eventually, he relaxed and became quite pleasant to speak with. He told me he loved me, Charlotte. Me!”

  “Therefore you must feel like he is a traitor of the worst kind. That he is dishonourable and cruel.”

  “Yes!” “No!” Elizabeth moved to sit next to her friend. “I do not know what to think.”

  “Well, I do know what to tell you, for after you walked out of the parlour, both Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam adamantly denied the claims made by my husband. He is most certainly not betrothed to Miss de Bourgh.”

  Elizabeth’s shoulders dropped at the news. In her heart of hearts, she had wanted it to be so—she had wanted him to be a decent man—one who, though imperfect, was above reproach.

  “Charlotte?” Even she could hear the hesitancy in her voice.

  Taking Elizabeth’s hand in hers, Charlotte carefully considered her words before speaking.

  “Do you believe me to be unhappy in my marriage?”

  “I…well, I…”

  “I am aware you believe I made a terrible mistake by marrying Mr. Collins. But you would be wrong.” Charlotte patted her hand. “You have no clue how wonderful it feels to be adored, to be cherished more than any other woman the man has ever known. Mr. Collins has many areas needing improvement, and slowly we are working together to move him beyond those flaws. I have imperfections that surely irritate him as well. Nevertheless, each morning before I rise, he goes downstairs to pick a flower or bring me a pretty leaf he has collected to set next to my tea cup. He has not failed to do so one time since our first morning together.” She smiled at the memory.

  “Yes, he, like your Mr. Darcy, is not good when in company. Yet, his care for his parishioners is admirable. He thinks nothing of sitting with a young child, listening to its prattle for as long as the child demands his attention. Mr. Collins spent the whole of the night listening to all forty years of memories when Mr. Cribbins lost his wife. When he arrived home, he held my hand and then prayed to thank our heavenly Father for the marriage arrangement.”

  “Oh, Charlotte, how wonderful for you.” Elizabeth’s chin dipped as her eyes closed in shame. “Pray accept my apologies for my ignorance.”

  “Might I ask you to open your eyes and see what is in front of you? Mr. Darcy was wrong to injure you with his insult at the Meryton assembly. But he has also been wronged by having his fundamental character called into question.”

  “By me.”

  “Yes, by you.” Charlotte leaned over and bumped her shoulder against Elizabeth’s. “Now tell me, what did Mr. Darcy’s letter say?”

  She could not prevent her sharp inhale.

  “You noticed?”

  “I did. And I believe the colonel saw his cousin slip the letter into your pocket as well.”

  Elizabeth’s groan filled the room. “Oh, no.”

  “I am curious, what did it say?”

  The smile on her friend’s face made Elizabeth grasp how ridiculous her own behaviour had been. Reaching under the pillow, she pulled out both letters, still sealed.

  “I have not a clue.”

  Before the sun started to set, Elizabeth resolved to make her way out-of-doors. Assuming the gentlemen of Rosings Park were busy with estate matters so she would not be interrupted, she made her way to the glen, not stopping until she was next to the stream.

  Never one to be overcome by negativity, she desired to find enjoyment in the remainder of the day. When she recalled her friend’s consternation in finding the letters still unopened, she could not contain her smile. Charlotte Collins liked to think of herself as a staid matron, but she was still the friend who would pay rapt attention to Elizabeth’s tales of adventure and daring as they lay in the grassy fields between Longbourn and Lucas Lodge, Charlotte’s former home. A giggle burst from Elizabeth’s chest before she could stop it. As much as she was curious about the contents of the letters, she loved that she had shocked Charlotte so.

  The late afternoon sun was on her back as she stared over the water. It was a lovely pool gathering at a bend in the stream, which would be perfect for dipping in during the hot summer months. The blue-grey of the water proclaimed its hold on the winter’s chill. This time of year she would keep her walking boots on.

  Looking down, she spotted a flat stone, about the width of her palm and knew exactly what to do with it. Bending to retrieve it for her pocket, she spied another one, and then another. Before long, the weight of the stones against the seams of the muslin was heavy enough, Elizabeth worried the fabric would tear. Brushing her hands together to rid herself of the pieces of mud and dirt clinging to her fingers, she lifted a perfect oval and turned it over between her fingers.

  The first time she had noted Charlotte’s brother, Robert, doing the same, Elizabeth had practised for hours until the stone moved between her fingers with rapidity. She had to laugh at herself. It h
ad been years since she played with skipping rocks on the water.

  Turning sideways, she pulled her elbow back after tucking the rock solidly between the circle of her thumb and index finger and prepared to let it fly.

  She heard men’s voices.

  Needless to say, her perfect hour in the waning sun was not to be solitary. Colonel Fitzwilliam hailed a greeting, while Mr. Darcy walked silently alongside him. During the time it took her to traverse from Hunsford to the stream, Elizabeth had come to the conclusion that Mr. Darcy was the victim of a manipulative relative and realised they had one more thing in common. Just as he had to be aware how her mother had planned Jane’s horseback ride in the rain to keep her at Mr. Bingley’s residence, his aunt was trying to entrap him by her demands into offering for her daughter. It would not do to continue her course of anger and disappointment under the circumstances.

  Not wanting to give too much thought as to why there had been a measure of disappointment at the idea of Mr. Darcy’s betrothal at all, she again cocked her arm back to skip the stone smoothly across the water before they reached her.

  “I know that pose,” stated the colonel as he approached. Bending down, he selected a flat stone and quickly skipped it across the pond. It bounced four times before sinking into the water’s depths.

  For the moment, Elizabeth ignored the colonel.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy bowed at her presence. “I hope…”

  Instead, she stared at Mr. Darcy in the same manner he had done in the autumn at Netherfield Park— face devoid of expression and eyes relaxed as if she had no care in the world except to examine him closely to look for a fault. It was not a good plan. He was devastatingly handsome, with masculine features unmarred by blemish or flaw. His dark eyes flicked over her face, lowered to note her rigid stance, and then alighted back on her eyes. Though he would not be able to read her expression, she could see the worry in his.