Author's note: Being occupied a lot with H&H I hardly have time to think of other storylines but I've written this little exchange of letters between Darcy and Elizabeth even before I had thought of writing a longer story and I hope that it was worth a try. My special thanks goes to Jackie (Whose encouragement when I was down was most helpful), Kara Lou (Pemberley's Promise is one of the greatest stories ever), Alicia M. (Whose steady support of so many stories is truly admireable), Skylar (LOVE Conviction), Daniella (One of the greatest storywriters at DWG), Anne, Beth Ann, Jean, Jennifer Lynn and last but not least Alyson, whose stories I've come to love.
Posted on Sunday, 27 April 2003
London, 1821My beloved and my friend,
Have you ever been sitting at your desk, knowing that you want to write to the person you love most in this world but not being able to form a proper sentence? Looking down at the floor I see about fifteen disrupted pieces of paper, proof that I'm not very proficient at letter-writing but what else is new? I can see your brows lifting themselves at this most senseless babbling but also your lovely smile. Am I forgiven for being too much in love to know how to put it into words?
I marvel at your ability to write the most beautiful, most affectionate letters for not only are they gardens of flowers, sweet smells and gentle butterflies but also sincere, deep and rooted in the very core of your love and desire to be loved. Having revealed frankly once what I was feeling I may do so now, trusting that you will not be offended by it. As my life progressed I was the target of many passions, feelings and desires which aroused my pity and indifference rather than love or regard. Being brought up in a family where even the thought of acting on feelings or making a choice for love was regarded as a folly I developed some sort of aloofness which proved to be a curse rather than a blessing which you, ange adorable, know best, I dare say.
Were it not for you and your benevolence and goodwill I may as well have ended up as a bitter old man. For seven years now we've been living together, spending our youth in love and friendship. Being realistic rather than romantic I know that what we have is neither typical nor a given and I want you to know that I thank God daily for making you a part of my life. But, as usual, I'm straying from my original point, please forgive me.
Of all the feelings I've stirred there was one and only one except for you which was sincere, tender and loving but I failed to realise it. Before I met you my family had formed my life before I was capable of uttering a word, not to speak of deciding how I would live my life. My excellent parents had been married for about three years and were pleased at my birth, especially because my poor mother had miscarried two infants previously. As a baby I was spoiled, perhaps my fastidiousness of later times had started right there. But after four years a blow struck my entire family and it was I who was blamed for it though it was none of my doing. A respectable doctor, summoned because my mother had not conceived in years and was eager to know why, told her that by giving birth to me something within her was destroyed for good and that there would be no more children. My mother, God bless her, bore the news with grace and strength as did my father who, a firm stoic, refused to give way to his feelings.
Ever since then he kept me at a distance, as an innocent child I was incapable of seeing through his facade and even though I was the sole heir my father avoided me, rarely spoke to me and never allowed me to call him anything but Sir, the most intimate name for him was Father, a name rarely used because he insisted on formality rather than natural regard.
As the years progressed my father became bitter and lonely, his dogs were the only ones whose company he enjoyed. My mother, feeling absolutely ashamed bore a guilt which never existed for twelve years after I was born she found herself to be pregnant again. But as hopeful as I was there was no way of turning back the clock. And that the child was a girl did nothing to break the wall of ice between us. I myself was infatuated with my little sister ever since I beheld her first. For years she was the only person in this world whom I truly loved. Not my betrothed, whom I rarely saw, not my friends and certainly not my parents whose silence I had come to tolerate but fail to understand to this day.
Yes, as revolting as this may sound to you, my beloved Elizabeth, I've been engaged before I met you. My mother's sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had lost her husband after three years of marriage. She had just given birth to her daughter Anne. Her constitution was frail and sickly, the doctors did not think she would survive but thank heavens she did and blossomed into a beautiful young girl. Anne and I rarely met and even though she was wearing a ring my parents had sent her when they decided that we should be married I never saw much in her. Her quiet nature, her calm were nothing to a young man who had just come back from studying abroad, I liked her but never much thought of her as my future bride.
I grieved for her when she was suffering from pneumonia but didn't give it much thought for I had gone through this ailment without any serious problem. How was I to know that she would never recover from it? Ever since then she was plagued by a violent cough and constant fever. I spent to further thought on her and when my father died I broke off the engagement on the grounds of being too closely related to the woman in question. As much as I was reproached by her mother I didn't receive one harsh word from Anne. At that time I was merely glad of having escaped such a match but looking back I see now what incredible suffering I inflicted on her.
I was only to find out when I was called at her side to witness her premature death at mere nineteen. Another bout of fever had consumed all her resources and it was obvious that it would be lethal this time. Lady Catherine had taken to her bed because she was totally distraught but I stayed with her until she died at night, only two days after I had arrived. We didn't speak much because her lips were burning from the fever but before she died she squeezed my hand gently and gave me a smile. A smile so sincere and angelic that I thought it would kill me. Her burning lips started to bleed because of the strain which the smile had inflicted upon them but she didn't stop smiling at me until she died with a gentle sigh. Her departure was redemption for her but I, who was supposed to comfort her mother and the family, felt as if I had lost a treasure I didn't even attempt to value. Do not take this as a degradation of the love I feel for you but as a confession of a soul deeply in need of the comfort only you can give.
I never loved Anne and wouldn't love her today but I may have acted otherwise if I had known. My angel, what did this cause in your mind? I would be forever grateful to you if you could tell me what you think. Please, do not think ill of me, though I understand that you may feel duped by me, which was never my intention.
I must conclude now, writing this was draining and painful but I will never regret sharing everything with you for I know that you'll understand me as you always do.
William
Pemberley, 1821My beloved and my friend,
First let me thank you for this long letter, though it was hard for me to read it all in one sitting. There is nothing to forgive if you're too much in love, my dearest.
I was moved at your words on your childhood, reading how you grew up in a world bare of almost any feelings was distressing and alarming. Remembering my words and actions before our engagement I can only offer my most sincere compassion. There was, however, something at which I cannot put my finger on yet. Did your mother distance herself from you as well? How terrible it must have been to grow up with so little support and affection from those who were bound to love you most.
Let me assure you that, though pained by it, I'm not revolted by your previous engagement. For now it is my turn to confess something I never told you. I know about it, I know about it ever since our engagement. How may wonder how all this came about and I'm willing to explain it. When our engagement was announced I was the happiest of women until a most disturbing visitor called on me. She introduced herself as your aunt and demanded to speak to me without greeting my mother or paying respect to my relations. Even though she assumed that I knew perfectly why she had come to see me I had to admit that I had no knowledge of it whatsoever. Ignoring my agitation she rambled on about the most distressing misfortune which I had inflicted on your family and, to top her arrogance, she demanded me to renounce you forever. I refused most ardently but then she played out her most shocking card, your engagement to her daughter. Yet she admitted that it was dissolved before you even set eyes on me but she insisted that if I were gone you'd take Anne back.
Not willing to endure any more insults I asked her to leave and was obeyed but also had some most terrible threats thrown at me. She swore that she would make your family hate me and that she'd do anything in her power to do our marriage harm. Now that you know this you may understand why I never cared much for Lady Catherine and wasn't truly mourning her when she passed away a year ago.
As for the hell you must have gone through when you saw Anne die please believe me that I grieve for her and that I harbor no ill feeling or jealousy for her. My heart sank when I read about her final moments but thinking about it lifted my spirits. Anne was happy with you there, let her strength give you courage, be inspired by her steady regard for you and do not let her love weaken you for I doubt that she wished you to be unhappy but to live a life of bliss. I see no reason for blaming you any further, if Anne forgave you, why can't you forgive yourself? Let her forgiveness be a light to lead you through her life, a blessing to be worthy of and redemption of all the guilt you are feeling because you dissolved your engagement to her.
To my eyes Anne revealed herself to be a strong and most courageous woman, a woman who did not yield to weakness of body but clinged to her strong character and thus managed to be a paragon to all of us. I hope that my words could give you comfort and that you may bear it easier now. My love, I miss you most cruelly as do the children. Little Janet never seizes to ask when her dearest Papa will be back and Richard can't wait to show you the boat he built all by himself. And thus I remain your loving wife,
Elizabeth
London, 1821My beloved and my friend,
Mon ange, I thank you most exceedingly for your letter and the encouragement it gave me. Once more you showed insight I can only admire with humility for I never would have thought of it that way. This is one of your virtues I love most, your ability to see the positive side of everything. Where I could only see suffering you saw strength, compassion and nobility, what does this reveal about me? That I, with what I thought was a privileged upbringing, must look up to you whose wisdom and love are a shining paragon to us all.
You asked me about my mother, a person harder to describe than my father but I shall give it a try. My mother was a warm-hearted friendly woman who never meddled in anything except the education of her children and her duties as mistress of Pemberley. She married my father at seventeen, he was more than ten years her senior. This difference of age may not have been a problem in their life as a couple but it was a hurdle for their life as partners in a marriage.
My father, being an ardent admirer of literature and art didn't have much to say to my mother who preferred horses and nature over every written word or artistry. Sometimes they'd spend hours together without uttering a word. With time she became content with her lot and gave up riding and breeding roses for her family and her rank. But she wasn't happy, at thirty-two she looked like fifty and she died more of a broken heart than of childbirth I suppose. My father blamed the baby of course and never cared for Georgiana, this is why she is afraid of men and easily impressed by those who appear kind and loving.
After about eight years I didn't make any more attempts to revive my mother's happy disposition as I had known it when I was very little. She didn't let anyone enter the world she had built for herself and to be completely honest, I believe she was yearning for death. I lost her when I was twelve, she had just given birth to Georgiana. As much as I adored my little sister, she couldn't replace the loving mother I had known as a toddler. My fond memories of her never faded, I cling to them to this day.
Please embrace the children for me and tell them that I shall be home in about a week. I miss you all and cannot wait to take you in my arms again.
Your loving husband,
William
My beloved and my friend,
Richard urged me to write to you and tell you about his new boat which isn't made of paper but of wood this time! As if I wouldn't write to you on my own, he's already learning from you, my love. Of course I'm only talking in jest but I Couldn't resist! And yes, of wood, your son has been an eager pupil of his dear Papa and has lived up to his expectations as a Captain, I guess. He sends you his love and a big kiss. I can still see you two down at the lake playing with the paper-boats. I had never seen you as happy; with your sleeves rolled up on your arms and rid of cravat and waistcoat you looked just as irresistible as ever.
I want to urge you to remember your mother as she was, I agree with you here. As you know, I too have parents who have little in common and I can truly understand how you must have felt. I admire your strength in holding your mother dear to your heart as you do, this is not an easy task. Always remember than our life can be compared to a rose, planted by God, growing and blossoming, being at its peak and dying in the frost but leaving an everlasting impression on those who enjoyed the sweet perfume, the colour of the petals and the beauty of the bud. And if nurtured well new buds are formed each year, being our children, grandchildren and so forth. But there is no rose without a thorn and they stand for life's difficulties and tragedies. If we had no rain at all we would not esteem the sunlight as we are bound to.
I shall conclude with some happy news; my beloved, we shall have another child in about six months. May this be a sign for us to rejoice and be to our children what we wanted our parents to be to us. I believe we're on the right path and as long as we walk together no thorn can be hurtful enough to tear us apart. Just as the world needs sunshine and rain to survive we need happiness and tragedies to remind us that we're mortals and not above God's law. As long as we don't despair there is nothing which we cannot go through together.
Your loving wife,
Elizabeth
A smile of radiant joy enlightened Darcy's face as he kissed his wife's signature and breathed in the light perfume which her hand had left on it.