Chapter 15 A Test of Fire

“Was that Mr. Darcy?” Kitty asked, scrunching her nose up and looking down the lane. Elizabeth groaned as her sister dared to come outside with her paper curls still in her hair!

“Kitty!” she said, sternly, ushering her and Mary back into the house. “Why would you come outside in such a state?”

Kitty pouted. “It’s hardly a respectable time to call,” she countered, crossing her arms. 

“Will Papa force you to marry Mr. Darcy?” Mary asked, solemnly.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, reaching her hand into the pocket that contained the letter to keep its sharp edges from poking out. “I am not compromised. I stood in clear sight of my father’s home in broad daylight,” she taunted.

Leaving her younger sisters to argue as Kitty was no longer happy that Mary has roused her so early from bed, Elizabeth sought the refuge of her room. Jane still slumbered and Elizabeth took advantage of the privacy to read her letter at her writing desk. Just to be safe, she removed a few letters from their aunt in London in case she was interrupted.

She inspected the front of the letter and noticed he had not addressed it to her. Slightly saddened to not see her name penned by his hand, she reasoned it was safer all the same in case the letter was intercepted. Turning it over, her fingers touched the seal’s intaglio, the horns of a ram and antlers of a stag crisscrossed over a stylized letter F and D. She wondered if Mr. Darcy owned a signet ring for his mark like her father, or if he used a seal stamp like her uncle? Realizing she could one day learn the answer, she felt a flush of warmth spread over her, reminding her to hurry and read the letter before she was interrupted.

Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter. If your father has not already apprised you, though I wished to say something yesterday in our final interview but there were too many present, I have received permission from him to write to you. Future correspondence of course shall be addressed to him, but this letter that I hope to begin our path forward to mutual happiness, I intend on delivering to your hand. If you are reading this, then I have prevailed. Perhaps it is bold of me to appear confident you will accept my future addresses, as I have now heard tale you hold no compunction reminding a wayward suitor when you have not given an answer.

Elizabeth scoffed at his gentle tease. Kitty and Mary’s argument continued up the stairs, and she waited to see if one would open the door. But they did not. She continued to read. 

Still, I will hold faith to the spirit in which we left things between us and continue to hope that upon acquainting yourself more with my character, we might both come to the same conclusion. I ought now to give you thanks because your even-mindedness inspired me to conduct a deeper introspection. While I found no defects of my affections, I also reasoned that my existing sentiments toward you can feel no threat from the passage of time and distance. If however, the sentiments that I shared yesterday are not of a steady manner after these weeks of separation, then I should hardly be able to say that I ever deserved your regard. In professing honesty, requesting accommodation for your own reasons, you have provided me a test of my mettle. Please do not misunderstand me; I do not believe you requested a delay in our conversation in a deceitful ploy in the arts of matchmaking. You honored me by sharing your burden and I wish only to make it lighter.

Feeling her emotions run from anger to delight, Elizabeth blinked furiously frustrated with the pangs of regret. Her feelings for Mr. Darcy, entirely unfounded when judged by the length of acquaintance, made her question her simpleness in requesting the delay in the first place! She had not confessed to him fleeting fancies of her youth and how she was now excessively analyzing her own behavior and his for some signs of regard. In that inspection, she had to admit, never had she felt this hollow ache she suffered now: a yearning for assurances of when she would be in Mr. Darcy’s presence once more. Her reaction once more granted trust in her heart’s interest from a point of reasonable deduction.

 I find myself more at ease, armed with pen and parchment, to express my thoughts and conflictions about the subjects you raised in our time together in the churchyard. I do not wish for you to suppose one concern is higher magnitude than the other due to the order in which I discuss them, only that your words yesterday afternoon have stirred new standards for my consideration in which I judge my behavior. I humbly beg for your indulgence of my exploration of these matters and grant it your justice that I am to share as freely and honestly as you afforded me.

 You laid a charge at my feet about choosing to travel without my sister. At first, I admit I was angry to even raise the subject, but that was unfair. There was no way for you to know of the great strain and near loss I experienced, this past summer, in regards to her. When my father died five years ago, I, along with my cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, was appointed guardian of my minor sister. For over half a decade, he and I have taken great pains to provide Georgiana with the best tutors and schooling and at times, insulation from our most forceful relatives. I am in possession of a particularly opinionated aunt who will not listen when others disagree with her assumptions and has gone so far as to claim I am engaged to her daughter when I could not be furthest from such a status. On my annual visits to her estate in Kent, a home called Rosings, I began excluding my younger sister because of the effects on Georgiana’s disposition. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was particularly close to her sister, my mother, and she made the egregious error in telling my sister that her birth was the chief reason my mother never recovered and died at a young age. Even if there was a shred of truth in her belief, such a declaration to a young lady of tender age was wholly unacceptable in my opinion. Unfortunately, I continue to visit despite my aunt’s increasing delusions of the world around her. I believed her harmless. She never came to London and I never expected any of her sycophants to ever venture outside of her limited domain. For visits in the last few years, I have always taken along my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, or his elder brother, so as to have a second report if one was ever needed.

Elizabeth caught herself nodding, as she wholly believed Mr. Darcy’s account of his aunt after listening to her cousin rave about the lady. Her cousin’s judgment she valued not a whit, so it only stood to reason that the exact opposite of his claims be true about the woman.

Perhaps one of my greatest weaknesses is in providing service to others without full consideration of the consequences. I believe you and I can think of a particular situation in recent memory where I allowed my desire to save another from pain and suffering to trump any rational discourse. We both can agree charging back into that tavern achieved results few on the surface would ever disparage. But my officiousness after in regards to Dr. Stevens was perhaps an example where I allowed expediency to overrule efficacy. Similarly, my cousin and I made plans for my sister to holiday in Ramsgate over the summer. We hired a companion, a Mrs. Younge, who I now believe may not have been the widow she professed to be. 

This weakness I hold, I can trace directly to the nature of my father, a man of great fortune who never withheld his assistance to any in need under his purview. Our property in Derbyshire was run for numerous decades by a very capable man, Mr. John Wickham. He married and had a son in the same year that my parents were blessed with my presence after several disappointments. My father happily agreed to be of service as the younger Wickham’s godfather, liberally bestowing upon him all of the kindness within his power to grant. Apart from paying for his schooling, my father also appreciated George Wickham’s company and manners, finding the man more engaging than myself. I possess no disillusion that where my acts of service derive from the upbringing from my father, my reserved nature I inherited directly from my mother.

Elizabeth snorted at the cavalier nature in which Mr. Darcy described his faults, so flawlessly as something no one might find real fault at all! She smirked and gazed out the window to the sight of farmhands and other servants seeing to their morning chores. The memory of their conversation in the churchyard brought understanding. She had challenged him on a fault of hers, so perhaps he felt he needed to humble himself in return. And in that line of thinking, Elizabeth realized her fault was also not one she believed was a hindrance with all sincerity. Certainly a problem for others, but never for herself. 

When my father died, it was his greatest wish for Mr. George Wickham to take the church as his profession. I, who had observed Mr. Wickham in the unguarded moments afforded another young man close to his age, knew for many years such a profession was unfitting. Therefore it was a great relief that Mr. Wickham asked for a sum in an amount equivalent to the living my father had hoped he might take, intending to study the law. I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere; but at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I believe we both can agree that some men should not become clergymen. 

I believed all connection between us now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley or admit his society in town. Sadly, his life in Town included studying the law merely as a pretense. I shall not share the depths of degradation the man sunk to, but suffice to say there was little to no means of redeeming him. Then, the man who held the living my father intended for Mr. Wickham passed away three years ago. He claimed his circumstances were exceedingly bad, and I had no difficulty believing him. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained if I would present to him the living in question. He even went so far as to invoke my revered father’s intentions in hopes of persuading me to his argument. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with his entreaty, or for resisting the numerous repetitions he made. I imagine his resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent and his abuse of me to others. 

After this period, I dropped every appearance of acquaintance with the man. That was until this past summer. This year was to be the first one of my sister’s establishment to afford her the best education of not only the Masters but also in the skills of comportment and social graces that a school cannot provide. I had agreed to help my friend, Charles Bingley, inspect and find an estate for his permanent residence. We spent most of the summer traveling many dilapidated and otherwise distressed Country homes and holdings of illustrious families facing undesired circumstances. Whilst I performed in the service of a friend, the man I penned so many lines about above ingratiated himself with Mrs. Younge and my sister. My sister possesses an affectionate heart and retained a strong impression of Mr. Wickham’s kindness to her as a child, it was not difficult for him to persuade her to believe she was in love. They formed a plan to elope. She was then but fifteen, but I give her credit that it was by her I learned of the plan. 

Gasping at such a tale, Elizabeth panicked when she heard the mumbles of Jane behind her. She froze and counted to ten, hoping her sister would sleep just a little longer to grant her the time she needed. When Jane did not stir further, Elizabeth began to read at a quicker pace.

Unexpectedly, I surprised her with a visit a day or two before the intended elopement. My sister’s guilt over the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, brought her to confess all to me. Mr. Wickham abandoned the area, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Intent to preserve my sister’s reputation prevented me from any public exposure of the man’s misdeeds. Apart from my cousin and the bad actors in the plot, you are the first to know of this painful experience I shoulder. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Bingley wrote to me about one last estate, Netherfield Park. 

In order to keep up appearances that nothing was amiss, I hastily traveled with my sister from Ramsgate to the meeting with the land agent and your uncle. Thankfully, I was able to secure the services of another woman, Mrs. Annesley, a woman whose departed husband served with my cousin in the Peninsular War. I then escorted them both up to Pemberley where I could be assured of my sister’s safety. Rejoining Mr. Bingley’s party at Netherfield Party, with Georgiana safely in Pemberley, even if the gossip was begun by Mr. Wickham or Mrs. Younge, it could hardly be believed. My cousin and I could easily say we had planned on placing Georgiana at Ramsgate for the summer but instead had her spend the summer at home. 

Wiping away her tears, Elizabeth easily envisioned her youngest sister, Lydia, listening to the romantic nonsense of a man thinking it great fun to run off and wed without proper approval. Or perhaps even Kitty, the two of them often engaged in such flirtatious behavior. Elizabeth felt gratitude the rumor of a regiment of officers wintering in Meryton proved false. A bawdy group of men without scruples was the last thing her sisters needed as a distraction.

Another matter entirely is one I bring up hesitantly, as I believe perhaps another misunderstanding passed between us. While I would never ascribe blame in a letter where I am not afforded the pleasure of your immediate response, would you perhaps suspend a small amount of consideration in my direction? It was my mistake to even attempt to press my suit when I had learned you were just subjected to your cousin’s undoubtedly offensive exercise in the same. However, the offense he gave may have influenced the reception of my statement about why I did not ask for your hand the night I dined at Longbourn. Yes, I can enumerate the large span from my fortune to your family’s circumstances. Others in my situation might feel pride or superiority in rejecting for consideration ladies of lesser dowries. In faith, I might be one of those men if I met you some years earlier.

Elizabeth’s breathing became labored as she tried to follow his request to suspend a small amount of consideration for him. Her hands gripped the letter more tightly than perhaps prudent and her knuckles began to feel the strain.

Thankfully, I have spent all the time I care to spend as an eligible bachelor in the ballrooms of London. I purposely keep company with Mr. Bingley to avoid such obligations as dances and dinners with many who seek my favor, but not my friendship. I was rude to you on our first meeting and you gave me the cut directly back. I wish that I could claim such behavior was new for me, or that others had given me a similar taste of consequence. Instead, it was quite opposite. For years, I could behave as abominably as those situations made me feel, and still receive invitation after invitation. 

Furthermore, my mother’s family, despite boasting a hereditary title that will never pass to me, Lord willing, pales in holdings compared to my father’s lands. The coffers of Pemberley restored a great glory to my grandfather’s position, a legacy my uncle, the Earl, now enjoys. I would stand as an unpardonable hypocrite to claim a loftier stock than that of a gentleman’s son. In so much as I am aware, you are a gentleman’s daughter. Perhaps I hold a greater claim to being the grandson of an earl, but I have yet to see that distinction grant my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, favors or deference as the son of an earl, albeit second in birth order, over my position as the wealthy son of a gentleman.

Forgive me for again assuming a position of confidence you have neither afforded me nor promised. But if you should allow me the chance to make a case for my suit, please know that settlement papers would never place you in a similar position as your mother. As my wife, you would never want for any comfort, and I would provide a trust of funds for use only at your discretion. 

“Lizzy? Has Aunt Gardiner written to you?” Jane said, startling her sister to jump in her chair.

Guilty of reading a letter she should have rightfully handed to her father for inspection before her own, Elizabeth blanched.

“Lizzy?”

“Please Jane, Father gave permission for Mr. Darcy to write to me. But I don’t want anyone else to know.”

Jane squealed in delight but her sister emphatically shook her head.

“It is as I said yesterday, Mr. Darcy and I are friends.”

Smiling, Jane rapidly patted her hands together as though she orchestrated some scheme. 

“But he writes to you, surely you are engaged,” she reasoned.

“No. We are not. And we might never become so,” Elizabeth cautioned, feeling her stomach growl in protest. 

Jane looked at her sister skeptically but left her to begin her morning toilette. 

Quickly, Elizabeth read the rest of the letter.

I leave you now without enough regulation to stay my hand in expressing once more that I hold you in such high admiration. My heart aches in our separation though I insist on convincing it otherwise that this is just another exercise in strengthening my resolve. I plan to return to Netherfield Park in a few weeks, after Christmas. I pray that you remain healthy and well, and will still receive my calls when such a time comes. I dare not feel so bold as to receive a letter back, but if you’d like, I have left my direction. I will only add, God bless you. 

Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Hastily folding the letter, she summarized the contents for Jane: “He writes that he will return after Christmas, and he is most anxious to see his sister at Pemberley.”

Jane splashed water on her face over the bowl on their vanity. After she patted her skin dry, she turned to address her sister.

“I’m sure Charles will be surprised I know such intelligence before he tells me,” she said, softly.

“Jane, you mustn’t! Please, you cannot say a word about the letter to anyone else.”

“But why? Mr. Darcy is a good man, Lizzy. You cannot wish to live here at Longbourn forever,” Jane said, then paused. “Or else you would have accepted Mr. Collins.”

“Could you have accepted Mr. Collins?” Elizabeth asked, still holding Mr. Darcy’s letter in her hand.

Jane remained silent but her mouth twisted into a brief flash of disgust before she plastered an expression of polite comportment across her face. “I only want you to be happy, as happy as I am.”

Elizabeth grumbled as she fumbled with the lock on her trunk resting over on her side of the room. “You forget I was unconscious or indisposed half of the time we have even known the gentlemen,” she argued. Finally, the tight mechanism gave free and she could lift the lid on her gift from her last birthday. Both girls kept correspondence and treasures they did not want to be borrowed by their younger sister in their respective trunks. The small act of privacy never offended each other.

Before tucking the letter away, Elizabeth paused as she stared at the stacks of letters from Charlotte, letters she would never add another piece of parchment to the carefully bound grouping.

“Lizzy?” Jane asked, as her sister began to sniffle.

Wiping her nose unceremoniously with the sleeve of her gown, Elizabeth sniffed to restore her countenance. 

“I am well,” she fibbed. Then placed the letter underneath Charlotte’s missives and closed the lid. “Did I tell you I have resolved to paint for Sir William and Lady Lucas?”