Your cousin,

Henry


Mr Darcy to Colonel Fitzwilliam

Wiltshire, June 4

Henry, it is good to hear from you, though frustrating for you to be home at such a time. The war shows no sign of ending and if not for the troops stationed at Brighton and other likely landing spots, we would be in some danger of Napoleon invading these shores. But the Channel protects us, as it has done before.

I did not know you had been injured. Would you like my physician to attend you? I can send him down to Brighton if you think he would be of use.

I will be returning to London in a few days’ time. Georgiana is hosting a picnic on the seventh and we must be there for that. You are welcome to join us. If you will not be returning to London so soon, then call in at Darcy House whenever you arrive; you know you are always welcome.

You ask about Philip’s intended bride. She is everything you imagine: beautiful, accomplished, elegant, well-bred, and yet—Henry, it is not enough. It is enough for Philip, he is pleased with his choice and she with him, but it is not enough for me. There are two similar females here, they possess everything a man could require of a wife, and yet I have no wish to marry either of them. I am happy to escort them in to dinner, to dance with them and converse with them, but to spend the rest of my life with them? No. I already know everything about them. There is nothing to discover, nothing to intrigue or stimulate. They never change. Their thoughts and feelings are what they were a year ago, and will be the same when another year has gone by. Marriage to either one of them would be like bathing in tepid water: nothing to complain of, but nothing to desire either.

You will tell from this that I have not forgotten Elizabeth. I have tried, but the more I see of other women, the more I know that Elizabeth is the only one I have ever wished to marry. She is not perfect—far from it—but it is her flaws and imperfections that entrance me—those, and her eyes. I want to see them looking back at me across the breakfast table; I want to see them sparkling with mischief as she teases me; I want to see them widen as I show her all the delights of Pemberley and offer them to her, not with arrogance but with humility.

But it is pointless to think of such things.

I am beginning to wish I had not encouraged Bingley to leave the neighbourhood. But of what use would it be for me to return there? Elizabeth made her feelings for me clear; though perhaps it would lessen her ill opinion of me if she could see that some of her reproofs have been attended to.

But this is idle speculation. I will torment myself with it no more.

Come to us as soon as you can in London; Georgiana is longing to see you.

Your cousin,

Darcy


Colonel Fitzwilliam to Mr Darcy

Brighton, June 5

I will not be in town in time for your picnic, alas. I am here with Wilkins and I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases: the privilege of wealth! I do not think we will remain here very much longer, however, and I hope to join you in London soon. I will be glad to see you again but I will be sorry to leave Brighton. The sea breeze is refreshing and the fishermen’s nets set out to dry on the Steine give the place charm.

You must bring Georgiana here for the summer, Darcy; the sea air will do her good and the south coast will not have the unpleasant memories for her that the east coast must have. The pleasure gardens, the promenades and the libraries will amuse her. They are all flourishing, thanks to the patronage of the Prince of Wales, who spends more and more of his time here. They say he means to leave London altogether and live in Brighton permanently. It is certainly possible; he is enlarging his marine pavilion and making it fit for a prince. It is a very handsome dwelling, but even so I think he is in error for spending so much on his amusements when the country is at war. He ought to be retrenching so that he can better equip the troops. I said so only last night to Colonel Forster when we dined together.

By the bye, Forster’s wife’s friend, Miss Lydia Bennet, is indeed a relation of your Miss Elizabeth, a sister. I have seen her only once, briefly, as she was going out with Colonel Forster’s wife, but I had a chance to speak to her and ascertained that her family were well before she set off for the shops with Harriet. It amazes me that women can spend so much time shopping, but Lydia and Harriet look very well on it.

Look for me on the sixteenth.

Henry


Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Miss Susan Sotherton

Longbourn, Hertfordshire,

June 20

Dear Susan,

It is very quiet here at Longbourn. Kitty has at last given over lamenting her absence from the Brighton scheme and consoles herself with reading and re-reading her letters from Lydia. She keeps them close and runs out of the room with them if anyone draws near her. I dread to think what they contain; stories of flirtations, most likely, and the names of a dozen officers. The letters are all so heavily underlined it is a wonder there is any paper left to write them on! I laugh, but all the same, I wish my father had been more sensible of the dangers to Lydia of such a trip. She is heedless and headstrong and loves to be the centre of attention, and I fear this trip will be the death warrant of all possibility of common sense for her. To put such a girl, at the tender age of fifteen, in the way of dozens of young men who are all bored and away from home, is to put temptation in her way, and Lydia has never known how to resist temptation. Her behaviour in Meryton was abominable; how much worse must it be in Brighton, with no one there to curb her worst excesses? I can only hope that the young men are better able to control themselves than Lydia is, and that my father is right when he says that Colonel Forster will see that no harm comes to her.

Mary continues to try Mama’s nerves with her constant practise on the pianoforte, and if not for Jane I would not know what to do. But with Jane’s companionship I can bear anything. How she came to be so different from my other sisters I do not know, but she is everything Kitty is not. She bears her disappointment without complaint and busies herself about the house, treating Mama with her usual calm patience and providing me with a confidante when I feel I must talk of Mr Darcy or burst. How can I have been so wrong about him? How can I not have seen him for the man he is, and instead seen him for a man he is not? I thought myself so clever when I teased him, and yet I could not have been more mistaken. But I am well rewarded for it, am I not? For I never think of him now without mortification and shame, and I cannot help thinking of what might have been…that is, until I remember that he parted Jane and Bingley, and then I regret neither him nor Pemberley nor his ten thousand a year! You see, I can laugh at myself still, and a good thing, too, or I fear I should go into a decline!

Mama, I am sure, would be very pleased if I did—it would add to her consequence to have a daughter who was brought low by love. As it is, she continues to lament the absence of Mr Bingley, saying that she will never mention him again and then talking of him in the very next breath. I spare Jane from these outbursts as often as I can by listening to them myself and by turning Mama’s thoughts into a happier direction, though unfortunately that direction is always towards Lydia and how many flirts she has in Brighton. I am not surprised that Papa has retreated to his library and emerges only at mealtimes.

And so now I am looking forward to my trip with my aunt and uncle. We cannot go to the Lakes as we planned, for my uncle cannot spend so long away from his business, and my aunt has suggested that we go to Derbyshire instead. I was taken aback by the suggestion, but I did not hesitate for long before writing and agreeing to the change, for I might venture into Derbyshire, I think, without meeting Mr Darcy. It is a large enough place. And a good thing, too, for what would I say to him if I were to meet him again? It would be humiliating. And yet I cannot help wishing that I had had a chance to speak to him after receiving his letter.

And that, my dear Susan, is all my news.

Your loving friend,

Lizzy


Mr Philip Darcy to Mr Darcy

Wiltshire, June 24

Darcy,

We have set a date for the wedding: December 4. You will be receiving an invitation any day now. It will be a grand affair held in the cathedral and we look forward to seeing you there.

PD


Mr Darcy to Mr Philip Darcy

Darcy House, London, June 26

My dear Philip,

I am glad your affairs are prospering and I look forward to seeing you married. It is good to know that at least one of us will be continuing the Darcy name. I only wish my own affairs were going half so well. I have tried to forget Elizabeth Bennet but there is always something to remind me of her. Only yesterday Henry dined with me—he is in town once again after a spell in Brighton—and I learnt something disastrous to my peace of mind. When I revealed that I regretted my interference in Bingley’s affairs, Henry said that I agreed with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, then. When I looked surprised, he said that he had mentioned the matter to Elizabeth when they walked together at Rosings. Oh, not by name, nor in any great detail: he said only that I had saved a friend from the inconveniences of an imprudent marriage, and that there were strong objections to the lady. He meant to show me in a good light, never suspecting that Elizabeth was a relative of the lady involved, but she must have guessed that the friend in question was Bingley and that the lady was her sister. Small wonder then that she was angry, both when speaking to Henry—she told him that I had had no right to interfere—and when rejecting me. I admire her for her anger, and for her partiality, though at first it exasperated me, for what kind of woman would she be if she could stand by and hear a beloved sister abused in such a way? It cannot have been pleasant for her to hear of the matter spoken of in such a casual way, nor can it have been pleasant for her to think that anyone could object to her sister. I confess that as to Miss Bennet herself, there cannot be any rational objection. She is a very pretty girl, sweet natured and good-hearted, and singularly untainted by the vulgarity of the majority of her family. Moreover, she has an optimistic temperament that suits Bingley’s own. If he seems no happier in another month then I mean to give him a hint that a return to Netherfield would not be a bad thing. I once thought he would make a good husband for Georgiana but I no longer think they will suit.