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It is with a lightness of heart that I now sit to recount today’s events, a day marked by playful banter and the joy of an attachment freely acknowledged. Elizabeth and I found ourselves in the delightful enterprise of understanding one another more deeply, probing the whimsicalities of our affection with the comfort of a future secured.
As we strolled through the verdant expanse of her father’s estate, Elizabeth, ever so teasingly, inquired after the origins of my affection for her. “How could you begin?” she asked with a spirited smile. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”
I found myself momentarily at a loss, the precise moment in which my admiration began having long since melded into the tapestry of my constant regard for her. “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation,” I confessed, my tone reflective. “It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
Her laughter was music to my ears, and she playfully continued her inquiry, pressing me on the nature of my initial resistance to her charms. “My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now, be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”
“For the liveliness of your mind, I did,” I answered earnestly, recognizing in her the spark that had so thoroughly captivated me.
Elizabeth chided me, suggesting that what I called liveliness was indeed impertinence, and that my attraction to her was born out of a weariness for those who sought my approval too eagerly. She spoke with a self-assurance that both amused and endeared her further to me. Her theory was that, despite my efforts to appear indifferent, my true feelings—noble and just—had rendered me unable to despise her as others might have in my place.
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Our conversation meandered through the events that had brought us together, touching upon the commendable care she had shown towards her sister Jane during her illness at Netherfield. I could not help but praise her for the affection and duty that had shone so brightly in her actions.
Elizabeth, in her characteristic manner, turned my praise into an opportunity for further jest. “My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible,” she declared. “And in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last?”
I admitted to her, “Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.” Our mutual confessions of embarrassment revealed the common ground of our initial misunderstandings, and we each acknowledged the role that Lady Catherine’s misguided interference had played in bringing clarity to our feelings.
As we returned to the house, Elizabeth, with a touch of mischief, asked me to write to Lady Catherine and announce our engagement, an errand I accepted with a sense of duty, albeit not without trepidation. Elizabeth, too, took to her pen with alacrity, eager to share our good news with her aunt and uncle Gardiner, whose own role in our courtship was not insignificant.
The remainder of the day was spent in the company of family, each interaction underscored by the newfound understanding between us. I bore the civilities and occasional vulgarities of our acquaintances with the patience of a man whose every happiness was assured. Elizabeth, ever considerate, endeavored to shield me from discomfort, a gesture that only deepened my admiration for her.
In the midst of society’s demands, we found solace in our shared anticipation of a future away from the prying eyes and ears of the world—a future at Pemberley, where the elegance and comfort of family would be ours to enjoy without reserve.
Fitzwilliam Darcy