----------------------------------------
Today, I write under the most extraordinary and unforeseen circumstances, having been visited by none other than my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her abrupt arrival in London was as unexpected as the tempestuous news she carried with her—a news that pertains directly to my deepest desires and the subject of my heart’s consternation, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Lady Catherine’s countenance was stormy as she swept into my study, her temperament as agitated as the winds that buffeted the windows of Darcy House. With little regard for the usual pleasantries, she launched into a recitation of her recent actions, ones which have left me both aghast and secretly elated.
She recounted, with a mixture of indignation and disbelief, a visit she had made to Longbourn, the home of the Bennets. Her purpose, as she unabashedly confessed, was to confront Miss Elizabeth about the rumors that had reached her ears—rumors of an impending engagement between myself and the youngest Miss Bennet.
My pulse quickened at the mention of Elizabeth’s name, and I listened intently as Lady Catherine described the encounter. Her narrative was laced with the arrogance and condescension I have come to expect from her, but it was the reaction of Elizabeth that held me captive.
According to my aunt, she had demanded from Elizabeth a renunciation of any engagement to me, an assurance that no such understanding existed or would ever be formed. Elizabeth, with a spirit and steadiness that could only command my deepest respect and admiration, refused to be swayed by Lady Catherine’s imperious demands.
“She would not give her promise!” Lady Catherine exclaimed, her voice rising in incredulity. “The impertinence of the girl! I told her in no uncertain terms the impropriety of such a match, the disparity in rank and fortune! Yet, she held her ground, insisting that she was not to be intimidated into any submission!”
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
I masked my reaction from Lady Catherine, maintaining a composure that belied the tumult within me. To hear of Elizabeth’s defiance, her refusal to deny the possibility of an attachment between us, stirred a hope I had scarcely dared to entertain.
The encounter had ended with no concession from Elizabeth, and Lady Catherine had left Longbourn in a state of heightened exasperation, determined to seek my assurances that I would not disgrace the family by forming such an alliance.
I provided her no such comfort. Instead, I remained guarded in my responses, giving her no satisfaction that her interference had swayed me in any direction. My aunt departed with a huff, leaving me to my thoughts, which were now alight with possibility and determination.
The gravity of this intelligence is not lost on me. Elizabeth’s strength of character, her refusal to bow to intimidation, speaks of a depth of feeling I had scarcely allowed myself to hope for. It confirms, in part, what my own heart has known—that there is a bond between us that not even Lady Catherine’s formidable will can sever.
As I pen these words, the hour grows late, and the city of London is quiet. Yet within my chest, there is a tumult that rivals the greatest storm. Elizabeth’s image fills my mind, her fine eyes alight with that mixture of intellect and fire that first captivated me.
My course is clear. I must return to Hertfordshire, to see Elizabeth, to speak of matters that have been too long relegated to the silence of our hearts. Lady Catherine’s intrusion has, perhaps inadvertently, set in motion a series of events that may lead to the most joyous of resolutions.
Until then, I remain in a state of eager anticipation, my thoughts consumed by Elizabeth, and by the future that I dare to envision—one where she stands by my side, not as a specter in my musings, but as my companion, my equal, and my dearest love.
Fitzwilliam Darcy