A Fool in Love: a Sonnets & Bonnets post

I don’t know a whole lot about poetry, and I definitely didn’t want to subject anyone to my attempt to write a poem (I had something rhyming harridan and Meryton and then I stopped) so I am giving you a scene from A Wilful Misunderstanding (Chapter 34) for this months theme of Sonnets and Bonnets. In this scene, Elizabeth is burning up all the letters she and Darcy during the time they were estranged… but one particular ‘letter’ she wants to keep. Hope you enjoy!

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Elizabeth tossed her letters into the fire one by one, enjoying the burst of flame each one engendered. At last she was down to the end, a single sheet that she did not throw into the fire. 

Darcy had risen and extended his arm to help her. “Will you not throw that away too?” 

“This one? No, this I think I should like to keep.” 

Elizabeth watched as comprehension dawned on her very dignified husband’s face. “Wha—oh…no. That is not…is that…I meant to get rid of that.” 

Elizabeth bit her lips to stifle a giggle. “I love it.”

“I was trying to, um…it’s terrible, I know.” 

“No, no,” she said immediately. “It is charming, truly delightful.” She could hold back no more, and gales of uncontrollable laughter burst from her. Darcy looked at her in absolute chagrin, then put his hands over his face in mock despair. 

“I am certainly no poet. I cannot think what possessed me to attempt a sonnet. I only wished to somehow express to you how much I do love you. My letters seemed so dull and repetitive.”

Elizabeth could not stop her gales of laughter and used her sleeve to dab the mirthful tears from her eyes. “Why be dull? Really, it is truly wonderful. Do not think I laugh because it is poorly done, not at all. I can tell you really love me by the way you compared my eyes to—”

Darcy tried to grab the page from her. “Very well then, enough of that.” 

Elizabeth scampered aside quickly, keeping the paper out of her husband’s reach. “My mother has gone on for years about some former suitor of Jane’s who wrote a few verses on her. Just wait until she learns of this ode to me and my eyes! How pleased she will be.”

“Pray, tell no one of this, particularly not your mother!” 

“Come now!” Elizabeth pulled herself out from his almost-grasp. “Poetry is the food of love, after all. I am quite flattered and thrilled to have one dedicated to me.”

Darcy groaned. “The pointless nonsense of a non-poet is more likely to starve the love away.” He lunged for her and caught her, picking her up and tossing her on the bed, then diving nearly on top of her. She attempted to raise the paper above her head, but his arms were so much longer that it was useless to try to avoid him.

She suddenly stopped laughing and looked at him in the eyes quite seriously. “Please let me have it.”

“I can deny you nothing.” Darcy rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. “I cannot think why you would wish to keep it. It looks to be the work of a raving madman. For as much as I do enjoy reading poetry, composing it is another matter entirely. I am humiliated by such a poor effort.”

“Perhaps the result is not what you wished it to be, but I do love it.” 

“Because it makes you laugh?” 

“No. Well…perhaps a little. I like that you tried to do it for me most of all. I like that it is not—” 

“Not poetic? Not interesting or coherent or in any way good?” Darcy rolled off her and lay on his back next to her, covering his face with his arm. “I beg you to please not show it to anyone. Would you wish the world to know you have married a simpleton?”

Elizabeth turned so she was over him. Looking at him, she leaned in and kissed him. “It is because it is embarrassing to you that I like it the most. This poem shows me you are willing to make a fool of yourself for me.” 

She kissed him again, more lingeringly, and then whispered, “Every woman wishes for a man who is willing to be a fool in love for her.”