Confessions and Correspondence: Darcy’s Unsent Letter

Welcome to our epistolary retelling of Pride & Prejudice! Jane Austen’s original version of the story, First Impression, was told entirely in letters, so it seemed like a great group project! We’ll be posting a new letter every Wednesday. 

Bingley and I are safely away from Netherfield to London – away from the presence and influence of the Miss Bennets – and we must never return. With difficulty, I have convinced my friend that staying apart from Jane Bennet is the necessary and right thing to do. It is now time for me to perform the same kind office for myself as regards Elizabeth.

Since we move in such different circles, it is highly unlikely that I should see her again by chance, and I choose never to do so by intention. So it only remains for me to package up and dispose of the dangerous thoughts and feelings she aroused in me, lest they linger to pain me indefinitely. Perhaps that might be most effectively done by putting them on paper first. To that end, I take up my pen and write…

My Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet,

I allow myself the liberty of addressing you as such this one time only, where no one, including yourself, will ever know of it. For dear to me you were quickly becoming in truth, but mine you can never be.

If only. I hear these words constantly in my head. If only I had not such a weight of duty, such heavy family obligations and expectations resting on my shoulders. If only I were free to do as I pleased, to marry where I liked. If only you were more suitably situated yourself, with a family more acceptable. If only you were inclined to like me just a bit more. But as none of these things can be changed or disregarded, I have lately been thinking something else. If only we had never met.

It is probably that to you it may make very little difference. You will no doubt go on without another thought for me. For myself, however, our acquaintance, brief as it has been, might easily leave a lasting and debilitating mark upon my soul.

That must not be allowed. So, painful as it will be, I must endeavor to strip away the memories of you – both good and bad – and thrust them far from me. I must rid myself of the impression you have made on my mind and heart. Else, how am I to go on? How am I to meet and marry a suitable lady without constantly comparing her to you?

If my bride is a little dull or spiritless on occasion, I would silently observe, “Elizabeth was never so.” If she easily acquiesces to all my statements and opinions – right and wrong – I would be thinking, “Elizabeth would have stood up to me. She would have challenged me and made me see the error of my ways.” You would at least have required me to look at the matter from a different perspective.

You must agree that this would hardly be fair to any lady, expecting her to measure up to a ghost from my past. Therefore, I will allow myself to think of these things one time more and then have done forever.

I remember the night I first saw you – your light figure, your graceful dancing, your bright, intelligent eyes, your ability to turn my insult into a joke to tell your friends. “Not handsome enough to tempt me,” indeed! You have proved how wrong I had been, for you have sorely tempted me to ignore my duty and pursue your favor with every means at my disposal.

I recall your laudable devotion to your sister during her illness, how you defied the disapproval of Mr. Bingley’s sisters and kept me in my place as well, meeting every conversation with conviction, wit, and humor. You are a loyal friend, even to those who do not deserve it. I admire your strength and your confidence. All these things cause me to consider that, had the situation been different, how much pleasure I should have taken in introducing you to my sister Georgiana… if only.

Now the time has come to say good-bye, but oh, how loath I am to do so! I must wish you well, which I do with my whole heart. And then I must let you go, once and for all. I will only add, God bless you, Elizabeth.

Fitzwilliam Darcy

I now read the letter through to be sure it satisfies my intentions. Then I write Elizabeth’s name and direction on the outside and seal it. After briefly wondering what might happen if I sent it to the post instead, I carry it to the hearth and drop it into the flames. When I have watched it disintegrate to ash, I force myself to turn my back and walk away, saying, “Farewell, Elizabeth.”

Read all the letters from Confessions & Correspondence here!