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.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
27 May 1812
Late afternoon rain streaked the windows of Darcy House in thin, unceasing rivulets, blurring the outlines of Grosvenor Square beyond into a wash of grey. The weather had lingered in this disagreeable state for the better part of the week, though Darcy could not honestly say whether the gloom in his own mind made the skies appear darker still. Lately, it seemed the weather suited his humour all too well.
He stood for some moments beside the window of his study, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Somewhere below, a carriage rattled through the wet street before fading into the steady hiss of rain.
Though weeks had passed since his return from Rosings Park, the memory of his time in Kent remained as vivid, and as unwelcome, as ever.
Once again, Elizabeth Bennet’s face rose before him with painful clarity: her eyes bright with indignation, her voice trembling with emotion as she refused him with a force and honesty that had stripped him bare. At odd moments, he still found himself reliving every word of that disastrous interview, hearing again her accusations, her contempt, her astonishment that he could ever imagine she would accept his offer of marriage.
He shut his eyes briefly against the pain.
No. It would not do.
A man could not remain indefinitely suspended in mortification and regret. Whatever injury had been dealt to his pride—or his heart—must now be borne in silence. He had obligations. Georgiana depended upon him. Pemberley depended upon him. Life, indifferent to private misery, continued forward whether one wished it or not.
His thoughts turned, as they increasingly had of late, to Pemberley.
The very name brought with it the faintest easing of tension in his chest. He longed for his ancestral home with an almost childish impatience—the quiet of the hills, the ordered comforts of the house, the familiarity of the grounds he had walked since boyhood. Had he consulted only his own wishes, he might have departed London tomorrow.
But Georgiana’s music masters would remain in town several weeks yet, and he was unwilling to deprive her of the advantages they afforded. Nor would he permit her to travel north without him merely because his own spirits had become intolerable company.
Besides, Bingley was even now at a house party in Hampshire, and would not return to London for at least a fortnight.
A strangled sigh escaped his throat. In a moment of unguarded generosity—or weakness—he had invited his friend to accompany them to Pemberley, together with his sisters and the Hursts. The invitation had escaped him before reflection could intervene. Bingley had appeared particularly low-spirited during their last meeting at White’s, and Darcy, despite everything, could not entirely divest himself of responsibility for the altered temper of his friend’s happiness.
Still, the prospect of Miss Bingley installed at Pemberley for any considerable length of time was hardly calculated to improve his own tranquillity.
With a sharp shake of his head, Darcy turned from the window.
Enough.
If the journey were to proceed, his housekeeper must be informed in sufficient time to make the necessary arrangements. No household in England was managed with greater competence than Pemberley, but even Mrs Reynolds could not prepare apartments, servants, and kitchens from thin air.
Crossing to his desk, he seated himself, drew a sheet of paper towards him, and dipped his pen in the inkwell.
After a brief pause, he began to write.
Darcy House, Grosvenor Square
27 May 1812
Mrs Reynolds,
I hope this letter finds you well, and that all at Pemberley continues in its usual good order. As it is now my intention to come into Derbyshire sometime in the early part of July, I thought it best to write in advance regarding the arrangements for our stay.
My sister will accompany me as usual, together with a small party consisting of Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley, Mr and Mrs Hurst, and perhaps one or two additional ladies or gentlemen whose plans are not yet entirely settled.
He paused here, the pen hovering momentarily above the page.
Small party, indeed. Miss Bingley alone possessed the conversational force of six determined guests.
Suppressing the thought before it could become a grimace, he turned his attention back to his letter.
I believe we are likely to remain at Pemberley through the end of the summer, and I look forward very much to being there again after so long an absence.
The family apartments may be prepared in the customary manner for Miss Darcy and myself. Mr Bingley, I think, will be most comfortable in the green chambers overlooking the south lawn, as he has always seemed to like those rooms particularly well. Mr and Mrs Hurst may have the apartments next door, which I imagine Mrs Hurst will find sufficiently spacious for her needs.
As for Miss Bingley, perhaps it would be best if she were situated somewhat farther along the west corridor, where the rooms are equally comfortable, but a little more removed from the bustle of the family wing. I am persuaded she will approve the greater privacy to be found in that part of the house.
Darcy’s mouth tightened faintly.
Approve it or not, she would at least be less likely to appear uninvited outside Georgiana’s apartments before breakfast, or heaven forbid, his own.
An involuntary shudder ran down his spine, and he required a deep, steadying breath before continuing.
With regards to the table, I would prefer to have the menus remain much as they have always been. Mr Bingley retains, I believe, the same enthusiasm for trout and fresh game whenever they may be had, while my sister still favours lighter dishes in warmer weather. Hurst, as I am sure you will remember, will eat anything that is set before him so long as the claret holds out. Beyond that, I leave such matters confidently in your hands and Mrs Talbot’s.
If the weather continues favourable, the south terrace and rose walk will no doubt see a good deal of use, so perhaps the gardeners might be encouraged to give those areas particular attention over the coming weeks.
Darcy paused, his thoughts turning to Georgiana. Having a house full of guests—one of them being the ever-determined Miss Bingley—would surely be a trial for his young sister, who was still finding her footing in society. A small frown furrowed his brow before he once again turned to his letter.
Beyond preparations for our guests’ arrival, there is another matter upon which I wished to consult your judgment.
You may remember the blue sitting room on the second floor, which Miss Darcy seemed especially pleased with during her last stay at Pemberley. I have lately been considering whether it might be made over for her own personal use, and should be much obliged if you would oversee whatever improvements you think proper before our arrival.
The room should be kept light and cheerful in appearance, with an airy aspect and such elegant furnishings as you believe suitable to my sister’s taste. If the paper or draperies seem in need of replacing, pray do not hesitate to have it done, and you may spare no reasonable expense in rendering the room as comfortable as possible.
He paused again, leaning back slightly in his chair.
Georgiana had smiled in that room. A simple thing, perhaps, but lately he found himself clinging with disproportionate gratitude to anything capable of bringing his sister ease or happiness.
Dipping the pen once more, he resumed.
I have also been thinking of procuring a new pianoforte for Miss Darcy, as I suspect the instrument presently in the music room at Pemberley no longer entirely satisfies her talents. I hope to settle the matter soon, and if arrangements can be made in time, the new instrument may arrive before we do. Should that be the case, I know I may rely upon your usual care in seeing it properly placed.
Darcy hesitated a moment before turning back to the parchment and concluding,
I need hardly say, Mrs Reynolds, how much I value your diligence and judgment in all these matters. I am certain everything will be managed with your usual care; but should any question arise, you may always direct a letter to me here in Grosvenor Square.
With every good wish,
Your sincere and obliging servant,
F. Darcy
When at last the letter was finished, he sanded the page absently and sat for some moments without moving. Beyond the windows, the rain continued its soft assault upon the city.
July suddenly felt impossibly far away.
2 comments
Beautifully written as usual. I sit here appreciating your talent while not cleaning the house. 😁
Poor Darcy! If only he could see into the future 🤔. I do appreciate his care over the arrangements for his guests but I actually think Miss Bingley would be better off on the nursery floor 😉. I would have said a room above the stables but she would have accosted him every time he went for a ride! Thank you for this 🥰🥰