Prelude to Pemberley: Darcy writes to Georgiana while Elizabeth is at Netherfield

Welcome to our Pride & Prejudice prequel! P&P: Prelude to Pemberley tells the story of the time leading up to the events of Pride & Prejudice, including what Darcy and Elizabeth were doing and thinking, Georgiana Darcy’s story, the events of Ramsgate, how Mr. Bingley came to lease Netherfield, and much more! Join us on our journey as the Austen Variations authors post the events of 1811 in real time on the date they happened – 214 years in the future.

Darcy writes to Georgiana while Elizabeth is at Netherfield

November 12, 1811

Miss Bingley was peering over his shoulder, trying to read what he was writing, and Darcy shifted his body so that she would not be able to see the paper. As he dipped his quill into the inkwell, he struggled against a childish impulse to splatter Miss Bingley’s face with ink.

He wondered how Miss Bennet would react if he did such a thing. He had the feeling she would find it amusing. But then, she seemed to take life lightly, and to derive entertainment from a great many things. It was part of her charm.

Charm? Where had that thought come from?

He dismissed it and resolutely turned his attention to writing his letter.

I do hope you are finding Mrs. Annesley an agreeable companion.   

He paused as Miss Bingley stretched her neck even more, trying to see what he was writing. He turned to give her a sharp look, but it was lost on her. She merely gave him a helpful smile.

“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

She put out her hand to take the quill from him. He extended his arm to keep it out of her reach, grinding his teeth with frustration. His gaze went to Miss Bennet. She had looked up from her book to observe the exchange, and for a second, her gaze met his. It was brimming with mirth.

He turned away quickly. It was no laughing matter. He did not want to insult his friend Bingley’s sister, but he was losing patience with Miss Bingley’s machinations. Besides, he was used to her. She had always been vexing, even when she was much younger. Mostly, he ignored her constant attempts to draw his attention. She was like an irritating fly, buzzing around loudly, but essentially harmless. Still, he was more conscious of it now that Miss Bennet’s watchful eye was witnessing it.

“Thank you — but I always mend my own,” he said, in a clipped tone, hoping she would take the hint and move away.”

He went back to writing. From the corner of his eye, he could see Miss Bennet’s head was once more bent over her book. He gave a mental sigh of relief not to be subjected to her perceptive gaze. Why did he have the feeling she was judging him?

He dismissed the notion immediately. The very idea was absurd. No one looked at Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and considered him lacking. It must be his imagination.

He went back to his letter, determined to focus on his sister. He had to finish this letter and send it at once. Poor Georgiana was no doubt waiting impatiently to hear from him. He did not want her to think he was neglecting her.

If you need more music, dear sister, just say the word, and I will have some sent up to you.

Bennet’s presence seemed to scatter his thoughts, making it harder to find his flow.

“How can you contrive to write so even?” came the fly’s voice at his shoulder.

He ignored Miss Bingley, hoping she would grow bored and move away. Yet he could not help looking at the even lines on the page and taking pride in the fact that he had a very good hand. It was the result of hours of practice when he was a boy. He wanted to impress his father, after he said that good handwriting was the mark of a true gentleman.

His father never noticed, but Darcy certainly had Miss Bingley’s approval, which he did not need at all. For a moment, he indulged himself in imagining what it would be like to share this irony with Miss Bennet. She would appreciate it.

“Do you always write such charming long letters to your sister, Mr. Darcy?”

He was about to ignore Miss Bingley again, but Miss Bennet was looking in his direction, an eyebrow raised, and he did not want her to think him uncivil.

“They are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.”

He braced himself for yet another of Miss Bingley’s insipid remarks, but, fortunately, Bingley decided to insert himself into the conversation by declaring he found it impossible to write with an even hand.

“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have no time to express them — by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.”

A discussion followed on the subject of carelessness. This somehow turned into an argument about whether it was a good or bad thing for someone like Bingley to give in to a friend’s persuasion.

To Darcy’s surprise, Miss Bennet came to Bingley’s defense, declaring that it was a sign of trust.

“To yield readily to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you?” she enquired.

Darcy examined her in confusion. Why would she pit herself against Darcy rather than take his side? It was only too obvious that Bingley was wrong. Could she not see that, while it was acceptable to take the advice of a friend, it was a sign of weakness to follow that advice too quickly?

“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either,” he replied, firmly.

Miss Bennet’s eyes flashed. “You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection.”

Her gaze was fixed on him as if daring him to disagree. She seemed very animated, as if she was throwing her heart and soul into the discussion.

Darcy stared back, torn between admiration of her fine eyes, and bafflement that she was confronting him with so much intensity.

Bingley was looking from one to the other. He must have sensed Darcy’s discomfort, because he intervened hastily.

“If you and Miss Bennet will defer your argument until I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful, and then you may say whatever you like of me.”

“What you ask,” said Elizabeth, “is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”

Luckily, there was not much left of the letter to write. To his relief, Miss Bingley did not interrupt him anymore. Instead, she went to sit on the sofa next to her sister, where the two of them exchanged loud whispers. Miss Bennet appeared to be reading again, but he could see from the corner of his eye that she was not actually turning the pages.

It was all very distracting, and, consequently, to his great embarrassment, he smudged the ink in the last sentence with his sleeve.

Fortunately, no one noticed. He quickly tucked his ink-stained sleeve under his coat, folded the letter, sealed it, and addressed it to his sister. He felt guilty that his mind had not really been on Georgiana in the last section, but at least he had written her a long letter. He promised himself that, when he wrote again, he would not do so in the presence of either Miss Bingley or Miss Bennet.

With the letter completed, he turned his thoughts to the puzzle that was Miss Bennet. Why would she wish to confront him in that manner?

It was almost as if she disliked him.

The thought gave him pause, but not for long.

Of course she did not dislike him, nor was she looking at him to find fault. It was the complete opposite. She was challenging him to a battle of wits to test his mettle. It was her way of initiating a flirtation.

Very well, he thought, with an inward smile. Bring it on, Miss Bennet. I am more than equal to a challenge. In fact, I welcome it.  

Read all the scenes in Prelude to Pemberley here!