Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Posted on Friday, 11 June 1999

My Dear Colonel Fitzwilliam -- I do hope you will grace us with your presence. I do not know whether the Darcys plan to be in Town, but please do extend my invitation to them, as well as to your other relations. -- Caroline

...no idea how she found my address. I know Miss Bingley has visited YOUR house in Town, but to the best of my knowledge she has never been to my father's. I found the invitation waiting for me yesterday, when I dropped by to check on the staff and pick up my post. After your wedding my parents returned to Nottinghamshire, so the Town house is empty for several weeks.

As of last week the London social calendar had very few events on the sixth of January, so I must at least give Miss Bingley credit for cleverness and efficiency. However, I have no intention of attending her ball unless guarded by a battalion of relations and friends. Alternately, I could arrange to be posted to Ireland. Please let me know your decision. "No" would be best.

Shaking my head in amazement,

Colonel Fitzwilliam

Dear William,

The Twelfth Night Ball! Miss Bingley's tactical mind certainly improves. I warned you that she is not a woman to give up easily. If our generals were so tenacious, the war with France would be over by now.

I am sorry to inform you, however, that aside from your little difficulties discouraging her, I think attending the ball is a superb idea. Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Anne de Bourgh all need to be introduced to London society in a proper way, and an event held by Bingley's sisters would be ideal for this purpose.

I have not yet succeeded in finding a tutor for Georgiana -- I will be conducting interviews in Town -- so although she will not formally be out for another year, I have decided that she may attend certain evening functions if they are respectable, and if she is escorted by her relations. Anne de Bourgh needs to be brought out gradually, and what better way than an event where her cousins already know everyone in attendance? As for Elizabeth, I am certain that Caroline Bingley wishes to retain the right of visiting Pemberley, so she will most definitely refrain from incivility towards my wife.

I have no fear of Miss Bingley's parties ever reaching the scandalsheets; her best events have been quite enjoyable, and her worst have merely been dull. What is more, neither she nor her circle has ever met Lady Catherine, so there is no danger of our Aunt discovering that the disgraceful Darcys have seen her daughter in Town. Finally, my connection to the Bingleys is so well established that refusing to attend when I am already in Town would be seen as a highly reprehensible snub. Hide under the sofa if you must; the rest of us will be there.

As to how Miss Bingley obtained your address, I believe, unfortunately, that my sister may have some idea. She is writing to you at this very moment. Merry Christmas, love to Anne, best wishes to the Sheffields, and we look forward to seeing you in January.

Fitz

Dear Cousin William,

I must apologize to you profusely. I am the culprit who betrayed your father's address to Miss Bingley. She wrote to me last week and said that she had misplaced it, and would I be so good as to provide it to her, that she might invite the Earl and Countess of Matlock to her winter ball. She added that she feared to write to my brother or his wife as it would seem improper for a single woman to be writing them so soon after their wedding. It sounded quite reasonable to me.

I can see I have a lot to learn. I hope you are not too angry with me. Regretfully,

Georgiana

Dear Miss Bingley,

What a pleasant surprise to receive your invitation. My husband Edgar and I have no fixed engagements for the sixth of January and should be delighted to attend your Twelfth Night Ball. We look forward to the pleasure of your company. Yours etc.,

Mrs. Christina Sheffield

Dear Miss Bingley,

Colonel Fitzwilliam has forwarded us your invitation to the Twelfth Night Ball. It sounds like a delightful evening. As it happens, Fitzwilliam, Georgiana, and I shall indeed be in London at that time, so we shall be very happy to attend. Thank you for thinking of us. Yours ever,

Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy

Dear Miss Bingley,

Thank you for your unexpected invitation, and for generously extending it to my relatives. My parents are unavailable on the sixth, but the Darcys shall reply directly. I should be delighted to attend your Twelfth Night Ball. I anticipate a lively evening. Yours most sincerely,

Colonel Fitzwilliam

Mrs. Lydia Wickham, Newcastle Upon Tyne

Dear Lydia,

I will keep this missive brief. The answer to your question is that I will not be able to provide any financial assistance whatever until you provide a detailed report of your living expenses. That is why.

The easiest method would be to keep track of your daily expenditures in the household accounting book that Uncle Gardiner gave you for a wedding present (I know more than you suspect). He says he suggested this course to you already. However, since you seem not to have availed yourself of his gift as yet, I recommend you start at once. As for last month's expenses, make a good guess and send them on to me.

I enclose a small gift to keep you warm in the winter. Open it before the 25th as you usually do; for once, impatience shall serve you in good stead. Love from your sister,

Lizzy

Dearest Lizzy,

Thank you for the wool cloak. Green is not quite my color but my dear Wickham says it suits me very well. Perhaps I could wear it to your house in Town, for I long to visit London this winter. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were perfectly horrid to me the whole time I was visiting in August; they would not permit me to leave the house, and I so wanted to go to the theater. We are simply freezing in Newcastle and burning such coal, I can barely write for shivering. Also the society is smaller than I expected, and Wickham's job in the regulars keeps him away from home very often, so you can see how much I long for a change of scene and a warmer clime.

If you really wish me to use that dreadful accounting book I shall do so, but it is so dull to work with numbers. What a vexing wedding present, when they really ought to have bought me some good dishes or curtains. As for my best guess, my head is simply reeling, but I believe every month we spend:

£15 for coal, rent, and household expenses
£10 for food and drink
£15 £25 for various other items

Since Uncle Gardiner only allots me the £150 per annum from my dowry, you can see that we shall be quite in straits until Wickham's promotion arrives. He has promised me most faithfully that he expects to rise, but that political difficulties within the ranks have prevented his advancement. It is so very unfair!

The Colonel's sister has invited me to tea so I must dash. Please do get back to me at once.

Mrs. Lydia Wickham

Dear Mrs. Wickham,

Even you must admit that £25 for "various other items" is not only costly, but also vague. And exactly what, pray tell, are you partaking for your dinners, roast goose? However, I do accept that a Newcastle winter requires a great deal of fuel, and therefore, in accordance with your calculations, I enclose a banker's draft for £45, which you may use for your household expenses for three months.

Regarding an invitation to our house in Town: we have been married little more than a month. The answer is no. Merry Christmas to you and your husband. Your sister,

Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy

Dearest Lizzy,

Sweetheart, you must calm yourself. Our husbands knew Lydia's character before they became engaged to us, but chose to marry us anyway. Unless we permit her to make us irritable, she cannot possibly interfere in our marriages. If she really does need a respite from Newcastle, perhaps a short stay at Netherfield after the New Year would do the trick. My husband is amenable to this plan, of course; the dear man is too good.

I shall let you know of our decision as soon as may be, but for right now must attend to our Christmas preparations. Do you hand the Christmas monies to the servants individually, or do you give a lump sum to the steward for distribution to the staff? Charles and I cannot decide. Your loving sister,

Mrs. Jane Bingley

Dearest Elizabeth,

You requested that we write if our plans have changed, so I am doing so at once. Owing to a last minute request from the Royal Navy for a vast order of sailcloth, we shall be three days delayed while my husband completes his work in Town. We plan to arrive at Pemberley on the twenty-first. We apologize and hope this delay does not send your plans into a tumult.

Edward was uncertain what gift to select for your husband since he seems to lack for nothing. After some thought, however, he did manage to find a small item which reminded him of our fateful trip to Derbyshire over the summer.

Our children are so excited about their first visit to Pemberley that they can scarcely sleep at night. Their first hours at your home may find them jumping on the furniture and sliding down banisters. Please tell your staff not to fear to be strict with them if they cause trouble; we shall give any adults our full support. The children are eager to hear Mr. Darcy read another story. We all look forward to our holiday visit. Love from your aunt,

Mrs. E. Gardiner

My Dear Aunt,

I have received your missive. Do not make yourselves uneasy; a few days' delay is of no importance. We trust my uncle's business will be successful.

Pray write and tell me what story my husband told your children, for I had no idea he had ever met them, much less entertained them. He mentioned nothing to me about it and I do not dare ask for fear of embarrassing him. I promise I shall keep your reply to myself. I burn with curiosity to hear this tale, and remain your loving niece,

Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy

Dearest Elizabeth,

Once again you catch me by surprise. If your husband does not see fit to tell you such things then I should probably not give them away, but as long as you keep your promise of silence I shall relate the tale. Undoubtedly our children will reveal it anyway once they arrive.

The night Mr. Darcy dined with us, you may recall, was the day after Lydia's wedding. Your uncle and I felt as though we had attended a funeral, and were still rather out of spirits. We had already been quite somber for some time, along with your father who was staying with us while he searched unsuccessfully for Lydia, and children always know when something is the matter. We sat them down for a talk and simply stated that there was a serious family problem to resolve, but that it did not involve them and no one was going to die. You may imagine their surprise when Cousin Lydia later came to stay with us for a fortnight and then abruptly married, with none of the children in attendance.

Shortly after her wedding, I must confess, the cumulative agitation took its toll, and I actually lay down and cried for about half an hour. My dear husband consoled me and reminded me that everything had turned out well, but all I could think was how very close my own niece had come to ruin, and how her married life looked grim indeed. It was then that I realized Robert was hovering outside the bedchamber door.

You know that Robert is the shyest, but most perceptive of our four children. He will stand at the edges of a room in silence for an hour, observing the adults carefully, and then unerringly choose to stand alongside the one who most loves children. Well, the dear boy approached my bed and asked quietly, "Mama, did Cousin Lydia have to get married because she is going to have a baby?"

We were rather shocked, but should have expected such forthrightness. Of course we had no choice but to tell him the truth, or at least most of it. We told him that Lydia was not with child, but that she had eloped, and it was necessary to spend a great deal of money to bring about her marriage. Robert asked if we were going to be poor as a result, but we assured him we would not, because another man had paid the money.

You will never guess what he said next. "Oh, you mean the tall dark one who was visiting Father? I want to meet him. He's nice."

Now, Mr. Darcy and Edward had met for two days to negotiate, but the children were never formally introduced; we merely said a man was engaged with their Father on urgent business. Somehow, from a few brief snatches of conversation and glimpses of a tall stranger, Robert realized that he was a good man. I have no idea how he does it.

The night your future husband came to dine, we fed the children early with the plan of sending them up to bed so that we might become better acquainted with the gentleman. When he arrived, we introduced them; he bowed with friendly ease and inquired their ages, and I took them upstairs and returned for dinner. It was a long evening of discussion. Among other topics, the subject of marriage and family arose (fancy that), and Mr. Darcy mentioned that he admired our patience and fortitude, for he had no talent for children. He said that it was a skill which his wife would have to teach him.

We rose around eleven, and as we approached the hall to bid him goodnight, we heard the scampering of heavy mice upon the landing. Mr. Darcy looked upwards and spotted four pairs of eyes peering through the banister rails at him. I tried to shoo the children to bed, but he asked that we bring them down.

So we complied and introduced them again, although they were in their nightdresses. He had remembered all their names and smiled at them. That opened the floodgates, as Alice and William and Kate were all over him with questions: where do you live, how old are you, how tall are you, do you have horses, do you like guns, how do you know Father (he avoided that one with great panache). Robert was silent all this while. Finally Mr. Darcy looked at him and said slowly, "And you? Do you have a question?"

Robert asked, "Can you tell stories?"

Your Mr. Darcy started, then replied gravely, "I am afraid I am not very skilled at storytelling, although I can read them."

"Will you read me one?" And he shyly produced a copy of "Robin Hood."

We were horribly embarrassed, of course, and made to intervene, but should have trusted our boy's judgment. Would you believe it: your reserved, serious Darcy, who has no talent for children, put away his cloak and hat, sat down on the drawing room sofa surrounded by four young people in their nightdresses, and read aloud for some twenty minutes. He even spoke in falsetto for Maid Marian after Alice reminded him, "Marian's a girl." We were absolutely charmed.

I trust this tale meets with your approval. I shall look forward to seeing you both on the twenty-first. Your devoted aunt,

Mrs. E. Gardiner

(first draft)
Dear Mother,

Respectful greetings from Hayward House. I miss you and wish you were here, but

(second draft)
Dearest Mother,

Greetings from Hayward House. London is a remarkable place. Colonel Fitzwilliam says that

(third draft)
Dearest Mama,

Merry Christmas! I trust you are enjoying the holiday season. My stay in London is progressing very well. I have only met with the Marchioness Eastbrook briefly but she was most pleased with my breeding. She referred me to Dr. Robertson, the most eminent specialist in Town. He was, of course, honored to see the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I am pleased to report that he advises me that my health shall improve slowly with careful diet and wholesome activity.

My presentation at St. James shall probably be delayed until February as I need time to prepare, but since I am staying at Hayward House all winter, the delay hardly matters. The Marchioness decided that it was important for me to become accustomed to London society and to look my very best. During the interim I am dining in proper company, and have graced some very fashionable shops with my presence. I mentioned your name at Mrs. Shelby, the dressmaker. You were quite correct, she was exceptionally attentive.

I happened to encounter Colonel Fitzwilliam in Town. He was delighted to see me and once again begs forgiveness for his presence at Darcy's wedding, but it was unavoidable. We are attending a small reception this evening so I must close now. I remain your loving daughter,

Anne

My Dear Brother,

It has been some weeks since I had your last letter but I have been far too occupied to reply. Do not prostrate yourself too greatly. I do forgive you for attending our nephew's wedding since I am aware that you and your sons had to attend for form's sake. Still, the less said about such a dreadful disaster, the better. When last I checked the London papers, there was little mention of it, which is certainly a proper punishment.

A few weeks after The Disgraceful Event, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy received his comeuppance. The Marchioness Eastbrook and Lord and Lady Sheffield, who had heard of my darling Anne by reputation, invited her to Town to be presented at St. James under their protection. I have just had a letter from Anne at Hayward House to inform me that she has made a sterling impression and is surrounded by excellent company. What a perfect way for my dear daughter to exact revenge for Darcy's unforgivable rejection!

The only reason such a trip was made possible is that after all these years of struggle, Anne's health finally begins to improve. It is such a joy to know that our local apothecary and the ministrations of Miss Jenkinson have had such beneficial effect. You see, I was quite right to place my faith in them after all.

Alas, Lord and Lady Sheffield were not able to call for Anne personally owing to urgent family matters, but their younger son Edgar and his charming wife Christina arrived in their stead. They were suitably apologetic and humble, and properly impressed by Rosings, of course. I was most vexed that they were unable to stay, but duty had called them back to Town.

Since I am now alone at Rosings and even my parish priest and his wife are visiting her parents (her mother was taken terribly ill about six weeks before The Disgraceful Event), I beg of you, please do consider my home as yours and accept my invitation for Christmas. And do invite your dear sons as well. Write very soon to tell me when you shall arrive. Respects from your sister,

Lady Catherine de Bourgh

My dear sister,

What a surprise to hear that Lord Sheffield invited Anne to London. I saw him only two months ago and he mentioned nothing about it. It must have occurred to him recently. I did not realize my niece's health had improved so greatly that she is finally able to travel. We are all of us simply delighted to hear the news.

My wife and I had planned to stay in Nottinghamshire for Christmas, for as we grow older it becomes less comfortable to be away from home, but since we know this is your first holiday season without your daughter, we would not wish you to be alone. Henry and Eleanor are staying at home with their children, who are still too small to travel, and Fitzwilliam is committed to military duties, but Abigail and I would be pleased to spend Christmas at Rosings. Would the 22nd be a convenient date for our arrival? I remain your devoted brother,

Henry, Earl of Matlock

My Dear William,

I write to inform you that our Christmas plans have abruptly changed. Your mother and I shall be spending the holidays at Rosings with your Aunt Catherine. You are welcome to join us, although I suspect you would prefer to stay in Town. Do not think I blame you; your annual duty visit at Easter most definitely fulfills your responsibilities in that quarter. Henry and Eleanor shall not be visiting either, since their children are too young.

Catherine is still upset over Darcy's marriage. However, her spirits have improved somewhat due to a completely unexpected turn of events. It seems that the Marchioness Eastbrook heard of Anne de Bourgh by reputation and wished her to be presented at Court independent of her immediate family. She even asked Lord Sheffield to invite Anne to Town. I find this situation a bit perplexing. The Marchioness Eastbrook, who is nearly 80, is reputedly in poor health and has not been seen at St. James for some time. I have never met the lady except in a few receiving lines, and I was certain that Lord Sheffield did not know her either.

My sister has lately had a letter from Anne, so at least she has not disappeared. I know that Lord Sheffield's son Edgar is one of your best friends. Do you by any chance understand any more of this matter? There seems something a bit odd about the situation but I cannot quite put my finger on it. I remain your loving father,

Henry, Earl of Matlock

Express Post: to Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pemberley House, Derbyshire

Darcy,

We have an urgent problem. My parents have unexpectedly decided to visit Rosings for Christmas and are on the road even as I write. They do not know that we smuggled Anne out from under Aunt Catherine's nose. They certainly do not know that I forged a letter of introduction in my father's handwriting. The whole business is bound to come out sooner or later. What ever do you suggest I do?

William

Express Post: to Colonel Fitzwilliam, c/o Hayward House, Mayfair

William,

The next time you wake me up with an express post at four in the morning, it had d--- well better be signed in blood. Poor Mrs. Reynolds was pounding on my door to wake the dead. I bruised my shins while stumbling around in the dark for my dressing gown, and I am scribbling at Elizabeth's desk after knocking over the inkwell on mine.

I did not forge any letters so this is hardly my problem. You deal with it. And the next time you send such a missive, kindly write "no undertaker needed" next to the address.

May this reply pull YOU away from a beautiful woman in the middle of the night and see how you like it. Never mind. I'm groggy. Going back to bed,

Darcy

Wait, Elizabeth wants to add something...

Colonel Fitzwilliam -- Could you not write a letter to your parents at Rosings and explain the entire matter? I am certain your father will understand; he seems like a reasonable gentleman. If you send the letter express it should be waiting when they arrive. -- Elizabeth

There. You can see...now we've woken Georgiana. She just appeared at the door. She wants to add something as well.

Cousin William -- When you write to your parents, do not forget to tell them you invented the letter about the dogs which Anne gave to her mother. It would not be a good thing if your father were to let it slip that you have no puppies. -- Georgiana

Ladies think better than I do at this hour. I need my sleep; the Gardiners arrive tomorrow. Good luck.

Darcy

Posted on Monday, 21 June 1999

Dear Son,

Your mother and I have arrived safely at Rosings Park, and we send you our warmest wishes for a happy holiday season. We shall miss you greatly, but trust that you will have a pleasant stay in London. Although I am interested in your activities there, I shall respect your privacy, as I know that you are too wise and intelligent a gentleman to compromise yourself in any way.

Incidentally, shortly after our arrival, your Aunt Catherine spent some time informing us in great and joyous detail of Anne's invitation to Town. Among other matters, she mentioned how very pleased she was by the elegance and good breeding of Edgar and Christina Sheffield when they called for our niece at Rosings.

That my sister should admire the younger Sheffields is no great mystery, but imagine my surprise when she informed me that one of their letters of introduction was from me. I am certain that there is some sensible explanation for this little development, which you are about to write down and post to me at once. Regards from your father,

Henry, Earl of Matlock

Express Post: to Henry, Earl of Matlock, c/o Rosings Park, Kent

Most Honorable Father,

I need to send this missive off to you immediately so pray forgive my writing. We -- that is, Anne de Bourgh's cousins -- decided to bring her to London without her mother because Lady Catherine was throwing raging fits over Darcy's marriage to Elizabeth and we realized we should take Anne away from Rosings, so I asked Lord Sheffield's son Edgar to send her a letter inviting her -- Anne, that is -- to Town, except he had never met Lady Catherine so I had to forge a letter of introduction in your handwriting because you were in Nottinghamshire and I was afraid you would not approve in any case, and now it seems Anne may not be ill at all and her health will be endangered if we send her back to her mother so we need to keep her here in Town, only Lady Catherine cannot find out about it so please do not tell her. Oh, and I had to give Anne a fictitious letter saying my dog had puppies as an excuse for our correspondence and if you could refrain from mentioning the truth that would be of great assistance. Sorry. I am, sir, with great respect, your son,

Colonel Fitzwilliam
c/o Hayward House, Mayfair

Dear Son,

Impressive efficiency, dear boy. Your express arrived two hours after I posted my first letter. Permission granted to breathe now.

Fear not, I managed to check my astonishment in the presence of my sister. Lady Catherine, so far, has no knowledge of her young relations' conspiratorial talents, and although your mother and I are not entirely pleased with your failure to inform us of the idea, for Anne's sake we shall not betray your secret.

I only ask that you take particular care not to involve my niece in any events which could potentially turn up in the scandalsheets, for not only should she be well protected from dubious company, but her reputation might be materially damaged and her mother would undoubtedly hear of it. Also, when you have time, pray write to inform me how you discovered that Anne's health will improve if she is separated from her mother.

I am not altogether certain that I want to know the rest. May you enjoy the season. Your mother, who should stop laughing any minute now, sends her love. Your devoted father,

Henry, Earl of Matlock

Dear Kitty,

I hope you are having a happy Christmas season, though how you are managing to keep yourself occupied in so small a place as Meryton I cannot imagine, especially now that I am out in the wide world as a married woman (by the bye, I hope you are not too angry with me for stealing a march on you in this regard, but we must all make the most of our talents, you know).

My dearest Wickham is most horribly ill-used by the regiment's Colonel, who occupies his time far too often for paltry tasks, as though the French would ever come anywhere Newcastle, I ask you. So I find very often that I must seek my own consolation in female society, and you may guess what a success I have been, for the Colonel's sister Martha has taken me for her particular friend already.

Oh, and I have received a very irksome letter from Lizzy, putting on such great airs merely because she married a richer man than I, even though we all know how very well my husband would fare if other gentlemen in this world were not so jealous of him. But to my point: Martha asked for all the details of our wedding and wanted to know if there were people of any note in attendance, so of course I had to mention Mr. Darcy or it would have sounded like such a dreary insignificant affair. And you will never think what story she told me next!

It seems Martha has a Cousin Agatha who married someone or other very great and lives in Town, and who knows all the goings-on in society, so of course Martha stays very well informed. And she has heard of Mr. Darcy because a few years ago he and Agatha attended the same party, a very great affair with scores of guests.

Kitty, that party was such a to-do! It was in all the papers; there were women of ill repute and drunkenness and fighting and every scandalous thing! But this is the best tidbit of all -- Mr. Darcy was seen in the presence of an unclothed woman, right there in front of everybody!

I'll wager I have surprised you, haven't I, Kitty? Remember all the time we knew Mr. Darcy at Longbourn, how he acted so very proud as though he fancied himself so grand and proper, and to think what he was hiding all the time! Well, if Lizzy can stand to be married to such a man than I daresay she shall simply have to make the most of it, and I might be able to stand it myself since he is so very rich, if only he were not the dreariest company in the world.

There is no other very interesting news so I will stop now, and I am sorry not to have a Christmas present for you, but you will have to be content with the bonnet I sent a few weeks ago since I never seem to have quite enough pocket money just yet. It is so very cold up here that I do not know how I shall ever make it to Spring, but dear Wickham is so thoughtful of my health, he has urged me to take myself away and travel a bit if I wish, even though his duties force him to stay in Newcastle. I would miss him very much but "carpe diem," you know. Ta! Your sister,

Mrs. Lydia Wickham

Dear Mr. Darcy,

Sir, allow me to begin by stating that I shall never forget how you saved my daughter Lydia's reputation, and for your trouble and expense I am forever grateful. However, I must be blunt, no matter how painful it may be. I write you because a report of a most disturbing nature has reached my ears.

I know that you keep a house in Town, and that you and my dear Elizabeth plan to spend several weeks there this winter, although why you would inflict such punishment upon yourselves I cannot guess. It is not my place to interfere with such a decision, but I am concerned about a rumor that your London social activities in years past drew quite a bit of attention. Specifically, I have heard that you attended a party filled with every sort of vice, and that you were seen in close proximity to a woman who was somewhat underdressed, if you take my meaning.

I am a realistic man, sir, and understand well the follies of youth. But I do request that you send me your explanation of this report, and assure me that you would never involve my dear Lizzy in any scandalous activity. I look forward to a prompt reply. I beg to remain, sir, your father-in-law,

Bennet

(first draft)
Good God, sir, what do you take me for? And who has been telling you such things? Do you seriously believe that I would engage in such despicable behavior, or that I would ever risk endangering Elizabeth's reputation and safety? I am deeply offended that you would give credence to such appalling

(second draft)
My Dear Sir,

I was quite taken aback to learn that you have heard reports which call my conduct as a gentleman into question. I know not who has been spreading such wicked gossip and shall refrain from inquiring. However, I do believe I can guess how such a story originated, and because I respect and admire your protective concern for Elizabeth, I shall lay before you the entire sordid tale. If you read the London papers a few years ago you will no doubt recall some version of this event. But I beg of you, please burn this letter after you read it.

To begin, do keep in mind that despite London's decadent reputation, there are always a certain number of gentlemen in society -- possibly a minority, but still a good number -- who are not stimulated by dissolute behavior. I count myself among these, along with Bingley and a few close friends of ours. Many activities which others consider to be exciting, we regard as crass and vulgar. Therefore, we have learned to choose our friends and our engagements with care.

A few years ago I was invited to attend a London dinner soiree hosted by an old acquaintance from Cambridge, Mr. Geoffrey Ashton. Ashton had been wed some three months previously to the former Miss Rachel Talbot, the heiress of a prominent merchant family. I am sorry to report that his friends were not pleased with his choice. Mrs. Ashton is a great beauty and by no means deficient in understanding, but is of flighty and difficult temper. What is a great deal worse, the conduct of her relations is widely reputed to be dishonorable, and I personally would not wish to be connected to such a family. But Ashton was madly in love with her and would hear no objections to their marriage, even though his friends united in an unprecedented effort to change his mind.

The dinner was a very large affair that was to be Mrs. Ashton's first major event as a London hostess. Among the gentlemen present were Bingley, my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam (he was a Major at that time), Fitzwilliam's good friend Edgar Sheffield, and myself. We all arrived together, and our attendance was meant as a peace offering, since we had none of us attended the wedding. Bingley's sisters were not present, a most fortunate decision, as the evening turned out.

I had not been there ten minutes before it was obvious -- from the incense fumes, turbaned servants, and live leopard -- that this was precisely the sort of occasion which I strive to avoid. Mrs. Ashton's décolletage was shocking even by high fashion standards, and most of her guests were not part of my usual circle. After going through the receiving line and assessing the situation, the reasons for our invitation became clear. Ashton, poor fellow, was eager to impress us with his bride, and his wife regarded our eligible selves as a true "catch" by which she would establish her reputation as a society hostess. Women peered at us from every corner, forcing the four of us to stick together for safety like the walls of a house. Fitzwilliam was bemused, I was irritated, Bingley was cheerfully oblivious, but Edgar saved the evening by spotting another person who was also out of place: a remarkable young lady named Christina Leeds.

Miss Leeds was, at that time, one of the most sought-after young ladies in London. She is almost as beautiful as your daughter Jane, with blonde hair and green eyes, and an expression of striking character. Her grandparents on both sides were lesser nobility, and she has a modest fortune, but her real virtue is her wit. She is unusually well read, clever without giving offense, and of self-possessed manner far beyond her years. She was attending the soiree escorted by her mother, who was a close friend of Ashton's mother and an acquaintance of my parents.

Miss Leeds had crossed my path on only one prior occasion, where she displayed the good taste for which she is famous by electing to speak with Edgar Sheffield from among her many admirers. Edgar, the younger son of Lord Sheffield, is neither handsome nor rich, but extraordinarily intelligent. He and then-Major Fitzwilliam had been in school together from their earliest days, and Edgar consistently took every prize almost without effort. Upon taking his degree from Cambridge he entered the Foreign Office, where it is generally expected that he shall rise very high. Like most gentlemen in Town, he was utterly smitten with Miss Leeds.

Mrs. Leeds and her daughter were surprised and pleased to see us. After the proper introductions, the matron turned to Edgar and said, "And why are you here, young sir? I thought you would be burning the candles until dawn in contribution to our war effort."

Edgar replied in mock seriousness, "I beg your pardon, Madam, I make one of the most vital contributions to our war effort. I raise morale during meetings by frowning and nodding my head earnestly at half-witted statesmen." The ladies laughed charmingly at him and were included in our little fish-out-of-water group for the remainder of the evening.

I will avoid retelling every sordid detail of that dinner party, but suffice it to say that matters deteriorated. Mrs. Ashton and some female friends of hers continued to approach us in the most direct and unabashed possible way. Fitzwilliam was polite but discouraging, and my notoriously boorish manners served me in good stead, but poor Bingley paid for his unprepossessing amiability when a couple of women took his arms and attempted to draw him into a nearby room. Before I had to intervene, he guessed that they were attempting to compromise him and disengaged himself. He was my second shadow for the rest of the night. At the same time, Mrs. Ashton's male relations, most particularly her brother Roger, made numerous attempts to draw the attention of Christina Leeds, but Edgar's biting wit and Miss Leeds' cold courtesy kept them at bay.

The four of us would have departed quite early except that it seemed unpardonably rude to Geoffrey Ashton, and we certainly could not abandon the two ladies, whose coach was not scheduled to return until nearly midnight. It was also a golden opportunity for Edgar Sheffield to shine in the eyes of both Miss Leeds and her mother. In hindsight, Mrs. Ashton could not have failed to notice that Christina Leeds was the only young lady who had earned our attention, which may account for what happened next.

We had been warned that Mrs. Ashton had arranged for a "surprise" entertainment following dinner. The surprise turned out to be exotic dancers. When they began shedding certain strategically placed veils, it was clearly past time to depart. Even Bingley looked pale. Escorting the Leeds ladies home, although we were only casual acquaintances, now seemed the less scandalous of our rapidly dwindling options.

Just then we heard shouting and screeching. Geoffrey Ashton came storming into the dining room pursued by his wife, who was in a state most disgraceful to any lady. To this day I do not quite understand the nature of the dispute -- something about the Viscount Fairchilde, who had been heard arguing with Ashton and then disappeared about half an hour previously. In any case, Mrs. Ashton managed to trip and land directly in the lap of Major Fitzwilliam, hanging her arms about his neck and begging him for protection. He was forced to extricate himself in the most humiliating way, by rising and shoving her away from him.

She responded by weeping. He replied with perfect calmness, "Mrs. Ashton, I must beg leave to depart. I thank you for an interesting evening." At that she picked up a glass of wine and hurled the contents at him. He dodged. The wine splattered all over Christina Leeds. Edgar ripped off his coat and used it to cover her.

Mrs. Ashton then announced that she would not permit any member of her company to insult her. I have no idea what she was thinking, but it was delivered through breath that could have felled a flock of birds in mid-flight. She announced that we might think ourselves too good for her, but she could still maintain her dignity. With dramatic gestures she strode for the door, caught her gown on a hinge, and ripped the fabric straight down the back.

Suddenly the room was completely silent. I am told that I had a strange grin upon my face, although I certainly do not recall it. In any case, Mrs. Ashton ran shrieking from the room, followed by her husband, who shot me an apologetic and quite pathetic glance as he passed. Somewhere near the entryway a fight was breaking out and it seemed expedient to depart by another exit.

While the rest of our party gathered our cloaks and hats, I strode for what I thought was a door leading outside, that I might retrieve our carriage myself. Unfortunately, I was mistaken. The room proved to be the library, full of suspicious smoke and bodies in various states of dishabille. Aghast, I turned to depart only to find Roger Talbot blocking the door. In the foulest possible terms, he said he would not allow me to take my leave until I apologized to his sister. He claimed that my entire group of friends had insulted her throughout the evening by refusing to engage ourselves with her guests. I am ashamed to confess that I lost my temper, threatened his manhood in a particularly vulgar way, and shoved him to one side. He swung and connected with my right eye; I got up, swung back twice, and felled him. At that moment Fitzwilliam intervened and pulled me out of the room.

Had I not taken that wrong turn, we all might have gotten safely out of the house before the serious trouble ensued. As it happened, unfortunately, the Viscount Fairchilde reappeared at the front door at that very moment. He had gone for the local police. Dozens of officers and soldiers began swarming into the house, rounding up everyone in sight and taking them to jail. Between the various types of contraband (including French champagne), the underdressed company, and the fisticuffs, I must admit they had a pretty strong case. We were all facing certain disaster, or at least thirty days.

We four gentlemen formed a protective circle around the two ladies. We looked around for another exit and Edgar thought of the servants' entrance. In spite of the chaos, we managed to maneuver our way there, but discovered it was locked. The servants, at least, were no fools. Instead, we ducked under a rope blocking off the residential floors and dashed upstairs, eventually making our way to the far opposite wing, where it was much quieter. Bingley and I opened a couple of doors which, as it turned out, led to bedrooms (of which the less said, the better). Finally, at the end of the hall, we chanced upon a dark drawing room, hurried our group inside, and locked the door behind us.

After catching our breath and ascertaining that the ladies were unharmed, Bingley and I opened a window to assess possible escape routes. The drawing room overlooked a large side alley, but further down we could glimpse that the street was swarming with guests, unclothed dancers, carriages, soldiers, and hundreds of common people who had come running to gawk at the spectacle. It was obvious that we would not be able to depart without being noticed.

We were trying to think of our next brilliant move when suddenly we heard footsteps storming down the hall and cries of, "Open the doors! Everybody out!" It was the constabulary, searching the house for further contraband. We looked at each other in horror, but Mrs. Leeds is a resourceful lady. She took Edgar's arm and told the rest of us to hide behind the curtains. When the police pounded on the door, she calmly opened it and stood there in the dark room next to Edgar, who was without his jacket, you will recall. She proclaimed that she was Viscount Fairchilde's mother Lady Frances, and imperiously demanded to know why they were disturbing her privacy. Edgar did his best to look guilty. The police apologized meekly and left, and Mrs. Leeds closed and relocked the door.

Finding ourselves safe for the moment, the rest of us emerged from behind the curtains with a collective exhalation of breath. It was clear that our chances of escaping undetected would improve if we waited for matters to calm down. Bingley helped the ladies to comfortable seats, Fitzwilliam and Edgar started up the fireplace, and I managed to locate the wine, decided it was the least that Ashton owed us, and poured six glasses.

After a quick toast to Mrs. Leeds, we discussed our options and decided that we should wait for at least two hours. The good matron was fortunately not offended by this plan and thanked us most sincerely for our assistance. She was concerned for my right eye, which was swelling up, and kindly attended to it with a handkerchief soaked in water. The drawing room contained a small piano forte, and after a few minutes her daughter offered to play, as there was no longer anyone else about in that part of the house. She asked Edgar his favorite composer, and when he replied "Mozart," she commenced, from memory, Mozart's variations on "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." The results were extraordinary. She is one of the best musicians I have ever heard in my life.

I know this will sound very odd to you, sir, but until I met your daughter Elizabeth, those short hours in the drawing room were among the pleasantest moments of my existence. There are few things more exhilarating than finishing off a narrow escape by sitting with close friends and two clever ladies in the half darkness, healing your swollen eye, sipping a glass of good wine, and listening to the beautiful sounds of Mozart, while downstairs the local police take away people you dislike and place them under arrest.

Eventually the external confusion diminished and we decided to make our escape. Edgar, always ready with a flourish under pressure, crossed to the desk, wrote our names on four scraps of paper, placed them in his hat, and presented the hat to Miss Leeds, who drew out the scrap marked "Major Fitzwilliam." My cousin grimaced but bravely complied. He opened the window, checked to see if the coast was clear, climbed down to the back alley, and ran. Five minutes later he returned and hissed, "I've found our carriage. It's waiting down the street." Miss Leeds surreptitiously played four bars of the "Hallelujah Chorus."

I descended next, Bingley and Edgar lowered the ladies to us (as modestly as might be expected under the circumstances), and then followed. The six of us engaged in a less than dignified sprint for safety. It transpired that when the evening had taken a turn for the worse, our quick-thinking driver had left the kitchen, readied the carriage, and moved it a few blocks away before the police cordoned off the street. We rewarded him with five pounds and ordered, "If anyone asks, we were never here."

We escorted the ladies home to the rather worried Mr. Thomas Leeds, whose hired-carriage driver had returned without his wife and daughter, and reported that they were probably in jail. He blinked a little to see them arrive with four single gentlemen, but was relieved that we were all respectable and sober. After his wife introduced us, he most kindly offered brandy and coffee, which we all needed, and some ice for my eye, which I needed. We chatted for a while before slipping back to our respective homes shortly before sunrise. I slept until two.

That, sir, is the entire tale. The Ashtons' infamous dinner party was the talk of the Town for weeks, as you can imagine, but although I kept a careful eye on the papers, our names were never mentioned. I can only account for this oversight by guessing that the attendance of our small group was the least interesting element of the evening. Some guests were quickly released, but Mrs. Ashton's brothers and uncle were held in jail a good deal longer. Ironically, I do not recall what happened to Geoffrey and Rachel Ashton; a good deal of money must have been laid out as they seem to have been spared a most embarrassing prosecution.

Edgar Sheffield and Christina Leeds were married the following year. At the wedding breakfast Edgar reached into his pocket and pulled out the four scraps of paper. They had all been marked with the same name. I hope he becomes Foreign Secretary some day.

I think I may safely assure you that I shall never involve your daughter Elizabeth in such a disgraceful event, and I beg to remain, sir, most respectfully your son-in-law,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

My dear son-in-law,

Goodness. I had no idea it was possible to fit the words "contraband," "leopard," and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" into the same letter, much less the same party. I had to read it several times to make sense of it all. Sir, you rise every day in my esteem.

I regret to inform you that there is no chance of my ever burning such a missive, although I will find a sound hiding place for it. I do hope that you will give me permission to publish it in hardbound some day, as I have every belief that it will secure my family's income forever. Perhaps I could change some of the names?

Mr. and Mrs. Sheffield sound like an interesting couple. I hope I may meet them some day. I also grant leave to you and my clever Lizzy to advance on safe, respectable London society and conquer it, or not, as you will. But before you consider the potential repetition of such a stimulating evening, do bear in mind one difficulty: Lizzy claims to play Mozart worse than any other composer does on earth.

I knew I should never have trusted a report originating with someone named "Cousin Agatha." I hope I have not offended you. I make it a point never to offend anyone without willful malice aforethought. May you enjoy a quiet holiday. Yours etc.,

Bennet

Dear Brother,

Theresa, the children, and I are thinking of you this Christmas. We know that your first holiday so far from Elizabeth must be difficult, but at least Jane is still nearby. I am glad to hear that you find Mr. Bingley such excellent company.

In consolation, you shall be delighted to hear that Elizabeth is looking perfectly radiant. We have never seen her so happy. Her husband simply adores her, as she well deserves, and I am every day discovering that he is truly her equal in every important respect. We were surprised to be invited to Pemberley so soon after their marriage, but Mr. Darcy told us that he was eager to know more of us and especially looked forward to the sounds of our children running around the house. I was as surprised as you undoubtedly are, but I am reporting his exact words.

Christmas was most enjoyable. I had a terrible time finding a present for my new nephew but finally settled on a cedar box to hold his fishing lures. Lovely object, nicely engraved scrollwork. He seemed pleased. Your volume of Cicero's orations went over extremely well; Elizabeth laughed and he looked startled, but he was just reading it last night, claiming he might learn something.

Following the Christmas service and an excellent dinner, we all bundled up and headed for a walk around the grounds, which were covered in freshly fallen powder. Elizabeth had taken charge of the children and, knowing what you do of her proclivities, you have already guessed what happened next. Snowballs flew. Even Miss Darcy joined in. I watched her brother most anxiously but he had a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

I managed to maintain neutrality until Kate pelted me with a good one, whereupon I had no choice but to retaliate. It was a splendid battle for quite some time until Elizabeth hit me with a well aimed shot right in the nose and I immediately fired back. Unfortunately my arm is not what it used to be, and even if she hadn't run like a coward to hide directly behind her husband, he is the larger target. My snowball took off his hat. He stooped to retrieve it, but at that unfortunate moment the day's heaviest gust of wind arose, carrying his father's handsome beaver stovepipe directly over the lake. There was a large hole in the ice near the center. Naturally, the hat had perfect aim. We all watched in silence as it sank into the frozen depths.

Mr. Darcy looked at us. He looked at the children. He looked forlornly at the spot where his hat had been. Then he asked me for my stovepipe. With profuse apologies, I handed it to him. My face must have been scarlet. He replied, "Thank you," in a tone of most offended dignity and strode back to the house. Elizabeth hurried after her husband and I followed with the remainder of our party. When we arrived inside, the couple had disappeared. Miss Darcy suggested we repair to the music room to wait, and I tell you, I was as frightened as a child caught stealing sweets.

A few minutes later Mr. Darcy reappeared holding my hat. He approached me and said, "Mr. Gardiner, my wife informs me that my manners have been reprehensible. I realize the snowball was merely an accident and beg leave to apologize." With that he returned my hat to me. I nervously took it without thinking, placed it upon my head, and was immediately covered from head to toe in flour.

You cannot possibly guess at the deafening noise that erupted. Everyone's faces were priceless, and Mr. Darcy's eyes twinkled, but I think his sister's expression of complete and utter shock was the best of all.

Later that evening after I had dusted off and made as dignified a return as possible, my wife announced, "It's past ten o'clock. The girls have already gone upstairs, and I think it's time we put the boys to bed."

"Too true," replied Elizabeth smilingly, "but what shall we do with your children?"

Splendid outing, dear brother. Hope your Christmas has gone half so well. Yours etc.,

Mr. Edward Gardiner

Darcy,

A happy holiday season to you, as well. Thank you for the books, including the one from the music distributor. "Hadley's Vocal Exercises," indeed. Where do you suggest I practice, the barn?

We enjoyed a lively, busy Christmas. After the service, a large group gathered at Netherfield for dinner and festivities. The main drawing room got to be a bit noisy, what with the Bennets, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, the Lucases (all of them), and Mr. and Mrs. Collins, as well as several other neighbors. But Jane is a masterful hostess. Through her good judgment and manners, Mary played Christmas songs and dancing airs but did not sing, Mrs. Phillips paired off with Mrs. Bennet for cards, and Mr. Collins and Sir William spent the entire day speaking to each other. It was a pleasant holiday.

The best moment was our gift exchange. I presented Jane with a blue riding habit and insisted that she try it on at once. She looked gorgeous, of course. Then I told her to close her eyes and led her outside to place her hand on the bridle of her new horse, a beautiful filly named Dinah. Three years old, sleek black thoroughbred, but just as gentle as an old farm horse. Took some doing to find an animal of just the right size and temperament, let me tell you. Everyone applauded and cheered in the most charming way.

That led to an odd moment -- at least, odder than most. Mrs. Bennet was all in raptures and began alluding to something about Dinah being a much lovelier animal than the one used for her "successful plan," but Mr. Bennet seemed to have a sudden coughing fit and begged her to accompany him inside as the cold air was bad for his health. A bit contrived, I must say, but when I asked Jane about it she kissed me so delightfully that I soon forgot the entire matter.

Caroline has been writing me every day with bits of information about her Twelfth Night Ball, and I must say it promises to be quite spectacular. The guest list alone would do credit to the Duke of Norfolk. Colonel Fitzwilliam may be in luck. Perhaps she is planning to expand her social horizons, so to speak. I wish you all a pleasant visit to Town, and remain your friend in the brotherhood of matrimony,

Bingley

My Most Eminent Mr. Darcy,

Charlotte joins me in sending the most reverent thanks for your generously bestowed solicitudes. I had not the slightest hope of such unexpected condescension from your noble person. Such a superior gardening tool is rarely to be found. What skill, what materials, what craftsmanship must have been poured into this implement, and yet it is also the very epitome of practicality. My roses cannot fail to flourish with the aid of such an impeccable and magnanimously proffered gift, with the added blessings of our Almighty Father and a good dose of sunlight, of course.

May I be so courteous as to add, sir, that I most deeply regret the bitter divide which has occurred between you and my most noble patroness, your Aunt, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I pray twice daily for a speedy solution, for as my dear Charlotte reminds me, I can scarcely conceal our presence at your nuptials, nor even utilize your splendid gift, without appearing hypocritical in the eyes of God. But I shall maintain my proper station and refrain from advising that any steps be taken in this matter, and most sincerely beg to remain, sir, ever your most humble, grateful, and obedient servant,

The Reverend William Collins

Dearest Lizzy,

Thank you for the pruning shears. It was too thoughtful of you and your husband to send them. Mr. Collins praised their virtues over and over again, and is certain to spend many more hours outdoors come Spring, now that he can tend his flowers with a tool from the great estate of Pemberley. My special thanks as well for the beautiful lacquered combs. They are the loveliest hair ornaments I have ever seen.

My husband and I have stayed overlong at Lucas Lodge, and we return to Hunsford tomorrow. Our baby should arrive in April, and although a son would be most pleasing to both Mr. Collins and his patroness, I am in high hopes that our first shall be a girl. But of course, as long as the baby is healthy I shall be perfectly content.

Lizzy, I do not mind telling you that I am somewhat afraid for my safety and would welcome any suggestions you may have as to midwives. I do not trust the midwife recommended by Lady Catherine, especially as her Ladyship lost two children at birth. The current midwife she has recommended seems young and ill experienced. If your husband knows of anyone who would be better suited, please do advise me at once.

My parents shall arrive shortly before Easter and stay for several weeks, but dearest friend, would I be terribly selfish if I requested your presence as well? You know that you would be of greater comfort to me than anyone else. I am aware that I ask a great deal, for I know that communications have broken off between Mr. Darcy and his Aunt, but if there is any way you could manage a reconciliation so that you could be at my side for my firstborn, I would be forever in your debt. I remain your most devoted

Charlotte

Dear Mrs. Annesley,

Thank you for your excellent recommendations. We shall be interviewing the ladies you suggested very shortly. I am sorry that you are unable to continue as my tutor and miss you very dearly, but I do understand your decision. Since I am staying in Town for some weeks, I would very much like the opportunity of calling upon you at your nearest convenience, making allowances for your obligations to your parents, of course.

On the sixth of January I shall be attending my first large ball. I am not yet out, but my brother is permitting me to attend this event for a few hours under his protection. It promises to be a very respectable event, held by some old friends of his, but I am still somewhat anxious. I shall keep in mind your helpful advice that it is not necessary to be witty, merely polite and gracious. I have passed this advice on to my cousin, as it is her first event as well.

I hope to have a reply from you soon regarding a visit. With sincere gratitude,

Miss Georgiana Darcy

Dearest Caroline,

It seems ages since I last heard from you. Word has gotten around that you were obligated to travel to Hertfordshire for your brother's wedding. Delighted to hear that you and Louisa survived the savages. Is her hair still that pretty red shade? Auburn is simply the thing this year.

Only think how pleased I was to hear about your special event. The Twelfth Night Ball, indeed; such a charming idea. Simply everyone is talking about it, my dear. You may well outdo Holland House if you are not careful.

As it happens, despite the whirlwind of activity this season, I have managed to arrange things so that I am not engaged on the sixth of January, though you may have to forgive me if I am fashionably late. You were not thinking of holding your event without me, were you, darling?

I shall not give you even a hint of my new embroidered gown, except that I do hope you were not planning to wear ivory cream silk (although your taste is so famous, dear Caroline, that I shall never be put out to be mistaken for you). Oh, and I am privy to the most delicious sinful tidbit about Lady Hamilton, which I shall whisper discreetly in your ear. Looking ahead with felicitous anticipation to your revels, I remain yours etc.,

Mrs. Rachel Ashton

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