Page 51 of Near Pemberley

She selected a book almost at random and turned towards the old armchair near the window.

As she sat down, the edge of her skirt caught the corner of the writing table.

Several loose papers slid at once onto the floor.

“Oh!”

She bent to gather them before they scattered further beneath the desk.

Most proved insignificant: old memoranda, half-opened accounts, notes in her father’s careless hand. But one sheet, already unfolded, arrested her attention almost instantly.

The direction.

Pemberley.

She stopped short.

Before she had fully realised what she was doing, her eyes had already fallen upon the signature.

Fitzwilliam Darcy.

For one suspended instant, everything around her seemed to recede into stillness.

Then, with trembling hands, she began to read.

The letter was grave, restrained, entirely proper.

Darcy wrote with respectful concern regarding the Gardiners’ sudden departure from Lambton and the distress in which Miss Bennet had appeared. Though he regretted intruding where perhaps he possessed little claim to do so, he could not remain easy without offering whatever assistance might lie in his power should the family require it. He acknowledged his limited acquaintance with Mr. Bennet himself yet hoped he might be permitted to address him openly in consequence of the acquaintance formed with Miss Elizabeth Bennet during the spring at Rosings and renewed in Derbyshire.

There was no presumption in the letter.

No wounded pride. No reproach.

Only concern. Only kindness.

Elizabeth stared at the final lines without seeing them clearly.

He had written.

He had reached out despite everything. For several moments, she could hardly breathe steadily. Then another thought struck her.

The letter lay here. Opened. Did her father reply? He never mentioned it. Elizabeth feared the truth.

Unanswered.

The neglect of it wounded her almost as much as the contents had moved her.

Elizabeth rose at once.

At that very moment, the library door opened, and Mr. Bennet entered. He paused upon seeing her.

“Well, Lizzy. You appear to have discovered my neglected papers.”

Elizabeth turned towards him slowly, Darcy’s letter still trembling in her hand.

“You received this?”

Mr. Bennet glanced in the direction carelessly enough. “Ah. Yes. Mr. Darcy wrote some time ago.”