Chapter Text
*Charles*
To Mr. Darcy,
Quite frankly, if I had not heard it from your own cousin in London I would never have believed the story you laid out to me. But he has never once lied to me, so I suppose I must believe you.
It began at the Netherfield Ball but I won't tell the entire tale - that right belongs to the one most affected by what happened. The result was that you, quite unwillingly, were forced to marry Elizabeth (whom you never believed when she said she had nothing to do with it.)
You blamed her in every regard and your first act as her husband was to forbid her from seeing her family. This was bad enough but you prevented her from coming to Jane's wedding as well! Imagine my surprise when on meeting her by chance in some Countess's drawing room, she was completely unaware that her sister had wed at all!
I do not wish to speak to you, but if you have really forgotten everything, perhaps we can write the occasional letter. But only for Elizabeth's sake.
Charles Bingley
*Georgiana*
To Fitzwilliam,
The man says he has not long to stay so I must write quickly.
I was home at Pemberley when you first woke from your accident. The doctor said you were addled by pain, but I know what I saw.
You looked right at Elizabeth and told her she would never have Pemberley in her greedy hands. I have never seen you look that way at anyone but George Wickham, and yet that look you directed at your wife who had been doing her best to arrange for you to have the best surgeon possible. It is only because of her that I got to Pemberley in time to see you at a point when the doctor was not sure that you would wake at all!
I may have been wrong about Wickham, but I do not believe he was wrong about you.
Georgiana
*Mr. Bennet*
You, sir, are very lucky that I was unfamiliar with Pemberley's layout when we came to visit after your accident.
You claim to remember nothing and it seems, from what Jane tells me, that you are telling the truth.
Even if you do not remember, Elizabeth certainly does. I have never seen my daughter so pale, Mr. Darcy, as she was the day Bingley contrived to bring Jane, myself, and Mrs. Bennet to see her.
Will you explain, sir, why my daughter has grown so timid and compliant? The creature I saw must surely be an imitation - my Lizzie would never respond to her mother's barbs about everything she feels is being done wrong with, 'Yes, mama,' or 'no, mama,' or 'I'm sorry, mama.' She mentioned that there was far too much too much needlework to be done for her to go walking as she used to - this said in reply to Bingley's asking if she enjoyed Pemberley's woods as much as he always had.
My daughter thought my presence meant that you were divorcing her, for she could explain being allowed to see me in no other way. That she might see such an event as a blessed relief, and that I might see her as she thinks of such things - there are no words I can write to convey what I feel - and I will not attempt to, either, on the off chance that you are lying.
Mr. Bennet
*Colonel Fitzwilliam*
If, Darcy, I had not seen you fall I would hardly believe you, but I saw it all - the stallion rear (I told you he was testy that very morning, but you insisted you had good control of him), your fall, and the blow as your head struck that rock on the ground. It is a miracle, the doctor says, that you woke up at all, much less that you remember most of your life. He has apparently seen many never wake at all.
I have seen more of the two of you in the year or so since your wedding than anyone else you might have asked, so I suppose I can understand your applying to me.
In the last year Mrs. Darcy's conversations have gone from sparkling wit to the sort of shy deferential speech we saw in Georgiana after her candlewick problem.
She hardly colored at all when Aunt Catherine said she could not expect to be a proper Mrs. Darcy if she did not appear more often in town, and then something about her not being surprised that the table was poorly laid out given Mrs. Darcy's upbringing. And when our Aunt demanded a reply of her all she had to say was that she had nothing to do with the dishes or their arrangement.
I will stop, however, detailing how badly you have acted and tell you what happened beforehand, at least after the marriage. Some of this I already saw, some I heard only recently, after your accident.
Firstly, you barred Mrs. Darcy from seeing or writing to her family. Secondly, you forbade her from forming too close a friendship with Georgiana - so as not to pollute your sister's mind with whatever lead her to compromise you. Thirdly, you did nothing to prevent the spread of rumors. I helped mother give the impression several times that you did NOT despise your wife, you were simply stoic regarding displays of affection, or that she was practical and inclined to setting fashion trends by sewing her own gowns, or that you simply could not convince her that the Darcy family jewels were not some delicate things that would fall apart if worn out to a card party.
It is a good thing the ton forget things so quickly. If you are indeed earnest about wanting to make it all up to her, I recommend you start now.
(And as a fair warning, Pater is blissfully unaware and wants Mr. and Mrs. Darcy at the Twelfth Night ball.)
Sincerely, Col. Richard Fitzwilliam