The Lost Journals of Fitzwilliam Darcy

May 16, 1812

Today, the tranquility of Pemberley was broken by the most startling of occurrences, one that has left my mind in a state of turmoil and my heart racing with an emotion I had not anticipated to feel so acutely again. It was an encounter that unfolded so unexpectedly that I am still grappling to comprehend its significance.

The morning had dawned with a clear blue sky, and the sun's rays cast a golden glow upon the lush grounds of my ancestral home. I had ventured out for a solitary walk to clear my mind, as the anticipation of Bingley's arrival, along with his sisters, weighed heavily upon me. Not to mention the eagerness with which I awaited Georgiana's presence, her letters having been my only solace since my departure from Kent.

As I walked across the lawn towards the river, lost in thought, the last person I expected to see was Elizabeth Bennet. Yet there she was, her back to me as she admired the house with her uncle and aunt. I could not fathom the purpose of her visit, nor could I retreat without notice. Our eyes met, and in that moment, a rush of emotions overcame me—the memory of our last parting, the letter I had written, and the silence that followed.

We were within mere yards of each other when she turned and saw me. The blush that rose to her cheeks mirrored my own as a startling warmth spread through me. She appeared taken aback, and I, too, was momentarily frozen in place by the sight of her.

Recovering my composure, I approached her party. My voice, when I greeted her, lacked its usual steadiness, revealing the inner conflict I felt. Her response was polite, but her eyes held a wariness that pained me. I inquired after her family with as much civility as I could muster, all the while conscious of the impropriety of her finding me here, and I, her.

Our conversation was a dance of awkward silences and hesitant words. The inquiries I made regarding her stay in Derbyshire and her departure from Longbourn were repeated more often than decorum would dictate. It was clear that we were both equally affected, our minds preoccupied with thoughts that rendered speech difficult.

Upon their introduction, I found Miss Bennet's relatives to be people of amiable character and respectable appearance—a far cry from the lack of propriety I had perceived in some of her other connections. Her aunt and uncle, the Gardiners, carried themselves with an ease and civility that spoke well of their sense and breeding. I found Mr. Gardiner to be a gentleman of both intelligence and taste, and I was pleasantly surprised by the genuine warmth and the absence of pretension in their demeanor.

My offer to Mr. Gardiner of the fishing in my streams was a gesture of goodwill I hoped would be received without obligation, and I believe it was taken as such. It afforded me a quiet satisfaction to extend this courtesy, and I was gratified to see it accepted with genuine appreciation by both Mr. Gardiner and his wife. Their admiration of Pemberley's beauty was flattering, and Mrs. Gardiner's praise, in particular, was delivered with an enthusiasm that, under different circumstances, might have brought a smile to my face.

The idea that Miss Bennet should meet Georgiana is one that has occupied my thoughts more than I care to admit. The prospect of introducing the two most esteemed ladies in my life to one another is both thrilling and daunting in equal measure. My sister, with her gentle nature and kindness of heart, has long been my joy and concern. I have watched her recover from the ordeal with Wickham—a recovery made all the more remarkable by the strength of her character and the sweetness of her disposition.

I am keenly aware of the beneficial influence Elizabeth might have upon Georgiana, and the thought that the two might form a friendship fills me with an eager anticipation. Yet, I cannot ignore the flutter of anxiety at how such an introduction might be perceived by Elizabeth, or how it may affect her view of me.

As I reflect on this day's encounter and the consequent emotions it has evoked, I cannot help but feel that my invitation to Elizabeth was more than a mere formality. There is a part of me—a part I can scarcely acknowledge—that hopes for her acceptance not just for the sake of propriety, but from a desire to be near her once more, to see her interact with Georgiana, and to perhaps share in the harmony and peace that Pemberley brings to all who visit.

Yet, I must guard against such expectations. The past cannot be so easily forgotten, and the wounds I have inflicted upon her heart may yet be too fresh for such an acquaintance to be anything but a source of discomfort for her. Still, the hope remains—an ember that refuses to be extinguished—that she might come to see the man I truly am, and the home that could have been hers..

I watched her walk away, every instinct urging me to call her back, to speak openly of the feelings that coursed through me, yet I remained still. What could I say that had not been said in my letter? What could I offer her now, after all that had transpired?

I returned to the house, my mind a tumult of hope and despair. The sight of Elizabeth at Pemberley, the place I hold most dear, stirred within me a longing that I had tried to bury. It was as though her presence here was a sign, a whisper of fate that perhaps all was not lost between us.

Yet, I am reminded of the divide that stands firm—her opinion of me, though perhaps softened, is still tainted by the past. How can I hope for her affection when I have caused her such pain?

As I sit here in my study, the image of Elizabeth walking through the grounds of Pemberley is etched into my mind. It is both a torment and a comfort, a reminder of what could be if the shadows of our past could be dispelled.

Tomorrow, I will see my sister again, and soon, Bingley and his party will arrive. I must prepare to greet them with the hospitality that befits the master of Pemberley. Yet, in the quiet moments, amidst the laughter and conversation, I know my thoughts will stray to the woman who has unwittingly captured the entirety of my heart.

Fitzwilliam Darcy