The anticipation that filled me last evening was unlike any I have experienced before. It was not the familiar thrill of hosting a distinguished party at Pemberley, nor was it solely the joy of being reunited with dear Georgiana. It was the knowledge that today would bring Elizabeth into my home once more, this time as my invited guest.
As I awoke this morning, the manor was already astir with preparations. The knowledge of the Gardiners' and Elizabeth's impending visit injected an unusual energy into the household. Servants moved with a purpose, and an air of expectancy settled over Pemberley like a fine mist upon the moors at dawn.
I found myself pacing the gallery, glancing occasionally through the tall windows overlooking the drive, my gaze seeking the first signs of their carriage. The very notion that Elizabeth would soon be walking through the halls of my ancestral home, halls I had once hoped might become as familiar to her as they are to me, was both exhilarating and disquieting.
The sound of wheels on the gravel finally drew my attention, and I watched as the carriage that bore Elizabeth and her relatives approached. My heart quickened, and I felt an uncharacteristic nervousness grip me. It was a sensation that no amount of social standing or wealth could shield me from—the raw, unguarded feeling of a man on the cusp of seeing the woman who had unwittingly taken possession of his heart.
As they alighted from the carriage, I saw Elizabeth's face, alight with what I hoped was pleasure but also marked by the unmistakable signs of apprehension. Her uncle and aunt, the Gardiners, carried themselves with an ease that belied their surprise at the grandeur of Pemberley. I greeted them with as much warmth and civility as I could muster, conscious of their importance to Elizabeth and desiring earnestly to make a favorable impression.
Introducing Georgiana to Elizabeth was a moment of profound significance. I observed them both with an intensity that bordered on the paternal. Georgiana, my sweet sister, bore a shyness that was often mistaken for pride, much like myself. Elizabeth's grace in engaging her in conversation, drawing her out with gentle questions and an attentive ear, filled me with a gratitude that was as deep as the Derbyshire valleys.
As Bingley joined our small gathering, his cheerfulness and unaffected cordiality served to lighten the atmosphere. I could discern no trace of resentment in Elizabeth's manner towards him, a testament to her forgiving nature and generous spirit. It was evident that Bingley still held her sister Jane in high regard, and I watched as he sought out information about the Bennet family with a keen interest that spoke volumes.
In the presence of Elizabeth and her relations, I found myself striving to be the very best version of myself. The hauteur and reserve that had once been my armor in society fell away, leaving a man eager to be seen as deserving of their good opinion. I was attentive to Mr. Gardiner's interest in fishing, offering whatever assistance and access he might desire during his stay.
Throughout the visit, my eyes would find their way back to Elizabeth, seeking her approval or a sign of encouragement. The change in my own behavior was not lost on me; where once I would have sought to impress with grandeur and consequence, now I sought to connect with sincerity and kindness.
As the afternoon wore on and the time for their departure drew near, I felt a reluctance to see them go. The invitation for them to dine at Pemberley was extended with an earnestness that surprised even me. It was an invitation borne out of a desire to extend this pleasant interlude, to bask a while longer in the light of Elizabeth's presence.
As they left, I escorted them to their carriage, my mind already racing with the thought of our next meeting. In the quiet that followed their departure, I felt an uncharacteristic sense of hopefulness. The walls of Pemberley seemed to whisper with the possibility of a future I had scarcely allowed myself to dream of—one that might, just might, include Elizabeth by my side.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
YOU ARE READING
The Lost Journals of Fitzwilliam Darcy
Historical Fiction"The Lost Journals of Fitzwilliam Darcy" is a retelling of Jane Austen's classic novel "Pride and Prejudice" from the perspective of the enigmatic Mr. Darcy. Presented as a series of detailed journal entries, the story chronicles Darcy's innermost t...
