The Lost Journals of Fitzwilliam Darcy

October 12, 1811

It has been some time since I have turned to these pages to unburden my thoughts. Tonight, as the embers in the hearth wane to a soft glow, I find myself compelled to reflect upon the nature of inheritance, friendship, and the differing dispositions that color our interactions with the world.

Charles's acquisition of Netherfield, though born from the unfortunate passing of his father, has brought to light the varied expectations placed upon a man of his means. Nearly a hundred thousand pounds—a fortune that his father intended for the purchase of an estate—now rests in Charles's hands. His father's dreams unfulfilled, the charge to establish the Bingley name within the landed gentry falls to him.

The relative ease and contentment with which Charles has settled into the role of Netherfield's master has not gone unnoticed by his acquaintances. Some speculate whether his temper, so agreeable and unassuming, might lead him to remain here, content as a tenant, and leave the burden of establishing a more permanent seat to his progeny.

His sisters, Caroline and Louisa, harbour their own designs with regards to his fortune. They are keenly aware of the prestige that an estate would confer upon their brother—and by extension, themselves. Caroline, with her sharp wit and discerning eye, presides over his table with an air of entitlement, while Louisa, having secured a match of fashion rather than wealth, sees Netherfield as a sanctuary that suits her when it pleases.

Charles's decision to take Netherfield was made with characteristic impulsiveness. A mere half-hour's consideration was all it took for him to be swayed by the estate's situation and the owner's assurances. His temperament, so readily open to suggestion and so devoid of artifice, stands in stark contrast to my own.

Our friendship, steadfast as it is, often gives me pause to consider how such opposites in character have come to form so close a bond. Where Charles is all ease and openness, I am often perceived as haughty and reserved. My manners, though I strive for civility, lack the inviting warmth that comes so naturally to him. It is a truth I cannot deny, nor can I dismiss the notion that my comportment has, at times, caused offence where none was intended.

The recent Meryton assembly serves as a fitting illustration of this dichotomy between us. Charles speaks of the event with unbridled enthusiasm, praising the amiable nature of the attendees and extolling the beauty of the Bennet sisters—Miss Jane Bennet, in particular, whom he regards as an angelic vision.

I, however, recall the evening with a far more critical eye. The company struck me as lacking in both beauty and fashion, and I found little interest or pleasure in the gathering. My admission of Miss Bennet's attractiveness was tempered by the observation that she smiled more than I deemed proper—a comment that, I have since learned, did not escape the notice of Caroline and Louisa, who nevertheless found her to be a sweet girl worthy of their brother's attention.

It is in moments such as these that I am reminded of the weight of my own judgments and the influence they may hold over Charles. His reliance on my regard and opinion is a responsibility I do not take lightly. Yet, I must also acknowledge that in matters of understanding, my perception may be clouded by a disposition that is at times overly fastidious.

As I close this entry, I am left to consider the path that lies before us. Netherfield, for the present, is Charles's domain, and he is well-liked by all who cross its threshold. For myself, I must strive to temper my own nature with a more generous spirit, lest I continue to give offence and alienate those who might otherwise become companions, or perhaps more.

In the silence of my chamber, I ponder these thoughts, recognizing that the journey ahead is not merely one of miles and estates, but also of self-examination and, perhaps, change.

Fitzwilliam Darcy