The Lost Journals of Fitzwilliam Darcy

November 16, 1811

The morning broke with a pall of clouds that seemed to presage the tumult of emotions that would unfold throughout the day. As I sat in the solitude of my study, a knock at the door announced the arrival of a visitor whose appearance would set the tone for the remainder of our time at Netherfield.

The early hours of this morning were marked by a decision most extraordinary, demonstrating the force of character that resides within Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Upon learning of her sister's indisposition, she resolved to traverse the muddy fields between Longbourn and Netherfield on foot—an undertaking that, while it showcased her determination and affection, also raised questions of propriety and decorum.

"Mr. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth Bennet has arrived on foot to attend to her sister," I was informed by an astonished member of the staff. The image of her braving the three-mile walk from Longbourn through muddy fields and inclement weather filled me with a mixture of disbelief and reluctant admiration.

The breakfast room was a scene of commotion as she entered, her countenance flushed with exertion, her apparel marked by the journey. Her appearance was met with a mix of reactions, each betraying the character of the observer.

Miss Bingley was quick to voice her surprise, thinly veiled as concern, "Miss Bennet, to walk in such weather! And by yourself! It is most improper."

Elizabeth's response was immediate and composed, betraying no offense at the insinuation of impropriety. "I am quite fit to see my sister, which is all I wish," she replied, her eyes betraying none of the turmoil that her bold action must have incited within.

Bingley, ever the gentleman, offered his sympathies with genuine warmth, "Miss Elizabeth, I am most earnestly sorry for your discomfort. Pray, let us attend to you."

I, however, remained silent, my thoughts ensnared by the complexity of my feelings. Her resolve was commendable, yet it defied the conventions of society. It was a testament to her devotion—an attribute I found myself increasingly drawn to, despite my better judgment.

It was during dinner that Elizabeth's absence allowed for unguarded conversation. Miss Bingley seized the opportunity to disparage her further. "Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty," she declared with a scoff.

Mrs. Hurst was quick to agree, "I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country because her sister had a cold?"

I found myself unable to partake in their derision, my esteem for Elizabeth's character growing with each unwarranted critique. Bingley, too, was unwilling to concede to his sisters' censure. "I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice," he said, a testament to his unaffected regard for her.

"You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," Miss Bingley pressed, expecting me to concur with their ridicule. Yet, I could not.

The conversation shifted then to the Bennet's connections in trade, a subject that provided much amusement for the Bingley sisters. "I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton?" I inquired, more to draw out their prejudices than out of any real interest.

"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside," Miss Bingley replied, her laughter ringing with scorn.

"That is capital," Mrs. Hurst added, joining in her sister's merriment.

Bingley, however, would not be swayed by their shallow judgments. "If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable," he retorted.

"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," I found myself saying, echoing the sentiment of the time, yet feeling a twinge of regret at the words even as they left my lips.

It was after dinner that the true nature of the Bingley sisters' character was revealed. In the absence of Elizabeth, they took to speaking of her with a scorn that I found distasteful. Her lack of style, her impertinence, her audacity to brave the mud and rain—all were subjects of their ridicule. I could not join in their mirth, and Mr. Bingley's defense of Elizabeth's fine eyes, though it was meant to be humorous, struck a chord within me that resonated with a truth I was only beginning to acknowledge.

The evening progressed with Jane's health at the forefront of our attentions. Elizabeth was steadfast by her sister's side, a sentinel of familial duty. The hours she spent in Jane's company spoke volumes of the depth of their sisterly bond, leaving the rest of us to navigate the awkwardness of her unexpected residence among us.

Elizabeth's presence at Netherfield became an established fact, her extended stay necessitated by her sister's illness and the inclement weather. The offer of the carriage for her return was extended and then retracted as Jane's condition warranted her sister's constant care. Thus, arrangements were made to accommodate Elizabeth's unintended residency, a matter that seemed to please Mr. Bingley greatly and cause no small amount of consternation to his sisters.

As the night deepened and I retired to reflect upon the day's events, it was with a growing awareness that Elizabeth Bennet, with her unabashed sincerity and disregard for societal judgment, was drawing forth from me a mixture of respect and fascination. Her influence, though subtle, was beginning to challenge my own long-held beliefs about status, propriety, and the nature of true gentility.

In the privacy of these pages, I confess that my thoughts are increasingly occupied by Elizabeth. Her vitality, her loyalty, her unguarded moments of vulnerability—these are qualities that stir something within me, prompting both introspection and a desire to know more of her inner world.

Fitzwilliam Darcy