Into Hertfordshire by Stanley Michael Hurd

“Sometimes the best a man can do is wait,” he said quietly. He drew himself up and studied his friend’s anxious face. “It is getting late,” he allowed. “Perhaps we should return?” Bingley agreed in a relieved manner and they rode back to the Hall.
    They found, when they arrived, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not to return home that evening, for her sister’s fever had, in fact, worsened, and Miss Bennet had not wished her sister to leave her. This news heightened Bingley’s concerns, and he rushed off to “do something.” The news was also of interest to Darcy, although for different reasons, but his attention was quickly turned aside by the arrival of a footman with his post: in it was a letter from his sister.
     
    Pemberley
    November 10, —
    Dearest Brother,
    Please forgive me for not having written before. I know I am not the correspondent I should be, but please do not think me unappreciative of your letters. My spirits have been low and I have lacked the energy to write; but I have read and reread your last, for the comfort I find in it is my only support. I carry it with me; indeed, at times I cling to it as a drowning man clings to wreckage.
    But you must not think me desperate, and thinking of doing myself an injury. No—I see well enough that those are childish, romantic notions, and I no longer feel myself a child. I have died once for love—it will not happen again. One who has truly known pain would never seek to inflict it on oneself.
    Music is my distraction, and Mrs. Annesley recommends that I ride more; I am trying.
    Please, dear Brother, write again soon.
    Your sister,
    Georgiana Darcy
     
    This short missive created in Darcy an immediate need for a response: this being the first time she had actually written of her feelings, given him an inkling of what she suffered, it was the first opportunity she had given him to assist her in any way. He was greatly relieved that she had at last found the ability to give expression to her emotions; surely this was the first step towards recovery. He sat down immediately to compose his reply, sending Perkins down with his apologies to Bingley.
     
    Netherfield Park, Herts.
    November 13, —
    My dearest Georgiana,
    I promise I shall write to you every day, now I know you wish for my correspondence…
     
    After two swift paragraphs he paused, uncertain how to go forward: did he offer counsel, did he simply reassure her of his own devotion and tell her to trust to time, or did he adhere to the mundane as a means of diverting her? The answer, he decided, was to do all three. He had always made a point of discussing matters with his sister, not merely issuing directives; she had rewarded his efforts by giving him her confidence, and had always deserved his, by virtue of her good sense. Although her senior by more than ten years, he had always thought of her more as equal than dependant, and had tried to maintain their relationship on that footing; since their parents’ deaths they had become very close. As her brother, he felt a deep desire to support her and help her to heal; as the guardian who had failed in his office, he felt it even more his duty to do every thing in his power to assist her. Commanding himself to neither evade the issues nor wander into the merely maudlin, he entered into the most important issue:
     
    Though I have no experience with a betrayal as deep as the one you have suffered…
     
    After much thought and effort he felt he arrived at the right tone for what was a most difficult piece of writing on the topic of her grief; it had cost him something even to broach the subject at all. But if one wishes to be truthful at all times, then one must be truthful when it is difficult; the greater difficulty was in being truthful without doing harm. At least in writing there was time for reflection, and one might choose one’s words carefully. He wished he had his mother’s guidance, or some lady on whose good will and good sense he