#letters of elizabeth darcy

[noonemonitorsmyscreentime]

Darcy: She hates me, she hates me. Nothing I can do to fix that right now. But over my dead body, she'll like Wickham.

[4ever-feral]

The sluttiest thing a man can do is walk across a misty field in an unbuttoned white shirt at dawn.

[anghraine]

I love that Elizabeth and Darcy are so ready to effectively tell each other they're full of shit. This happens a bunch of times, but I was re-reading their conversation at the Netherfield Ball and they're both kind of refreshingly Done.

[Darcy:] “Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?” [Elizabeth:] “Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet, for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.” [Darcy:] “Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?” “Both,” replied Elizabeth archly; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.” “This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” said he.

It's also pretty funny, because I suspect Darcy is thinking of this sort of thing in a later conversation at Rosings:

���You mean to frighten me, Mr Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me. But I will not be alarmed, though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.” “I shall not say that you are mistaken,” he replied, “because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which, in fact, are not your own.”

[wring-wraith]

thinking about this bad summary of Pride and Prejudice I made in eighth grade so I wouldn’t forget the plot while doing a report

[dionysiaproductions]

Today at Pemberley, the 1st of December:

When another love letter arrived from her husband, on the same fine paper as the one he’d sent the day before, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy wanted to speak to Mr. Darcy immediately. It was only the insistence of her lady’s maid that saw her fully dressed for dinner before she went charging through the house to find him.

She presented her letters to Mr. Darcy inquiring, “Why are you sending me letters when we live in the same house?”

“You mentioned, I had not written you any during our courtship,” he explained. “Which was, admittedly, an atypical courtship in a number of ways. However, this is an oversight I thought I might rectify. Do you find them superfluous?”

At this she took her letters back, holding them close to her heart. “I find them superior.”

Previous days at Pemberley here

[annaofthenorthernlights]

Allow me to be as audicious as to tell you...

@janeuary-month, for @firawren

I can´t believe I did it - but hey, new year - new chance.

Some Colin Firth look Darcy POV!

Pairing: Fitzwilliam Darcy/Elizabeth Bennet Words: 805 Rating: G

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was useless. It was futile to pretend that she was a friend, a mediocre acquaintance and, by chance, the sister of his best friend's love of his life. It was senseless. A curse. A nightmare. He was doomed. Fitzwilliam Darcy was lost, and pacing his room did not help. Nor did the long ride through the countryside until the sun set. Even darkness could not lull him to sleep as his mind was illuminated by the only shining star left in his dull, lonely life. Her smile. Her sparkling eyes. Her voice was the equivalent of an angel sent to bring him back to life. Her movements were as elegant as clouds floating in the endless purity of the sky. He was going mad. This had to end.

Read on AO3

[thegreeks]

Ink and Affection

Read Part 2 Here "Writing to you is like kissing you. It is something physical" - Simone de Beauvoir, in a letter to Nelson Algren

March 14th, 1812 Pemberley

My Dearest Mrs. Darcy,

I scarcely know how to begin this letter to you, as I feel the inadequacy of words to capture even a fraction of what rests within me. To write to you is an undertaking that both thrills and overwhelms me, for I have come to realize that this act—this simple pen upon paper—feels, indeed, as if it holds within it some greater intimacy. It is as though each stroke of ink brings me nearer to you, as if, in each word, I might pour my very being into these pages.

I am, I find, restless without you. Every hour without sight of you feels wanting. And here I am, committing thoughts to paper, each line bridging the distance between us. I cannot look upon the sunlight filtering through our windows without wishing you were here to see it with me. Would it be wrong to admit that I imagine how your presence might soften the edges of this house? How each corner of Pemberley might seem warmer, kinder, were you by my side once more?

Your absence has become a weight upon my heart, one I am only able to ease through this letter. Every line I write, my dear, feels like a tangible reaching out to you—something as close to holding you near as I am permitted. Pray tell how everything has gone along in Longbourn, the health of your dear sister and family, and the journey you have had.

Yours, Fitzwilliam

---

March 18th, 1812 Longbourn

My Dear Mr. Darcy,

Your letter arrived but this morning, and I cannot tell you what comfort it has brought me to hear from you. Truly, I feel the world shifts, becoming softer, warmer, whenever I receive your words. I write to you from Longbourn, where the floral scents of spring begin to awaken the gardens after a long and weary winter. I am here attending to my beloved sister, Elizabeth, who, as you know, has been unwell. It has been a trying period for our family, and I find comfort in writing to you.

Your words—I confess, brought a blush to my cheeks, for they are too dear to me. How strange it is, this sensation, that one can feel so connected to another through mere words! Is it folly, do you think, to feel the press of your presence when I read each line? I should be sensible, but the truth is I wish to bask in this feeling a little longer. When I am without you, my thoughts are never fully here. They are drawn to you with a yearning that is as much of the heart as it is of the mind.

I must admit that while the days grow brighter, my heart feels heavy as I watch Lizzy languish in her sickbed. I fear for her spirits, and my thoughts drift endlessly to your kindness shown when you visited us last. Please, my dear Mr. Darcy, do share with me how you occupy your time during these spring days. I find myself eager for any news of back home.

Write to me, if you would be so kind. I shall be waiting, dear sir.

With all fondness, Y/N Darcy

---

March 22nd, 1812 Pemberley

My Beloved,

How shall I confess that your letter has left me in a state I am hard-pressed to name? Indeed, writing to you is like an extension of my very self. Each stroke, each line—do you know that I feel it as I might feel the brush of your hand against mine? There is an indelible connection, one that feels as though it must be physical, though there are miles between us.

I trust your sister grows stronger with each day, and you tirelessly remain her watchful guardian. It is a testament to the deep bond of sisterhood, which I have come to admire greatly. Pray send Elizabeth my regards, and inform her that my thoughts of her continued recovery are unwavering.

Though I have been consumed with my affairs in Derbyshire, my thoughts frequently return to our last conversation. I recall the way you spoke of your family with such affection, your voice a melodious balm amidst the noise of society. The image of you walking through the gardens at Pemberley—blooming flowers reflecting in the depths of your attentive eyes—has imprinted itself in my mind.

If I could, I would ride to Longbourn at this very moment, yet I know my responsibilities bind me here. Therefore, I shall write fervently, as though my words are kisses shared between us, the longing amplified with each correspondence.

Until we meet again, I remain, Yours and only yours, Fitzwilliam

---

March 25th, 1812 Longbourn

My Dearest Fitzwilliam,

There, I have written your name with all the tenderness I feel, and how bold it makes me to see it before me! Yes, I share in this strange, wonderful sensation. I confess, my love, I feel your presence as keenly as if you were seated beside me, gazing upon these pages as I write. It is a curious thing to be filled with such warmth, such softness, that one’s heart seems always on the brink of spilling over.

I can scarcely bring myself to sign each letter with only my name, as it feels inadequate, almost painfully so. To be yours, my love, is the sweetest privilege I could have imagined, and I find myself yearning, desperately, to be near you in every way.

Your thoughts of the garden fill me with delight. I have taken to reciting poetry aloud among the roses, imagining what your response would be to the verses spoken beneath the bold blue sky. I believe they carry a piece of my heart, much like your letters, which I shall treasure always.

Elizabeth has begun to show signs of improvement, and for this, I am grateful. Each gentle laugh shared between us only strengthens my resolve—the world, with all its trials, seems a bit more manageable when shared with those we deeply care for. It is my fervent hope that soon I may take you by the hand in joyful spirits to celebrate her recovery.

I must confess something, though it brings me to blush terribly—when I write to you, I imagine, quite foolishly, that you can feel each word as a kiss upon your hand, a gentle touch upon your cheek. Do you, too, feel this very sense that our words are not merely words, but a reaching of one soul to another?

My heart is forever yours, Y/N

---

March 30th, 1812 Pemberley

My Heart,

Your letter has stirred within me a joy so great, I cannot begin to express it. Knowing Elizabeth's health is mending fills me with unparalleled happiness. Continue to offer her your gentle comfort; it is clear that your love sustains her during this difficult time.

To know that you, too, feel this connection, this sensation that each line, each stroke of pen, is more than an arrangement of ink—it is as if our very souls are imprinted upon the page. Yes, I feel it. I feel every word of yours as though it were a touch, a breath, and I read them over and over, savoring each syllable as I would savor the warmth of your embrace.

It is as if I am transported to your side, as if I might reach out and feel the softness of your hand beneath mine, your cheek flushed with warmth. I am lost in the wonder of this, my love. The world feels fuller, richer, knowing that I have you. And yet, it feels far too vast, too lonely, when we are apart.

May I confess to you, without reserve, that I long to hold you, to know you are near, to never again be parted from you? When I close my eyes, I imagine the day when we shall once more not require letters, when you will be here, beside me, and every unspoken thought, every tender feeling can be shared without the need for pen or page.

Until the day of your return, know that I am forever yours, as you are mine, in thought, in body, and in soul.

Yours eternally, Fitzwilliam

---

April 2nd, 1812 Longbourn

My Dearest Husband,

How blessed am I, to have received such tender words from you. Your letter is a balm to my soul, a quiet reminder that I am loved more deeply than I dared hope. I hold each page close to my heart, feeling the weight of your affection as a physical warmth.

Yes, we are bound by something that defies all convention, something stronger than words and deeper than understanding. Your love surrounds me, fills me, and though miles separate us, I feel as though you are here, as real and as dear as my very heartbeat.

How I look forward to the day when these letters will be mere relics of a time when we were apart, a reminder of a love that sustained us through every distance.

I shall return home to Pemberley as soon as Elizabeth is strengthened enough to rise from her bed, which I am glad to believe will be most promptly. Until then, I am yours, with all my body and with all my soul.

With all the love in me, Y/N

[banananinjathebomb]

There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.

Pride and Prejudice (2005)

[sunshinebingo]

@janeuary-month Day 6 - Restraint + a little of Day 1 - Letters

It's my first time writing for a Jane Austen character. This is based on Joe's Wright's Pride and Prejudice. I hope that it came out right. But please feel free to let me know if my version of Mr Darcy needs more work : )

Synopsis: The night following the Bennet sisters' departure from Netherfield Park, Fitzwilliam Darcy sits down in his room to pen a letter that reveals some of his restrained thoughts.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

Fitzwilliam Darcy sat at the desk of his bedroom at Netherfield, writing a letter in response to the one that he received from his little sister, Georgina, and which arrived to him early this afternoon. He could have waited until the next morning, but now was as good a time as any, considering sleep was eluding him.

My dear Georgie,

I am delighted to learn that all is well at Pemberley. I admit that being so far away always leaves me a little concerned about you, so I am even more so pleased to receive your letters where you ramble on about your days. Things here are more complex, I must admit.

His thoughts danced in his mind, and he let them out through the feather in his hand.

The weather is mostly agreeable, as is the accommodation. The servants of Netherfield Park are accordant, much more so than the rambunctious inhabitants of Hertfordshire who attend the lousy gatherings that they dare call balls.

Charles has found his attention rather captivated by a young lady here. A certain miss Jane Bennett, whose entire family shows some alarming signs of eccentricity. Particularly the second born daughter, who I believe goes by the name Elizabeth, and who is as galling as my patience is thin.

His feet tapped the carpeted floor in a rare display of agitation.

Never in my entire existence have I met a woman who has antagonised me as much as she.

His hand proceeded to scribble words that had never seen the light of day. Not even the candlelight of night. Nothing but the dark corners of his mind.

You are lucky, Georgie, to be too young to understand the intensity of feelings that one can feel towards another being. It is a torment to know of such a person and act as though your entire thoughts is not being consumed by them. As it is a curse to be in their presence and fumbling with yourself to remain poised. Should the world end in this very moment, one of my regrets would be to have crossed the path of someone the likes of her. And yet my traitorous mind cannot help but torment me with the memories of the brief exchanges we have had.

Fitzwilliam tapped the tip of his feather on the table as he stared at the flames dancing in the hearth. Then, he brought it back to the page and resumed writing.

Tell me, dear sister, do you think me too proud? And if so, would you consider pride a fault or a virtue?

He ended his letter. But half an hour later, tossed it into the fire. He wrote another the next day. This one held no mention of Elizabeth, nor whatever feelings that he might have towards her.

[mametupa]

[beaconforlove]

Fallen leaves just like my stupid fallen heart

A deserted canvas or an adorned piece of art

Love is in the air, and my every prayer

Makes my heart flutter with its intensifying stare

Were you my wrong time, right person?

Was it our fates being stubborn?

Oh, lucky charm! you say, for had I been lucky enough

Seemed too real for it to be bluff

Had I had to be in your arms

Soft caresses and dreamy orbs drowned in your charm

Mr. Lover, do you feel it too?

Or is it yet again an unending sequence of too good to be true?

[petratherrock]

My sister has the Pride and Prejudice: The Complete Novel, with Nineteen Letters from the Characters' Correspondence, Written and Folded by Hand (Handwritten Classics),

and so ofc I had to take pictures of the letters. I couldn't fit all of them here tho tumblr only allows 10 in a post

Caroline's letter informing Jane that they're leaving Netherfield, emphasizing Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister and that Georgiana Darcy is such an accomplished young lady *wink

Mr. Darcy's letter clarifying what Mr. Wickham's true nature is like after the uhh awkward proposal. They were very long letters and multiple pages of them

Lydia's letter to Harriet, a friend, where she's basically flaunting that she's with Wickham. I can't remember if this character actually is in the novel or if the writer of this version took the liberty to show Lydia's childishness

Jane's letter to Elizabeth, telling her about Lydia running away with Mr. Wickham.

Mr. Gardiner's letter to Mr. Bennet about the Lydia-Wickham situation

Mrs. Gardiner's letter to Elizabeth after the Wickham-Lydia elopement debacle and Elizabeth inquiring about what happened

Elizabeth's letter to Mrs. Gardiner, her aunt after she marries Mr. Darcy to thank her 😊

Mr. Bennet's letter to Mr. Collins about Elizabeth and Darcy's engagement and telling him to soothe Lady Catherine's wrath but also, hey, Mr. Darcy has more to give so...pick your fighter

Lydia's letter to Elizabeth in the end, unashamedly asking for the Darcys' monetary assistance in the future

[anghraine]

For some reason, I woke up thinking about Elizabeth and the sort of physical dimension of the novel.

To back up a bit, Elizabeth's physicality as a character is pretty widely acknowledged. We know more about her appearance than that of any other character in the book, to begin with. She's the only character in P&P whose coloring we know anything about (she has beautiful dark eyes with fine eyelashes), while we repeatedly hear about her light figure, her summer tan, and her general attractiveness—she's not stunning, but pretty.

There's also a sense of physicality in terms of her actions and reactions. She habitually walks and runs. She blushes frequently; at Pemberley, before Darcy shows up, she blushes as she admits to knowing him, concedes that he's very handsome, and shortly thereafter blushes deeply again upon encountering Darcy himself. Her impression of Pemberley is powerfully affected by the physical features and aesthetic of it, more than by its grandeur. Upon meeting Georgiana, Elizabeth likes her but also can't seem to help noticing that Georgiana isn't as good-looking as Darcy. Later, when Darcy shows up in Hertfordshire with Bingley, Elizabeth blushes again, smiles with delight, and her eyes shine.

But something else I find interesting is that Elizabeth is also linked to physical things to some extent. There are the infamous muddy skirts that she drops her overskirt down to conceal. There's her book at Netherfield. She preserves Darcy's letter until their engagement and only destroys it for his peace of mind. She rushes to find her parasol for her confrontation with Lady Catherine. She wears a watch.

IDK, this isn't going anywhere in particular, but I find it interesting that we get this paraphernalia alongside a comparatively distinct sense of Elizabeth's physicality and how she interacts with the outside world. At the very least, I think the paraphernalia reinforces the sense of Elizabeth as a very physical presence in the world.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since being in Kent.

"Pride and Prejudice" - Jane Austen

[dionysiaproductions]

Today at Pemberley, The 8th of December:

As became routine in Pemberley, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy would carry everywhere with her the handkerchief she was embroidering for her husband. When he inevitably discovered what room she was in, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy would tuck her project out of sight and carry on as if nothing was unusual.

This afternoon as they went through the usual routine, Mr. Darcy protested, “You don’t have to hide it away like some great secret.”

To which Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy replied, “I have heard from the Gardiners. They are thrilled to be invited to Pemberley and will happily be joining us again this year for Christmas.”

“For instance,” Carried on Mr. Darcy, completely ignoring his wife’s Christmas planning. “I have seen that the cloth of the handkerchief is yellow. Which I would point out is your favorite color not mine.”

“Are you not going to make a comment about the delightfulness of seeing how the Gardiner children have grown?” She asked.

He waved a dismissive hand. “You know very well I am focused on a different mystery.”

“In that case I might very well have to start embroidering only in my dressing room.”

“You are far too aware of my character to believe that would result in anything but my presence in your dressing room. Only think how scandalized the maids would be.”

Previous days at Pemberley here

[bethanydelleman]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CpleAh-AU2R/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

This is hilarious, thought you might like it.

This is hilarious and I do love it! I saw it as a Facebook reel and didn't know how to share so thank you!

Ah I don't know how to imbed! Here is the link to Pine and Prejudice