Sally O'Rourke - The Man Who Loved Jane Austen

With trembling hands Eliza opened the folder and found herself looking at a tattered fold of writing paper nearly identical in size and texture to the sealed letter that she had found behind the vanity mirror. Her voice was an awed whisper as she excitedly read the address written by the familiar hand in faded, rust-colored ink. “‘Jane Austen, Chawton Cottage ~ Fitzwilliam Darcy, Chawton Great House.’”

Her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation, Eliza looked up at him. “Yes, it looks the same as mine,” she told him. “May I read it?”

Darcy nodded, then he walked to one of the study’s tall windows and stared out at the lawns as she carefully unfolded the letter. Eliza read aloud:

12 May, 1810

Sir,

I have after some study located the passage that you and I were discussing last evening. If you will call on me at home at 2:00 p.m. today, I shall be glad to point it out for you.

“It’s signed ‘Jane A,’” she concluded.

Eliza looked up at Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had turned back to face her. “This is positively amazing,” she said, examining the old letter more closely. “This letter is dated the same day as my letter from Darcy to Jane. In that one he told her that someone he called ‘the Captain’ was suspicious of him and that he had to go into hiding.”

Darcy acknowledged that information with a slight nod. When he offered no further comment Eliza opened her portfolio and took out her two letters. She picked up the opened one and held it out for his examination. “Would you like to read it?” she offered.

To her utter amazement, he made no move to take the proffered letter but merely shook his head. “May I see the letter from Jane now?” he asked in a curiously subdued tone.

Eliza frowned at what struck her as his exceedingly odd behavior, but she handed him the sealed letter anyway. Darcy said nothing, but stared at it for several long seconds, slowly turning it over and over in his hand.

“Your letter from Jane says that she found the passage they were discussing,” Eliza interrupted, hoping to start a discussion with him about the mysterious message she had just read. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

Ignoring her question, Darcy returned to his desk and seated himself in the leather chair. Reaching down, he unlocked a lower drawer and removed from it a large folio checkbook, which he opened on the desk before him.

“Miss Knight, let me come directly to the point,” he said without looking up at her. He lifted a silver-chased fountain pen from an ornamental holder on the desk and held it poised above a blank check. “I would like very much to purchase these letters from you, as well as the vanity table in which you discovered them.”

Darcy slowly raised his eyes to meet Eliza’s. “What is your price?”

Taken completely off guard, both by the man’s seeming disinterest in the mysterious contents of the two opened letters, and by his abrupt offer to buy her letters without further discussion, Eliza could think of no instant reply. Instead, she sat there scrutinizing him from behind her glasses, trying to imagine what was going on in his mind.

Darcy remained motionless, waiting for her to speak. Sunlight from the tall study windows glinted brightly on the silver barrel of the fountain pen hovering over the check.

“Mr. Darcy,” Eliza finally commenced, clearing her throat and taking pains to keep her voice deliberately neutral, despite her growing anger. “I came here today hoping you might confirm for me that these letters were exchanged between Jane Austen and one of your ancestors. I certainly hope you don’t think that I intended to sell mine to you.”

Darcy smiled back at her with the barely concealed impatience of a headwaiter who has been insufficiently tipped. “I’m sure you had no such intention,” he said in a condescending tone that Eliza interpreted to mean that that was exactly what he thought. “Nevertheless, I would like to buy the letters from you all the same.” He raised the silver pen meaningfully. “You need only tell me how much you want, so that I can fill out the check.”

The arrogance of this man, who was obviously used to getting whatever he wanted simply by paying for it, irritated her and she snapped back, “My letters are not for sale and you haven’t answered my question: was your ancestor Jane Austen’s lover?”

The determination he saw on her face and in her eyes made it clear that she had no intention of selling him the letters or relinquishing this line of inquiry. Their eyes locked and she watched as the arrogance drained away, replaced by a palpable disappointment. Not sorry that she may have caused the change, she persevered, “Well?”

Darcy slipped the pen back into its holder and closed the checkbook, and with downcast eyes and in a voice barely above a whisper said, “No.”

More than a little surprised and unable to keep the skepticism out of her voice, she asked, “Are you telling me it’s just a coincidence that you share the same name?”

Getting irritated himself at what he perceived as an invasion of his privacy, he shot back, “I’m not telling you anything; I simply said that he wasn’t my ancestor.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.” He offered nothing else as an uneasy silence descended on the room.

“That’s it, I don’t get any kind of explanation?” Her abrasive challenge reflected her growing annoyance with his evasions.

She was surprised to see his handsome features now filled with his own frustration and barely suppressed anger. “Although I can’t see that it’s any of your business, I can guarantee that you would not understand the only explanation I have and you certainly wouldn’t accept it.”

Shocked at what she considered an insult, she said, “So you think I’m too stupid to understand.”

Her statement brought back the memory of another woman saying almost those exact words.

His attention was obviously elsewhere, so Eliza accepted that the interview was over, gathered her things and stood up. Sarcastically she spat, “Well, thank you very much, I’m sorry I took up so much of your time.” She walked to the door, opened it and turned to him. “If you would arrange for someone to take me back to my car, I’ll leave you to the rest of your weekend.”

“Miss Knight…Eliza, please wait.” Halted by what seemed to be remorse in his voice, she closed the door and turned back to him.

Darcy stood behind his desk and gazed down at the single letter he owned. “It is very important to me personally to obtain your letters,” he said quietly. He hesitated, and for an instant Eliza was almost certain that he was going to weep. “Especially the unopened one,” he added in a humble tone.

Taking a few steps back toward the desk, “Then Jane’s Darcy was your ancestor!” Eliza said, realizing that she was actually beginning to feel some sympathy for him. “Well, I’m very sorry, but…”

“Dammit! That letter from Jane was meant for me !” he shouted in a voice filled with frustration.

Eliza’s mouth fell open and she simply gaped at him. “You are crazy!” Eliza accused. “I knew it the first time you e-mailed me.”

Anger flared like summer lightning in the depths of Darcy’s eyes. “You!” he shouted accusingly. “I should have known!”

Before Eliza could retreat he strode across the lush, rose-colored oriental carpet and pulled off her glasses. “ You were the one at the library exhibit last week!” he said, glaring into her frightened eyes as she took a cautious step backward. “I thought there was something familiar about you!”