Mr. Darcy's Christmas Carol by Carolyn Eberhart Page A

do so. “I was absolutely ashamed of myself. I had been blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd. It was a hard realization to face, for I had prided myself on my discernment!” Elizabeth shook her head at her folly.
    â€œI knew,” said he, “that what I wrote must give you pain; but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part, especially the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.”
    â€œThe letter shall certainly be burnt if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; however, though we both have proof that my opinions are not entirely unalterable, they also are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.”
    â€œWhen I wrote that letter,” replied Darcy, “I believed myself perfectly calm and cool; but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.”
    â€œThe letter, perhaps, began in bitterness; but it did not end so.” Elizabeth stopped to look at him. “The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote it and the person who received it are now so widely different from what they were then that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
    A quick flash of those memories he experienced the night before came to mind. “Many retrospections are so totally void of reproach that only contentment arises from them. The moment you agreed to marry me I will always treasure. However, painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. They can teach one a lesson, hard indeed at first to learn, but really most advantageous.”
    â€œYou are becoming quite philosophical, Mr. Darcy.”
    â€œSo formal, Miss Bennet? I would wish that you would call me by my given name.”
    â€œFitzwilliam, then,” Elizabeth said before continuing on their walk. “I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?”
    â€œNo, indeed, I felt nothing but surprise.”
    â€œYour surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.”
    â€œMy object then,” replied Darcy, “was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.”
    He then told her of Georgiana’s delight in her acquaintance: “I know she will be quite happy to learn that you are to be her new sister. She was quite disappointed not to further the acquaintance last summer.”
    â€œIf Lydia had not eloped,” she began, “this happy day may have come about much sooner. I wish to tell you how grateful I am, again, at your intervention in the matter.”
    â€œI thought only of you,” Darcy told her. “Before I quit the inn, I had resolved on quitting Derbyshire in a quest for your sister. Your distress I could not bear, and as I believed it to be within my power to relieve it, I set about doing so.”
    This is what love truly is, Elizabeth thought, her heart thumping joyfully. She gave him a wistful smile. “I was sure that I would never see you again. The moment that you walked out the door of that inn, I knew I loved you, and I felt it would all come to naught. Now such a painful subject need not be dwelt upon further.
    â€œSo, what persuaded you to renew your addresses now? Was it the