Gentle breathing fills the room, with Jane already falling asleep a few hours ago. I, on the other hand am so restless that sleeping feels like an impossibility. My mind whirls with thoughts of Mr. Darcy, of all people. It’s been several weeks since our encounter, yet the image of him is fresh. Part of it is my fault for re-reading his letter constantly. I turn to spy the chest where I store it, safe from the prying gaze of servants and silly sisters. 

Such sensitive information cannot be found. Even with the papers far out of sight, I remember them from memory. They haunt me day and night, a reminder of my character flaws. How quick I am to judge two men in such an erroneous way to have completely been wrong. Emotions overcome me and I rise silently from the bed to pace near the window. I stop when a creak springs from a floorboard and choose to settle on the divan. 

Outside, the moon is full, casting a soft glow on the land. I can see everything except what rests in the shadows. The beauty does nothing to relax me. After all this time, I wonder about Mr. Darcy. He is such an infuriating man with his pride and his arrogance. Not once did I ever imagine him having feelings of affection towards me, let alone enough to induce matrimony. Such an odd gentleman with plenty of wealth to have whatever woman he wants, and he chooses me. 

Admittedly, it is flattering to realize I inspire such a response from him. Handsome, proper, Mr. Darcy of 10,000 pounds a year proposing to a nobody country miss. The situation is laughable if it did not involve me. He is quite dashing. I recall the figure he cut when he angrily mentions my regard for the well-being of Mr. Wickham. His eyes flash and he runs his fingers through his hair, ruining the curls. My cheeks are hot and I place my hands on them to cool the skin. I do not know why I still think of him. 

Surely, he will never consider visiting Herefordshire again. There is no business here for him and no friends to tempt a return. There is not the slightest chance of him reappearing to renew his attentions, not following my refusal. Lord, why am I revisiting his proposal? It is as unwelcome as Mr. Collins’. As much as I believe that, a small portion of my heart wishes differently. Hopes he proves himself to be a superior man, to not scowl at my family with such disdain, and to help drive Mr. Bingley back to Jane. 

“I ardently admire and love you,” I whisper to myself as a solitary tear slides down my face. Such beautiful words from an icy heart. How I long to hear them anew under better circumstances.