Ever since she could walk, Elodie Bennet had expectations set upon her, expectations that all young women had. As the second eldest, she was meant to care for her younger sisters and do what was asked of her without complaining.
This also meant...
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THE ROTTEN FRUITS OF OUR LABOR.
Elodie let out a small breath of air as Mr. Darcy's form retreated from the Collins' parson, inky coat billowing outwards as the breeze caught it in its cold grasp.
She was thankful that Lizzie had left back to Longbourn so she would not be able to see the numbed state of her older sister, even if it was at her great behest.
Elodie touched her throat lightly as she pondered the letter that had been handed to her; the contents sealed in a navy blue wax.
It had been the day after his proposal of marriage, which she had hastily declined. He had handed her the letter in hopes that she would be able to understand his point of view on situations that she had previously called him out for.
When the man had completely disappeared from her view, she snapped her gaze to the paper and tore it open. She doubted her mind would change from just a couple pretty words.
Dear Miss Elodie Bennet, I'm not writing to renew the sentiments that were so disgusting to you. But to address the two offenses you accuse me of. I did not intentionally wound your sister. It was a most unfortunate consequence of protecting my dearest friend.
The evening of the dance at Netherfield, after overhearing your mother coldly stating her intention of having all her daughters marry favorably, I persuaded Bingley of the unfitness of the match. If I have wounded Miss Bennet's feelings it was unknowingly done.
Elodie let her stomach drop a little, her unawareness of her mother's incautious words at the Netherfield Ball making her feel sick. Of course, she should have suspected Mrs. Bennet had a part to play in all of this.
As to your other accusation from when we danced, my father loved Mr. Wickham like a son. He supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge — it was a most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education.
My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was still strong, so strong that in his will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow- and if he took orders, desired that a valuable financial living might be his as soon as it became vacant.
There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. Merely months after he had received such a large amount, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage.
