My dearest Georgina,

My sojourn at Netherfield continues to provide me with limitless opportunities to be both amused as well as confounded in every way that you could conceivably think of. As I write this letter to

you, Mr. Bennet’s eldest daughter, Jane Bennet, has found herself a bed here at Netherfield due to catching a sickness traveling here in the rain on horseback. Can you imagine? She had just casually ridden here on a family horse just so she could have dinner with Caroline and Louisa. It is unheard of that someone would be so bold as to be traveling right before a storm and so willingly let themselves get soaked to their bone just to see Caroline and Louisa. Then, the most startling of all, was the day after Jane arrived, her sister Elizabeth arrived on foot and covered with mud and sweat. If I may be so bold to say, these two Bennet daughters are certainly something compared to their younger sisters Lydia and Kitty. I have a feeling that you would enjoy talking to Jane and Elizabeth these two women have a personality I think you would enjoy.

And now I must beg your pardon, Georgina, for setting down my quill in the middle of writing. Caroline’s mindless banter is causing me to be distracted in a way that anything I should thoughtfully write become thoughtless gibberish. Suffice to say, I am slowly finding her company of the most annoying despite the short amount of time that I have spent with the Bingley family, however much I enjoy the company of Mister Bingley. So I must beg of your forgiveness and put aside this letter until I have a more convenient time to continue writing.

~*~

I must admit that, however, having Miss Elizabeth Bennet here at

Netherfield is something of a distasteful situation for me. While I have recommended the company of Jane and Elizabeth, Elizabeth proves to be an enigma of sorts as she is unlike any other female I know or have met. She gives me this feeling of distaste and this indescribable feeling of loathing, a feeling that I have yet to lay a finger on and my heart has yet to tell me. She gives me this feeling that I have heard described in poems, a feeling of true love that is supposed to be as boundless and always new like spring. However, I have yet to know what this feeling actually is so it is hard to say.

I think you may surmise how I am feeling from this short letter and how conflicted I must feel. You are my sister and you have always been able to figure out what I am feeling just by glancing at me or by the barest of words I put in a letter of mine. That is one of the greatest things I must ask again for your forgiveness as I seem to be pouring my feelings into this letter and you know how I do try to keep emotion out of these as much as possible. I enjoy our letters as I get to learn about what you are learning, how far you are progressing in your practice, and hear how things are going at home.

Remember to keep practicing, and, as always, love from your brother,

Fitzwilliam Darcy.