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Do not think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know that I had not imagined such inquiries to be necessary on your side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am—and nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned would have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit.

Soon after learning of Lydia’s egregious conduct, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called and was shut up with him for several hours. From what I can collect, upon his learning of what Wickham and Lydia had done while calling on your family at Longbourn, Mr. Darcy came to town with the resolution of hunting for them. The motive professed was his conviction of its being owing to himself that Wickham’s worthlessness had not been so well known as to make it impossible for any young woman of character to love or confide in him.

He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride and confessed that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private concerns open to the world. His character was to speak for itself. He considered it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavor to remedy an evil which had been brought on indirectly by himself.

Elizabeth barely perused the part of the letter that detailed Mr. Darcy’s means of bringing about Lydia’s recovery and the interactions between all the concerned parties. Her primary aim was to learn the breadth of the gentleman’s sacrifices for people so wholly unconnected to him.

She continued with the section that read:

I dare say no one was more shocked than I was to learn that Lydia was to be so well provided for. I never supposed that the lieutenant’s resources would allow for such an advantageous situation. Despite it being a hackneyed remark, in this case, it was never more appropriate: one can never judge a book by its cover.

On the other hand, Mr. Darcy was the one who paid for everything: Wickham’s debts, amounting to considerably more than a thousand pounds, another thousand in addition to her own settled upon Lydia, and a new commission in the North purchased. But alas, it was all for naught owing to the young man’s untimely, unseemly demise which I doubt Mrs. Wickham confided the reason for how unfortunate for one’s new husband to be killed by an aggrieved father wishing to exact retribution for the ruination of not one but two of his daughters.

That said, it is not an unreasonable surmise that Mr. Darcy assumed all of Wickham’s final expenses as well as secured his widow’s future livelihood.

All this Mr. Darcy took upon himself and would not allow your uncle to put forth any amount—save scant discretionary funds requisite for a young bride. Other than that, nothing was to be done that he did not do. Ultimately, your uncle had to concede. Instead of being primarily responsible for his niece, he could only take indirect credit, which he found quite frustrating. I believe your letter this morning delighted him because it clarified the situation, attributing the merits rightfully, stripping him of any unearned accolades. However, Lizzy, keep this information between us, or share it with Jane at most.

Part of the missive’s conclusion that stood out to Elizabeth read:

Mr. Darcy said you had mentioned our having toured his home in Derbyshire and his apology for having missed us, which surely was enough to convince us of his having more than a casual interest in the matter, was it not?

Reading this, Elizabeth was sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with concern, on finding how steadfastly both her aunt and uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share.

Pain for the low opinion her Hertfordshire relations suffered toward Mr. Darcy—he who had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Pleasure for her heart’s whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity’s silent stirrings could not justify such actions.

Despite all these considerations, Elizabeth could not help but reflect on everything she and her family owed him. The gratitude she felt for his compassion, his evident sense of honor, and her aunt’s repeated commendations—revisited again and again with each subsequent reading—were sufficient inducements to regard him as the best man in the world.