Dear Lizzie,

This is the letter you will never read.

The other letter which you actually received seems to have served its intended purpose. Over a month has passed since its reception, and from the glimpses I have seen through your videos, I believe you are aware of certain truths, including the duplicitous character of a certain mutual acquaintance, as well as my intention to fully remove myself from your life to prevent further pain on your part. That letter was written and delivered to convey those truths as politely and painlessly as possible.

There are other things that I long to convey, but I cannot as long as I respect your wishes. So I write them here instead, to a fictitious Lizzie. It is, in truth, merely a private confessional, but I find it easier to express myself as if to you, within this constructed paradigm. And so I begin.

Lizzie, I answered all but one of your accusations from our heated and (on my part only) shameful encounter. In my other letter I acknowledged my mistaken belief about Jane's indifference as well as my suspicions of Bing's wavering feelings; I addressed your charge against me as to denying a certain someone his deserved inheritance. But you initially accused me of something that I dared not reference in that first letter – my failure to show any affection toward you. There were references to hernias and judgmental checklists, as I recall. What use could there be in bringing that up? You would be perfectly happy if such things were never mentioned again. You never desired my affections, and my only expression of them, clumsily and selfishly expressed, was downright abhorrent to you.

But I have reviewed my behavior and seen the justice in your words, and though I cannot apologize to you directly without breaking my resolve to respect your feelings and privacy, I must do it here.

When we first met at Stuart and Ellen's wedding, I was reeling from hours of social interaction among a large group of mostly-strangers. I am never at my best in such situations, and it was compounded by certain matters of business at Pemberley that required my long-distance attention. I was also concerned for my sister, who had been somewhat less communicative than usual – due to a certain secret relationship, which I would discover to my pain all too soon. I was irritated by the supposed necessity of engaging in small talk and noisy merriment when I wanted nothing more than to retire to bed and return to San Francisco first thing in the morning.

Then Stuart, supposing that he was doing me a favor, had the brilliant notion to aim his lacy missile directly into my unsuspecting hands, whereupon I was compelled to comply with foolish tradition and dance with a complete stranger. I had no interest in pretending to enjoy it. I have always prided myself on this distaste of fakery. But I can see now that I truly had little reason to be proud of my behavior. I've learned that you, too, were forced into the pairing, irritated by the situation and wishing to be elsewhere. Yet you responded graciously, attempting to make something pleasant out of a bad situation. In comparison, my behavior was less like honesty and more like boorishness.

Afterward, Bing seemed to think my sour mood would somehow be improved by more social interaction rather than less. I wanted nothing more than to flee. I don't recall my exact words. I certainly had no idea you were in hearing distance. That does not excuse the way I casually damned you with faint praise. I suppose I can never make direct amends for that particular hurt. Indirectly, I can only hope that leaving you alone will evidence my contrition.

Initially, I never planned to stay longer than the wedding. The first cause for my delay in returning was Bing's hasty involvement with Jane. I worried his willingness to think the best of people would lead to heartbreak and worse, as it had more than once before. So I resolved to observe Jane and his interactions with her, and offer my counsel and advice. We need not dwell on how that turned out.

The unexpected result of my determination to observe Jane was the opportunity to spend more time in your company. And, hardly realizing why, I began putting off my return home, inventing more and more reasons to stay. I pretended for a time that it was only for Bing's sake, and perhaps as a measure of solidarity with Caroline. Eventually I had face the truth. I was staying for you.

I hesitate to describe the early stages of my feelings in much detail, even to your hypothetical self, because it was interwoven with my reluctance and – to be completely honest, even resentment – that I should find myself growing attached to a woman of such inconvenient circumstances. I have dwelt enough on those supposed inconveniences to fill a volume of regrets. Instead, I shall endeavor to delineate what genuine attractions you held for me. Why do I speak in the past tense? You have as much a hold on me while absent as when present, perhaps even more so.

I feel that the entire room is transformed whenever you enter it. There is some intangible power you carry, turning insipid small talk into lively, engaging discussion, finding the humor in every situation. You express your opinions fearlessly. Whenever we engaged in verbal sparring I found something new to consider even if I still disagreed with your viewpoint. You are brilliant without being pretentious or condescending, driven to achieve your goals in the face of any obstacle, thoughtful and openly affectionate to those you care about.

Should I speak of your beauty now, as long as you'll never actually be bothered by my unwanted effusions? Very well. You noticed my frequent stares, though the cause was not nearly as transparent to you as I would have thought. When we first met, I could give you a cursory glance and think little of it. After a few weeks, I found myself glancing your way more and more often. There was something about your eyes. I have considerable difficulty gathering the words for it. Soft, yet intense. I might even venture into poetic hyperbole and call them hypnotic. By the time of your stay at Netherfield, I was thoroughly transfixed.

There is a particular loveliness in the way your hair falls about your neck and shoulders, the contrast between dark red and porcelain. Your skin is…I will dare to say tempting, to your unhearing ears. I confess to more than one fantasy of touching my lips to its smooth perfection. And now I suppose my poetry has become downright revolting.

You are the loveliest woman I know. You are lovely because I know you, because I adore you. I know you far better now than on that thoughtless day last month. I do not pretend that watching your videos grants me a privileged insight into your mind, but it certainly teaches me that there is so much I didn't know. I made so many unforgivable assumptions. I, unlike you, was utterly pretentious, condescending, pompous and presumptuous. I hoped you would come to return my feelings without offering a single motivation for you to do so. And now I have gained exactly what I deserve. You will never be a part of my life.

But in this unsent letter, I had to let you know why I fell in love with you. And I love you still.

William Darcy