Mr. Darcy
Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I'm not writing to renew the sentiments which were so disgusting to you, but to address the two offenses that you accuse me of. I did not intentionally wound your sister. It was a most unfortunate consequence of protecting my dearest friend. Mr. Bingley's feelings for Miss Bennet were beyond any I had ever witnessed in him, or indeed even thought him capable of. The evening of the dance at Netherfield, after overhearing your mother coldly state 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. As to your other accusation of having injured Mr. Wickham, no sooner had my father made clear his intention to leave Mr. Wickham a handsome sum than Mr. Darcy was mysteriously infected by the plague. It was left to me, his son, to provide a merciful ending. Still I gave Wickham the inheritance my father left. Wickham squandered it, whereupon he demanded more and more money until I eventually refused. Thereafter, he severed all ties with me. Last summer he began a relationship with my 15-year-old sister and convinced her to elope. Mr. Wickham's prime target was her inheritance of 30,000 pounds, but revenging himself on me was a strong additional inducement. Fortunately, I was able to persuade my sister of Mr. Wickham's ulterior motives before it was too late. I hope this helps explain and perhaps mitigate my behavior in your eyes. Of all weapons in the world, I now know love to be the most dangerous, for I have suffered a mortal wound. When did I fall so deeply under your spell, Miss Bennet? I cannot fix the hour or the spot or the look or the words which laid the foundation. I was in the middle before I knew I began. What a proud fool I was. I have faced the harsh truth: that I can never hope to win your love in this life. And so I sought solace in combat. I write to you from the siege of London. There is now a cunning design to the zombie attacks. I sense a dark hand is at work here, guiding the enemy, Miss Bennet. By taking London they've increased their ranks a hundredfold. Now we endeavor to keep them trapped within the great wall. This isn't the random act of some mindless horde. They struck the palace and both houses. They cut off our heads before we could cut off theirs. If we should fail to contain them and they breach Hingham Bridge, it'll be as if a great dam has broken and they'll reach out for us swiftly, and in overwhelming numbers. Dear Miss Bennet. I implore you to be ready.
