Mr. Darcy's Diary, Amanda Grange [elon musk reading list TXT] 📗

he should have gone forward. And

yet she danced as well as if she had had an expert partner.

When I saw her leaving the floor, I was moved to ask

for the next dance. I was frustrated in this by her dancing with one of the officers, but then I moved forward

and asked for the next dance. She looked surprised, and

I felt it, for as soon as I had asked for her hand I wondered what I was about. Had I not decided to take no

further notice of her? But it was done. I had spoken, and

I could not unspeak my offer.

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She accepted, though out of surprise more than anything else, I think. I could find nothing to say to her, and

walked away, determined to spend my time with more

rational people until it was time for the dance to begin.

We went out on to the floor.There were looks of amazement all around us, though I am sure I do not know why.

I might not have chosen to dance at the assembly, but

that is a very different situation from a private ball.

I tried to think of something to say, but I found that I

was speechless. It surprised me. I have never been at a loss

before. To be sure, I do not always find it easy to talk to

those I do not know very well, but I can generally think

of at least a pleasantry. I believe the hostility I felt coming from Elizabeth robbed me of my sense.

At last she said: ‘This is an agreeable dance.’

Coming from a woman whose wit and liveliness

delight me, it was a dry remark, and I made no reply.

After a few minutes, she said: ‘It is your turn to say

something now, Mr Darcy. I talked about the dance, and

you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of

the room, or the number of couples.’

This was more like Elizabeth.

‘I will say whatever you wish me to say,’ I returned.

‘Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are

much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be

silent.’

‘Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?’ I

asked.

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‘Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know, and

yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be

so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as

little as possible.’

‘Are you consulting your own feelings in the present

case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?’

‘Both,’ she replied archly.

I could not help smiling. It is that archness that draws

me. It is provocative without being impertinent, and I

have never come across it in any woman before. She lifts

her face in just such a way when she makes one of her

playful comments that I am seized with an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Not that I would give in to such an

impulse, but it is there all the same.

‘I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our

minds,’ she went on.‘We are each of an unsocial, taciturn

disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say

something that will amaze the whole room, and be

handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.’

I was uneasy, not sure whether to laugh or feel concerned. If it was part of her playfulness, then I found it

amusing, but if she thought it was the truth? Had I been

so taciturn when I had been with her? I thought back to

the Meryton assembly, and the early days at Netherfield.

I had perhaps not set out to charm her, but then I never

did. I had, perhaps, been abrupt to begin with, but I

thought I had repaired matters towards the end of her

stay at Netherfield. Until the last day. I remembered my

silence, and my determination not to speak to her. I

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remembered congratulating myself on not saying more

than ten words to her, and remaining determinedly silent

when I was left alone with her for half an hour, pretending to be absorbed in my book.

I had been right to remain silent, I thought. Then

immediately afterwards I thought I had been wrong. I

had been both right and wrong: right if I wished to crush

any expectations that might have arisen during the

course of her visit, but wrong if I wished to win her

favour, or to be polite. I am not used to being so confused. I never was, before I met Elizabeth.

I became aware of the fact that again I was silent, and

I knew I must say something if I was not to confirm her

in the suspicion that I was deliberately taciturn.

‘This is no very striking resemblance of your own

character, I am sure,’ I said, my uneasiness reflected in my

tone of voice, for I did not know whether to be amused

or hurt. ‘How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend

to say.You think it a faithful portrait, undoubtedly.’

‘I must not decide on my own performance.’

We lapsed into an uneasy silence. Did she judge me?

Did she despise me? Or was she playing with me? I could

not decide.

At length, I spoke to her about her trip to Meryton,

and she replied that she and her sisters had made a new

acquaintance there.

I froze. I knew whom she meant. Wickham! And the

way she spoke of him! Not with contempt, but with liking. I feared she meant to go on, but something in my

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manner must have kept her silent.

I knew I should ignore the matter. I did not have to

explain myself to her. And yet I found myself saying:‘Mr

Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may

ensure his making friends. Whether he may be equally

capable of retaining them