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

suffer from

headaches?

At first I drank my tea with my aunt, my cousins and

Mr and Mrs Collins, but all the time my thoughts were

on Elizabeth.Was she suffering? Was she really ill? Could

I do anything to help her?

At last I could contain myself no longer. Whilst the

others talked of the parish, I declared I needed some

fresh air and expressed my intention of taking a walk. I

scarce know whether I meant to visit the parsonage or

not when I left Rosings. My heart drove me on but my

reason urged me back, and all the while my feet carried

on walking until at last I found myself outside the parsonage door.

On enquiring if Miss Bennet was in I was shown into

the parlour, where she looked up in surprise as she saw

me enter. I was surprised myself.

I began rationally enough. I asked after her health, and

she replied that she was not too poorly. I sat down. I

stood up. I walked about the room. At last I could contain it no longer.

‘In vain have I struggled.’ The words were out before

I could stop them.‘It will not do,’ I went on.‘My feelings

will not be repressed.You must allow me to tell you how

ardently I admire and love you.’

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There. It was out.The secret I had carried so long had

found voice, and pushed its way into the light of day.

She stared, she coloured, and was silent. How could

she not be? There was nothing for her to say. She had

only to listen to my declaration and then accept me.

Knowing that I had fallen beneath her spell, she knew

full well that the door of Pemberley would be open to

her, and the world of society would be hers.

‘I do not pretend to be ignorant of the low nature of

your connections, of their inferiority and lack of worth,’

I said, scarcely believing that I had allowed my love for

her to overcome such natural feelings, but driven

onwards by emotions that were impossible to control.

‘Having spent many weeks in Hertfordshire, it would be

folly to pretend that it would not be a degradation to ally

myself to such a family, and only the force of my passion

has allowed me to put such feelings aside.’

As I spoke, a picture of the Bennets rose before my

eyes, and I found that I was not so much speaking to

Elizabeth as to myself, thinking aloud all the thoughts

that had plagued me over the last few weeks and months.

‘Your mother, with her vulgarity and prattling tongue;

your father with his wilful refusal to curb the wild

excesses of your younger sisters. To be joined to such

girls!’ I said, as I recalled Mary Bennet singing at the

assembly.‘The best of them a dull, plodding girl with neither taste nor sense, and the worst of them silly, spoilt and

selfish, finding nothing better to do with their time than

to run after officers,’ I continued, as I remembered Lydia

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A M A N D A G R A N G E

and Kitty at the Netherfield ball. ‘One uncle an attorney

and another living in Cheapside,’ I went on, my feelings

pouring forth with a torrent. ‘I have felt all the impossibility of such a match these many weeks. My reason

revolts against it, nay, my very nature revolts against it. I

know that I am lowering myself in making such an offer.

I am wounding both family connections and family

pride. That I should entertain such feelings for someone

so far beneath me is a weakness I despise, and yet I cannot conquer my feelings. I took myself to London and

immersed myself in both business and pleasure, but none

of it would remove the memory of you from my mind,’ I

said, turning to look at her and letting my eyes linger on

her face. ‘My attachment has outlived all my reasoned

arguments, it has outlived a lengthy separation, which,

instead of curing it, has only made it stronger, and it has

resisted my determination to root it out. No matter what

my more rational feelings, it will not be denied. It is so

strong that I am prepared to overlook the faults of your

family, the lowness of your connections and the pain I

know I must inflict on my friends and family, by asking

you to marry me. I only hope my struggles will now be

rewarded,’ I said.‘Relieve me from my apprehension. Still

my anxieties.Tell me, Elizabeth, that you will be my wife.’

My speech had been impassioned. I had done what I

had never done for any other human being; I had bared

my soul. I had shown her all my fears and anxieties, my

arguments and wrestling, and now I waited for her

answer. It could not be long in coming. She had been

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waiting for my declaration; expecting it; I was sure of it.

She could not be unaware of my attraction, and any

woman would be elated to have won the hand of

Fitzwilliam Darcy. It only remained for her to say the

word that would unite us and the thing would be done.

And yet, to my amazement, the smile I had expected

to see on her face did not appear. She did not say: ‘You

do me too much honour, Mr Darcy. I am flattered, nay

gratified by your professions, and I am grateful to you for

your condescension. My relatives’ situation in life, their

follies and vices, cannot be expected to bring you pleasure, and I am sensible of the honour you do me in overlooking their inadequacies in order to ask me to be your

wife. It is therefore with a humble sense of obligation

that I accept your hand.’

She did not even say a simple ‘Yes.’

Instead, the colour rose to her cheeks, and in the most

indignant voice possible she said: ‘In cases such as this, it

is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of

obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally

they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should

be felt, and if I could feel