Mr. Darcy's Diary by Amanda Grange (books for students to read .txt) 📕

the scruples that had

long prevented my forming any serious design. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. I am not ashamed

of the feelings I related. They were natural and just.

Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your

connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my

own?’

She was growing as angry as I was, yet she controlled

her temper sufficiently to reply.

‘You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the

mode of your declaration affected me in any other way,

than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt

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in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.’

I felt an intense shock. If I had behaved in a more

gentleman-like manner? When had I ever been anything

but a gentleman?

‘You could not have made me the offer of your hand

in any possible way that would have tempted me to

accept it,’ she said.

I could not believe it. She could never have accepted

my hand? Never accept a connection with the Darcy

family? Never accept all the benefits that would accrue

to her as my wife? It was madness. And to blame it, not

on my manner, but on my person! I looked at her with

open incredulity. I, who had been courted in drawingrooms the length and breadth of the land!

But she had not finished.

‘From the very beginning, from the first moment I

may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit and your selfish disdain of the

feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have

built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you

a month before I felt that you were the last man in the

world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.’

I felt incredulity give way to anger, and anger to

humiliation. My mortification was now complete.

‘You have said quite enough, madam,’ I told her curtly.

‘I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now

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only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive

me for having taken up so much of your time’ – and to

prove that I was, even now after such base insults, a gentleman, I added – ‘and accept my best wishes for your

health and happiness.’

Then, having delivered myself of my final proud

utterance, I left the room.

I returned to Rosings, walking blindly, seeing nothing

of my surroundings, seeing only Elizabeth. Elizabeth

telling me I had ruined her sister’s happiness. Elizabeth

telling me I had ruined George Wickham’s hopes. Elizabeth telling me I had not behaved like a gentleman. Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth.

I said not a word at dinner. I saw nothing, heard nothing, tasted nothing. I thought only of her.

Try as I might, I could not put her accusations out of

my mind. The charge that I had ruined her sister’s happiness might have some merit, though I had acted for the

best. The accusation that I had ruined Wickham’s hopes

was of another order. It impugned my honour, and I

could not let it rest.

‘A game of billiards, Darcy?’ asked Colonel Fitzwilliam,

when Lady Catherine and Anne retired for the night.

‘No.Thank you. I have a letter to write.’

He looked at me curiously but said nothing. I retired

to my room and took up my quill. I had to exonerate

myself. I had to answer her accusation. I had to show her

she was wrong. And yet how?

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My dear Miss Bennet

I scored through the lines as soon as I had written

them. She was not my dear Miss Bennet. I had not the

right to call her dear.

I crushed my piece of paper and threw it away.

Miss Bennet

The name conjured up an image of her sister. It would

not do.

I threw away a second sheet of paper.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet

No.

I tried again.

Madam, you have charged me with

She will not read it.

Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this let-

ter, by the apprehension of its containing any

repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of

those offers which were last night so disgusting

to you.

Better.

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I write without any intention of paining you,

or humbling myself by dwelling on wishes

which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too

soon forgotten.

Yes.The manner was formal but, I prided myself, not

stiff. It should relieve her immediate concerns and persuade her to read on. But what to write next? How to

put into words what I had to say?

I threw down my quill and walked over to the window. I looked out over the parkland as I gathered my

thoughts. The night was still. There were no clouds, and

the moon could be seen glistening in the sky. Beneath

that same moon, within the parsonage, was Elizabeth.

What was she thinking? Was she thinking about me?

About my proposal? About my sins?

My sins! I had no sins. I returned to my desk and read

over what I had written. I picked up my quill and continued. My words flowed easily.

Two offences of a very different nature, and by

no means of equal magnitude, you last night

laid to my charge.The first mentioned was that,

regardless of the sentiments of either, I had

detached Mr Bingley from your sister: and the

other, that I had, in defiance of various claims,

in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the

immediate prosperity and blasted the prospects

of Mr Wickham.

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Blasted the prospects of that scoundrel! I had given

him every benefit, and he had repaid me by seeking to

ruin my sister. But the first charge must be answered

first.

I thought back to the autumn, when I had first arrived

in Hertfordshire. It was a few months ago only,