Mr. Darcy's Diary

‘Do let me introduce you to my niece, Cordelia. She is visiting me from the country. She is a charming girl, and a graceful dancer.’

She presented Miss Farnham, a blonde beauty of some nineteen or twenty years of age.

‘Would you care to dance, Miss Farnham?’ I asked.

She blushed prettily and whispered: ‘Thank you, yes.’

As I led her out on to the floor, I found my thoughts straying to the Netherfield ball, but I quickly controlled them and made myself think of Miss Farnham.

‘Have you been in town long?’ I asked her.

‘No, not very long,’ she said.

At least, I believe that is what she said. She has a habit of whispering which makes it difficult to hear her.

‘Are you enjoying your stay?’

‘Yes, I thank you.’

She relapsed into silence.

‘Have you been doing anything of interest?’ I asked.

‘No, not really,’ she said.

‘You have been to the theatre, perhaps?’

‘Yes.’

She said nothing more.

‘What play did you see?’ I coaxed her.

‘I cannot recall.’

‘You have been to one of the museums, perhaps?’ I asked, thinking the change of subject might stimulate her.

‘I do not know. Is the museum the large building with the columns outside? If so, I have been there. I did not like it. It was very cold and draughty.’

‘Perhaps you prefer reading books to visiting museums?’ I asked her.

‘Not especially,’ she whispered. ‘Books are very difficult, are they not? They have so many words in them.’

‘It is one of their undeniable failings.’

Elizabeth would have smiled at this, but there was no humour in Miss Farnham’s voice when she whispered:

‘That is exactly what I think.’

We lapsed into silence, but realizing that my thoughts were beginning to turn to Elizabeth, I determined to persevere.

‘Perhaps you like to sketch?’ I asked her.

‘Not especially,’ she said.

‘Is there anything you like to do?’ I asked, hearing a note of exasperation in my voice.

She looked up at me with more animation.

‘Oh, yes, indeed there is. I like playing with my kittens. I have three of them, Spot, Patch and Stripe. Spot has a black spot, but otherwise he is entirely white. Patch has a white patch on his back, and Stripe –’

‘Allow me to guess. He has a stripe?’

‘Why, have you seen him?’ she asked in amazement.

‘No.’

‘You must have done, else how could you know?’ she said, round-eyed. ‘I think my aunt must have showed him to you when I was out.’

She continued to talk of her kittens until the dance was over.

I did not let my lack of success with my first partner shake my resolve to enjoy myself, and I danced every dance. I came home pleased that I had not thought of Elizabeth above two or three times all evening.

Does she think of me ever? Does she, perhaps, think of my letter? I am satisfied that she believed me when I spoke of Wickham, for she has not asked my cousin about it, but does she understand why I spoke to her as I did when I offered her my hand? She must. She cannot be unaware of her low position in life, and on reflection she has undoubtedly decided that it was not ungentlemanlike of me to speak to her in such a manner. She must have realized I was right to do so.

And what of her feelings on the way I dealt with her sister’s affections? She sees now, I hope, that I acted for the best. She cannot fail to understand, or to acknowledge that what I did was right.

As for George Wickham, she knows him now for the scoundrel he is. But does she still have feelings for him?

Does she still prefer his company to mine? Is she laughing with him at this moment, in her aunt’s house? Does she think it better to speak to a man who has all the appearance of gentility, than one who has true worth?

If she should marry him…

I will not think of it. If I do, I will go mad.

May

Wednesday 7th May

I met Bingley at Lady Jessop’s ball this evening. He has been in the north, visiting his family, and he has now returned to town.

‘Darcy! I did not expect to find you here.’

‘Nor I you.’

‘How did you enjoy your stay with your aunt?’

‘It was well enough,’ I replied. ‘Did you enjoy yourself in the north?’

‘Yes,’ he said, but there was a lack of spirit in his voice.

Have I done wrong in separating him from Miss Bennet? I wonder. He has found no new flirt since her, and though he danced all evening, he never asked any young lady to dance more than once.

My own evening was no more enjoyable. I was claimed by Mrs Pargeter almost as soon as I arrived.

‘Darcy! Where have you been hiding yourself? You must come out to the country to see us. See the stud.

Margaret will show it to you. Margaret!’ she called.

Margaret joined us. I remembered Caroline Bingley’s comment of the year before, that Miss Pargeter spent so much time with horses that she had come to resemble one.

‘Should be thinking of putting yourself out to stud before long, Darcy,’ said Mrs Pargeter. ‘Margaret has clean lines. Excellent pedigree. Good breeding-stock.’

Margaret looked at me with interest.

‘Any madness in the family?’ she asked me.

‘None that I am aware of.’

‘Any sickness?’

‘My cousin has a weak chest,’ I replied.