Mr. Darcy's Diary

‘I am sorry,’ I said to her. ‘I never knew you took our marriage as a settled thing until my cousin told me of it, or I would have made sure you knew that I did not regard myself as betrothed to you.’

‘There is no need to be sorry. I did not want to marry you,’ she said.

She smiled, and I was taken aback. There was no timidity in her smile, and as she walked up to me she looked confident and assured.

‘Am I then so terrible?’ I asked.

‘No, not that. As a friend and a cousin I like you very well – as long as the weather is fine, and you are not forced to remain indoors – but I do not love you, and the thought of marrying you made me miserable. I am glad you are to marry Elizabeth. She is in love with you. She will tease you out of your stiffness, and we will all be friends.’

‘She is in love with me? I wish I could be so sure.’

‘One woman in love recognizes another,’ she said.

She smiled again and then followed Lady Catherine out of the room.

Monday 6th October

I am once again at Netherfield. I arrived here with more hope than I have ever felt, but still I dare not take Elizabeth’s love as a settled thing. Bingley and I left Netherfield early and soon arrived at Longbourn. Miss Bennet was full of blushes and had never looked more becoming. Elizabeth was harder to understand. She, too, blushed. I wish I knew the cause!

Bingley suggested a walk.

‘I will fetch my bonnet,’ said Kitty. ‘I have been longing to see Maria. We can walk to the Lucas’s.’

Mrs Bennet frowned at her, but Kitty did not notice.

‘I am not a great walker, I am afraid,’ said Mrs Bennet, turning to Bingley with a smile. ‘You must excuse me.

But Jane loves to walk. Jane, my dear, fetch your spencer.

That man, I suppose, will go, too,’ she said, looking at me as though I was a disagreeable insect.

Elizabeth blushed. I ignored the remark as best I could, and thought that only my love for Elizabeth could induce me to set foot in that house ever again.

Bingley looked helpless.

‘Lizzy, run and fetch your spencer, too. You must keep Mr Darcy company. I am sure he will not be interested in anything Jane has to say.’

‘I am too busy to walk,’ said Mary, lifting her head from a book. ‘I have often observed that those who are the best walkers are those who lack the intellectual capacity to instruct themselves in the serious matters of life.’

‘Oh, Mary!’ said Mrs Bennet impatiently.

Mary returned to her book.

Elizabeth and her sister returned, having put on their outdoor clothes, and we set out. Bingley and his beloved soon fell behind. Kitty, I knew, would soon leave us to go to visit her friend. Would Elizabeth go too? I hoped not.

If she remained with me, then I would be able to talk to her. And talk to her I must.

We reached the turning to the Lucas’s.

‘You can go on by yourself,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I have nothing to say to Maria.’

Kitty ran off down the path, leaving Elizabeth and me alone.

I turned towards her.

Elizabeth, I was about to say, when she stopped me by speaking herself.

‘Mr Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours.’

I felt myself grow cold. All my hopes now seemed like vanity. She was going to wound my feelings. I had been wrong to read so much into her refusal to deny the report of our engagement. It had meant nothing, except that she would not deign to deny an idle report for the benefit of my aunt.

She was obviously finding it difficult to continue.

She is going to tell me never to come to Longbourn again, I thought. She cannot bear the sight of me. I have given her a disgust of me that is too great to be overcome. I have not used my opportunities. I have visited Longbourn with Bingley and said nothing, because I had too much to say. Yet none of it could have been said in front of others. And now it is too late. But I will not let it be too late. I will speak to her, whether she wants me to or not.

But then she went on, even as those thoughts were going through my mind.

‘I can no longer help thanking you...’

Thanking me? Not blaming me, but thanking me? I scarcely knew what to think.

‘...for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister.’

Unexampled kindness? Then she does not hate me!

The thought made my spirits rise, though cautiously, for I did not know what she had heard of the business, or what else she was going to say.

‘Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.’

Gratitude. I did not want her gratitude. Liking, yes.

Loving, yes. But not gratitude.

‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘exceedingly sorry, that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs Gardiner was so little to be trusted.’