Mr. Darcy's Diary

I was beginning to warm towards her, indeed I was intending to continue our conversation, when she relinquished the pianoforte and by some chance – lucky or unlucky, I do not quite know which – her younger sister took her place. My smile froze on my face. I have never heard a more disastrous performance in my life, and I could not believe Miss Mary Bennet was exhibiting her lack of talent for so many people to hear. If I had had to listen to it one minute longer I believe I would have told her so.

Matters were made worse when the two youngest girls got up a dance with some of the officers. Their mother looked on, all smiles, as the youngest flirted with every officer in turn. How old is he? She does not look to be more than fifteen. She should still be in the schoolroom, not out in public where she can disgrace herself and her family.

Her behaviour banished any warm feelings I had been entertaining towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I did not speak to her again.

‘What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr Darcy!’ said Sir William Lucas, coming up beside me. ‘There is nothing like dancing, after all. I consider it one of the first refinements of polished societies.’

‘Certainly sir,’ I replied, as my gaze rested on Miss Lydia Bennet, who was dancing without the least shred of decorum, ‘and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world.

Every savage can dance.’

Sir William only smiled, and tormented me with a long conversation on the subject of dancing, asking me if I had ever danced at St James’s. I replied politely enough, but I thought that if he mentioned St James’s once more, I should be tempted to strangle him with his own garter.

As my gaze travelled round the room, I saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet moving towards me. Despite her sisters’ shortcomings, I was struck once again by the grace of her movement, and I thought that, if there was one person in the room I should like to see dancing, it was she.

‘My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?’ asked Sir William, as though reading my thoughts. ‘Mr Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, when so much beauty is before you.’

He took her hand, and surprised me by almost giving it to me. I had not thought of dancing with her myself, I had only thought of watching her, but I would have taken her hand if she had not surprised me by drawing back.

‘Indeed, sir, I have not the slightest intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner,’ she said.

I found that I did not want to give up the unlookedfor treat.

‘Will you give me the honour of your hand?’ I asked, interested rather than otherwise by her reluctance to dance with me.

But again she refused.

Sir William tried to persuade her.

‘Though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour.’

A smile lit her eyes, and turning towards me, she said:

‘Mr Darcy is all politeness.’

It was a challenging smile; there was no doubt about it. Although she said that I was all politeness, she meant the reverse. I felt my desire to dance with her grow. She had set herself up as my adversary, and I felt an instinct to conquer her rise up inside me.

Why had she refused me? Because she had overheard me saying that she wasn’t handsome enough to tempt me at the Meryton ball? Of course! I found myself admiring her spirit. My ten thousand pounds a year meant nothing to her when compared with her desire to be revenged on me.

I watched her walk away from me, noticing the lightness of her step and the trimness of her figure, and trying to remember the last time I had been so well pleased.

‘I can guess the subject of your reverie,’ said Caroline, coming up beside me.

‘I should imagine not,’ I said.

‘You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner, in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!’

‘Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.’

Caroline smiled.

‘And what lady has the credit of inspiring such reflections?’ she asked, turning her gaze to my face.

‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet,’ I replied, as I watched her cross the room.

‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet!’ exclaimed she. ‘I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite?

And pray when am I to wish you joy?’

‘That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask,’ I told her. ‘A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.’