Page 112 of The Secret Diary of Anne de Bourgh

I looked at him, uncertain what he could mean. He took my hand, and I could feel that his was not quite steady.

“I love you, Anne. I ought to have told you long ago.”

I could only look at him, stunned into silence.

“Whenever something pleases me, you are the person I wish to tell. When we are apart, I find myself remembering things to say to you, and wondering what you would think of them.” He smiled. “I have described nearly every room at Bramley to you, but I have not told you that I cannot imagine being happy there without you.”

“Richard,” I began, but could get no further.

“I want to share my life with you. To sit beside you in the evening, and hear what you have been reading, and discover what you have decided we ought to plant in the garden. I want all the ordinary days, Anne, if I may have them with you.”

His voice was not quite steady. I had never heard him speak like this. Never imagined that he might, or not to me.

“Will you marry me, dearest?”

I began to cry, which was so far from anything I should have wished to do that I tried to turn my face away. Richard moved his chair closer.

“Anne, have I distressed you?”

“No.” I held his hand more tightly. “No, only I have wished for you to say that for so long.”

He looked at me with such astonishment that I almost laughed through the tears.

“You have?”

“I love you, Richard.” I looked directly at him, though I could feel how hot my face had become. “I thought you knew.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then lifted my hand to his lips.

“I have been a greater fool than I supposed.”

This seemed so plainly true that I did not attempt to contradict him.

When I could speak properly again, I asked why he had been so determined that I should marry Mr Byerly.

Richard looked ashamed.

“Because I thought he could offer you more than I could. He was young, agreeable, prosperous, and quite plainly taken with you. You enjoyed his company.”

“I enjoy the company of a great many people,” I pointed out. “I do not wish to marry all of them.”

“No,” he said, with a smile. “I begin to understand that.”

“But you kept telling me how well he would suit me.” I found this more difficult to say, but made myself continue. “I thought you were trying to make me understand that you never would.”

His expression changed to chagrin. “Is that what you thought I meant?”

“What else was I to think?”

Richard did not answer immediately. He kept my hand between his and looked down at it.

“I told myself that I was being sensible,” he said at last. “That I was too old for you, and too battered, and that it would be selfish to encourage an affection when a better prospect was right in front of you.”

I had not expected to feel angry while receiving a declaration of love. Nevertheless, I had been very unhappy, and it seemed necessary that he should understand why.

“I should have liked to be allowed an opinion about your age and your injuries,” I said.

“You shall have the deciding opinion.” Richard’s thumb moved gently over my hand. “In this, at least, I have proved myself quite incapable of judgement.”