Page 40 of The Secret Diary of Anne de Bourgh

“I was wondering if… only, you need not tell me if you would rather not.”

“Tell you what?” Mary set the muslin aside.

“Has he kissed you?”

She went quite scarlet, and I wished for a moment that I had held my tongue. Then she smiled, though she could not quite meet my eyes.

“Yes.”

I waited, but she did not appear disposed to elaborate.

“Was it… did you like it?”

“Very much.”

This was said with such emphasis that we both began to laugh.

“I beg your pardon,” I said. “I ought not to have asked.”

“I do not mind.” She folded the muslin rather carefully. “There is nobody with whom I can speak of it, either. I would feel silly talking to Lizzy about it, and Mama would immediately wish to know whether anybody had seen us.”

“Oh! Were you alone?”

“For a little while. He was leaving, and everybody else had gone ahead of us. He kissed my hand, as he generally does, and I thought how much I should miss him.”

She paused, looking down at the fabric.

“So I kissed his cheek.”

“Mary!”

“Well, we are engaged!”

“Of course,” I exclaimed, not wanting her to believe for a moment that I thought she had behaved improperly. “I only meant, I do not think I should have dared.”

“I scarcely dared myself. But he did not appear displeased.”

I could well believe it.

“And then?”

“Then he kissed me.” She was blushing again, but looked so happy that I wanted very much to understand how it felt.

“Were you not frightened?”

“No. It was Christopher.” She considered this for a moment. “I am not certain I can explain it properly. I had wanted him to kiss me, and when he did, I wished him to do it again.”

I could think of somebody whose kisses I might wish for in precisely that manner.

Mary put the muslin aside.

“I used to think that when people were engaged, they ought to have a great many sensible conversations about their future. And we do. But sometimes he is telling me something about the house, and I find that I have not attended to half of it because I am thinking about kissing him instead.”

“Does he know?”

“I hope not. Though perhaps he does. Sometimes he seems to lose track of what he is saying in the middle of a sentence, and I catch him staring at me like, well… like I stare at him.”

We laughed again, rather helplessly, and I was very glad that Kitty did not choose that moment to come in.