London, England.
My thoughts are too crowded in my head, I feel that I must put them down on paper in ink.
The climate here is terribly chilly, the tip of my nose is bitterly cold from the frosty weather.
I sniffle as I write, rather unladylike- which is something my dear mother would heavily disapprove of. Here I sit, under the wise, oak tree- my dear faithful friend, as I write. My dearest sisters are busily socializing, Jane with Bingley, Lydia with Mr.Wickham, whom, we are still learning to warmly welcome into our family.
To be honest, dear journal, I am terribly upset about society lately. No one seems to know the true meaning of Christmas anymore! The birth of the beloved one, the All Almighty! has all slipped their minds. Meretricious things such as hierarchy and approval of society has become the highlight of Christmas day now, the story of the shepherds and the three wise men bring no relevance whatsoever.
I grieve to say, that I, too, am guilty of this horrible sin. No matter how much I set my goal on reading a few pages of the Holy book each day, it tends to slip my mi-
Mr. Darcy just walked by. Again. He has been loitering around these days, where ever I might be. When ever my family and I attend social events (courtesy of my mother, who never fails to gets us invited), I notice Mr.Darcy hanging back behind the crowd. Maybe he is afraid to approach me? That is what my sisters seem to think. I will only admit this to you, dearest journal- I think I may have a slight attraction to Mr.Darcy! He may be cruel and deceiving in his own subtle ways, but I sense somewhat tension, when we converse. Not that we have been confabulating often, that is. A man like him is not worthy of my grace.
I shall stop here now, my love. Mother is calling for dinner. She had some 'seating arrangements' done, oh I do hope it is not Mr.Darcy and I again!
Farewell for now, forever yours- E.B.
