Captain Wentworth's Diary

Wednesday 1 March

I called on Lady Russell this morning. There must inevitably be some awkwardness about our first meeting, and I thought it best it should be conducted in private. I was shown in, and there before me I saw the woman who had blighted my hopes eight and a half years before.

She looked conscious, and I felt a moment’s resentment ... and then it was gone, pushed aside by happiness.

I went forward and greeted her.

‘Lady Russell,’ I said, for she did not seem to know how to begin. I took pity on her confusion, and I went on kindly, ‘Once before you offered me your hand and suggested we be friends. I refused to take it, for I was not ready to make my peace with you then, but I am ready now. This time, I will offer you my hand, and say, “What is done is done, let us be friends.”’

I held out my hand. She hesitated a moment, seemed about to speak, and then took it.

‘I told you, a long time ago, that I would never do anything to harm Anne, and I repeat it now. More, I will tell you that her happiness is, and always will be, my first consideration. I hope this will reconcile you to the marriage.’

‘You are very generous,’ she said, ‘and I will endeavour to be the same. Though I do not believe my advice was wrong at the time, it proved wrong in the event. I believe you love each other sincerely and deeply, and though I wished for a better match for her in terms of rank—I am being honest, you see—I think she could not make a better match in terms of mutual loyalty and affection.’

I made her a bow, and assured her again of my determination to make Anne happy, and we parted, if not friends, then, at least, as two people who had reached a point of understanding and respect.

I told Anne of our meeting when we dined together at the house of some of our Bath acquaintance.

‘Lady Russell told me about your visit. I am glad you went,’ said Anne. ‘In time, she will come to love you as much as I do, and then my happiness will be complete.’

News of our engagement had spread, and we found ourselves being congratulated on all sides. Benwick looked at me with a sense of relief and satisfaction, and when we were sitting over the port, he said to me, ‘This takes a weight off my mind, Wentworth. I was not sure, when you came to Lyme in November, if you were in love with Louisa. I held back at first, for I did not wish to cause you harm, but when you went away and did not come back, I began to understand that there had not been a serious attachment, and so I allowed myself to fall in love with her. She is such an intelligent girl, with such expressive eyes and such a gentle character. Moreover, she does not remind me of’—his voice became low and wistful—‘Fanny.’

I gave him an understanding look, for I began to see how it had been for him. Another girl like Fanny would have reminded him too much of his first love. A girl who was the opposite would not.

‘I still remember her, Wentworth, but now it is not with pain, it is with warmth,’ he said. ‘I am grateful that I was fortunate enough to know her. God knows, I suffered when she died ... well, you know, you were there,’ he said, gripping the stem of his glass, as his feelings overcame him. ‘But all things must pass, or at least lessen, even grief. It is still there, but not as strong, and although I will miss her always, I have other joys now to attach me to life. I am persuaded that Fanny would have wanted it that way.’

‘She would,’ I said fervently. ‘She was an intelligent young woman who enjoyed life. She would not have wanted you to waste yours in painful memories.’

He smiled gratefully.

‘That is what I think. Harville is finding it difficult to accept this new love—no, do not protest, you know it as well as I. And so he should. He was Fanny’s brother. I do not say he was glad to see me in pain, but it is only natural that someone who loved her as much as he did, should want to know that she is missed by others who loved her as well. But he is a good fellow, and glad to see me emerge from despair. He likes Louisa, and the circumstances of our romance are such as to touch the coldest heart.’ He shook his head, recalling the circumstances. ‘When I think that Louisa, too, might have been dead. She looked so lifeless when she was taken up after the fall.’

I remembered that moment well. It had affected us all.

‘But a strange thing happened,’ he said, his voice becoming stronger. ‘As I saw her recovering from her deathlike state, so, too, I felt myself recovering from mine. I found myself, at last, able to love again. I am a lucky man to have been give a second chance, Wentworth,’ he said.

‘A second chance!’ I said, much struck, knowing that I, too, had been given a second chance with Anne.

‘What is it?’ he asked, sensing a change in my manner.

I simply smiled, for he had never known of our first engagement.

‘Nothing, save that I agree with you. To second chances,’ I said, raising my glass.

The general conversation having died down at just that moment, the words were taken up as a toast. Glasses were raised, and all about me I heard the cry, ‘To second chances!’

Sunday 5 March

Anne and I found ourselves much looked at in church this morning, for our engagement is the talk of Bath. We were congratulated by those who had not yet had an opportunity to give us their best wishes, and even Mr Elliot managed to bow from the other side of the church, though he could not bring himself to wish us happy.

Mrs Clay was very pleased, for Mr Elliot’s fall from favour meant she was free to catch Sir Walter if she pleased. I asked Anne if she thought it prudent to warn her father of Mrs Clay’s intent.

‘It would do no good,’ she said. ‘I tried to warn Elizabeth last year, but she dismissed the notion. My father would only do the same. Worse, it might put the idea into his mind.’

‘Then you are right to say nothing.’ I did not like the idea of Mrs Clay living at Kellynch Hall, if she managed to marry Sir Walter, and so I voiced an idea that had been in my mind for some time. ‘I have been thinking about Kellynch, Anne. Do you think your father would sell it to me? If it is not an inalienable part of the estate, then he can sell it if he wishes. It would clear his debts at once, and Kellynch would still remain in the family. Moreover, you would be able to take your mother’s place as the mistress of Kellynch Hall.’

‘I doubt if my father would sell it. Besides, I would not like to live at Kellynch Hall. Lady Russell would like to see me there, I know, but I have not been happy there. I have my heart set on an estate by the sea.’

‘The one we talked about when we were first engaged all those years ago?’

‘Yes. I have thought it a model of perfection ever since, with its stretch of coastline and its sandy coves, its countrified aspect to the rear and its view of the sea to the front.’

‘Then we must set about finding it. I will start making enquiries with the land agents tomorrow, and see if there is anything we can view.’

We fell into a happy discussion about the number of rooms and size of grounds we wanted in our new home, and did not let up until recalled to our company.

Tuesday 7 March

I had a letter from Edward this morning, thanking me for mine, and telling me he was delighted to learn that Anne had accepted me. He invited us to visit him on Thursday. Anne agreed to the idea and I wrote back to accept Edward’s invitation.

Wednesday 8 March

Sophia and Benjamin returned from spending a week with friends, and I told them of my engagement.

‘At last!’ said Benjamin. ‘Sophia and I were beginning to think you would never marry. You took your time, but you have chosen well in the end. She is a pretty little thing. Not as lively as the Musgrove girls, perhaps, but there is an air of quiet refinement about her that I like.’

‘I am very pleased for you,’ said Sophia, ‘and I am pleased for myself. There is an air about her that is most pleasing, and I like her better than either of the Musgrove girls. I wonder you did not notice her when you were here before, visiting Edward. You must have seen her?’

‘Never mind what Frederick did or did not do eight years ago, Sophia, he has brought the girl home now.’ He turned to me. ‘You must bring her to see us this afternoon.’

I did as they suggested, and I was warmed to see how well they all got on together. Anne Elliot as the daughter of their landlord they could like: Anne as my future wife they could love.

‘And have you told Edward?’ asked Sophia.

‘Yes, I wrote to him and gave him the news. We are to pay him a visit tomorrow.’

Thursday 9 March

Our visit to Edward was one of great enjoyment. He welcomed Anne with warmth, and Eleanor did likewise. Edward and Anne remembered each other from the years he had lived at Monkford, and spoke of those days affectionately.

‘You were at the ball where Frederick and I first met,’ she said.

‘It was a very propitious meeting,’ he remarked with a significant look.

‘Ah. I wondered if Frederick had told you,’ said Anne, colouring slightly.

‘He did indeed, many times over. He would not be silent. He spoke of nothing but you: your loveliness, your intelligence, your tenderness and your charm. He told me how happy he was to be engaged to you.’

Eleanor smiled benignly, and Anne blushed, for it became obvious that Eleanor knew about it, too.

‘I can keep a confidence, but no man can keep such a thing from his wife,’ said Edward. ‘Eleanor soon guessed there had been something between you, and I told her the whole. I give you my word I have never mentioned it to anyone else, and I only hope you will forgive me for my one small lapse.’

We granted him our pardon, and indeed, it made it easier that Eleanor knew, for conversation was then much freer. We spoke of the past, and recalled the summer of the year six with much affection. As everything had turned out so well, I was able to think of those times without pain, indeed, with the greatest of pleasure.

Monday 13 March

Mr Elliot has left Bath! I am surprised. It is true that, now Anne and I are engaged, he has no excuse to visit Camden Place, and therefore he cannot watch over Mrs Clay, but I would not have expected him to give up so easily. He has left the way clear for Mrs Clay to marry Sir Walter, if she can catch him. I think it not unlikely, for Sir Walter speaks very well of her. It is not a match I would like to see, but it cannot be helped, and at least I will be taking Anne away, so that she will not have to see Mrs Clay in her mother’s place.

Wednesday 15 March

Camden Place was in a state of shock this morning when I called, for Mrs Clay had left!

‘Where has she gone?’ I asked Anne.

‘No one knows,’ she said. ‘I am as much in the dark as you. She left a letter for my sister saying she had been called home, without giving further particulars.’

Elizabeth entered the room at that moment, with Lady Russell.

‘Base ingratitude,’ she said angrily. ‘I took Mrs Clay up, made her my confidante, and this is how she repays me.’

I saw Lady Russell open her mouth and then close it again, obviously wanting to say that she had warned Elizabeth, but thinking it would be better not to say anything.

‘To leave without giving me a moment’s notice, without even telling me to my face that she intended to go,’ Elizabeth went on. ‘I hope it is something serious that has called her away, and not anything trifling.’

Anne and I decided on a walk, as the atmosphere in the house was very uncomfortable. Once out of doors, I asked Anne what she made of Mrs Clay’s abrupt departure.

‘Do you think she has realized that Sir Walter will never marry her, and therefore she has decided not to waste any more of her time, or do you think Mr Elliot could have had something to do with it?’

‘The latter, I suspect,’ said Anne.

‘Perhaps he has bribed her to stay away from Sir Walter. He is determined to be the next baronet, and, as the money is nothing to him, it would be a small price for him to pay in order to ensure his succession.’

I wondered what Mr Elliot could have offered her to tempt her to forgo the chance of such a prosperous future, but I did not wonder for long. Mrs Clay was of very little interest to me. My interest lay in Anne.

Friday 17 March

I had a letter regarding Mrs Smith’s property in the West Indies this morning, and the news seemed so promising that I went to tell her. To my astonishment, she told me that Mrs Clay had joined Mr Elliot in London, and was living there under his protection.

‘As his mistress?’ I exclaimed in astonishment.

She nodded.

‘But Mrs Clay is a clever woman. I think she will not be content to remain his mistress for very long.’

‘You mean she has her sights set on marriage?’

‘I think she has set her sights on a baronet, and the future one will do as well as the present.’

‘I cannot believe he will marry her.’

‘No? If he refuses, she can go straight back to Sir Walter. She would only have to make a few protestations of innocence, and voice her outrage about the lies that have been spread about her, then proceed to flatter him, and the thing would be done.’

I began to smile.

‘I like the idea. I think Mrs Clay and Mr Elliot will suit each other very well. They are two greedy, self-seeking people who have not a decent standard or value between them.’

‘And two people who are better away from the Elliots. Anne’s father and sister were always proud, and I would not care what became of them, but I would not wish to see Anne distressed in any way.’

On this we agreed, and I went on to Camden Place, where I found Anne ready to go on our arranged drive. As we went out into the country, we discussed everything Mrs Smith had said. She expressed her surprise, but before long she had come to think, as Mrs Smith did, that Mrs Clay might persuade Mr Elliot to marry her after all.

‘Would you mind?’ I asked her.

‘I would not like to see her as the next Lady Elliot, but then, I doubt if I will have to, for we will have moved out of the neighbourhood by then.’

‘As to that, I have heard of a promising property. Would you like to see it?’

She expressed her delight at the idea, and after I had left her at Camden Place I made the arrangements.

Monday 20 March

We have found our estate. It is exactly as we imagined it, a Queen Anne house set amidst verdant countryside with a long stretch of coastline, and three sandy bays. We were both delighted with it and I closed with the agent at once.

We returned to dinner with the Musgroves, where we found that our news met with a mixed reception. The Harvilles were delighted; Henrietta and Louisa asked if this meant we would be married before them; and Mary looked ill-used.

‘You are wondering why Mary is so put out,’ said Henrietta to me after dinner. ‘It is not really surprising. She liked you well enough to begin with because you were rich enough to do her credit, but not wealthy enough so that Anne would eclipse her. She had Uppercross Hall before her, a substantial property that Charles would inherit in due course, whereas Anne had no such property to look forward to, therefore Mary could consider herself superior. You have now taken that source of gratification away from her by your purchase of an estate. However, as long as you are not made a baronet, I think she will rally.’

Sure enough, Mary soon regained her spirits.

‘You can set a date for the wedding, now,’ said Benjamin.

‘Make it an early wedding. We will be marrying in May,’ said Henrietta.

‘And so will we,’ said Louisa. ‘Why do we not all three marry in May?’

‘I have a fancy to marry in June,’ said Anne.

I was pleased, for although I liked the Musgrove girls, I did not want to share my wedding day with them.

‘That is a good plan,’ I said. ‘I have a suggestion to make. I think we should marry on the ninth.’

Anne flushed, for that was the date when we first met.

‘It seems to suit the lady,’ said Benjamin with a smile.

‘Then it is settled?’ I asked, looking at Anne.

‘It is,’ she agreed.