Captain Wentworth's Diary

Tuesday 2 September

I hoped to see Anne by the river this morning but, like yesterday, the weather was wet, and although it did not prevent me from walking there, she did not come.

I returned home to a hearty breakfast, over which my brother told me that he needed some gloves from Clark’s. He complained that he was too busy to go and I offered to go for him, for I was restless and could settle to nothing. Besides, if the weather cleared, I thought that Anne might venture out for a walk and I might see her at Clark’s.

I soon found myself entering the shop. When I went in, Miss Scott was at the counter, and was deep in a conversation about bolsters.

‘It must be a large one,’ she said to Mr Green, who stood ready to serve her. ‘A very big one indeed.’

She was shown two, but she was undecided on which one to take, and, seeing me, she asked for my help, explaining, ‘My sister has sent me such a dreadful report in the newspapers, I am beside myself with worry. The article is written by a man with impeccable information. It comes from the most reliable sources, and it says the French are only days away from invading our shores. They have a secret fleet of ships, and as soon as they set foot on English soil, it is their intention to murder us all in our beds. There is, however, a way to confound them. The newspaper recommends its readers put a bolster in their bed, topping it with a set of false curls, and then sleep elsewhere. I am going to sleep on the sofa, but I do not know what size bolster to buy. Would you advise me, Commander?’

I could not help but smile. Her agitation was genuine, however, and to relieve her spirits I took her to one side and spoke to her in a whisper.

‘This is not generally known,’ I said, ‘but you are obviously the sort of woman who can keep a confidence, and so I will tell you. The Navy is working on a plan to confound the invaders even as we speak. I am on a secret mission to this part of the country, and as soon as Napoleon invades, I will be informed of it at once. I will make sure you are apprised of the fact without delay, and you will have time to flee before he arrives. Until such time you may walk freely about the neighbourhood, and sleep safely in your bed.’

‘Oh, Commander, you take such a weight from my mind, but are you sure? Your information will not be delayed? You will not forget to inform me?’

‘Not at all. You may rely upon the Navy, and you may rely upon me.’

She returned to the counter and told the assistant happily that she did not require a bolster after all. I was just about to step up to the counter when the door opened and, to my delight, Anne entered, accompanied by Miss Shepherd.

Before I could speak, Miss Scott, on her way out of the shop, greeted her with the words, ‘Miss Elliot, you may rest easy, as we are not about to be murdered in our beds. Commander Wentworth is on a secret mission in this neighbourhood. He did not hesitate to confide in me, for he knows I am not one to gossip and that I would never breathe a word to a living soul, and so he assured me that he will inform me as soon as Napoleon invades. You must not say anything about it, however, for it is not generally known, and if he had not had complete faith in my discretion, he would not have told even me. I must enjoin you to secrecy, and I hope I may have your word not to mention it to anyone.’

‘You may rest assured I will tell no one,’ said Anne.

Miss Scott left the shop, and as Miss Shepherd approached the counter in search of some thread, I was able to speak to Anne alone.

We fell into conversation instantly, and I was heartened to hear that Anne had intended to join me yesterday, despite the weather being wet, but her sister had not been well, and had claimed her attention, making it impossible for her to stir out of doors. She had been prevented from walking by the river for the same reason this morning, but her sister’s health having improved a little since then, she had been glad to take the opportunity of a walk.

We could not talk of our engagement for fear of being overheard, but we were able to talk of our future in a more discreet form. I talked of the fortune I would win, and asked Anne her opinion of what sort of estate I should buy, whether in the country or by the sea. She advised me to buy one with a stretch of coastline and a sandy cove so that I could walk by the sea every morning.

‘A good idea,’ I said. ‘I like the water. I always value my walks by the river here.’

She blushed, and looked prettier than ever, and I counted myself the luckiest man alive. I imagined the two of us walking together on the beach of our future home, with our children playing around us. I would be Admiral Wentworth, and she my wife.

Miss Shepherd finished choosing her thread, and Anne and I had to part, but I consoled myself with the fact that Sir Walter would be returning in a few days and that I could then ask him for her hand.

I longed for a ball this evening, somewhere where I could dance with Anne, but I was engaged to play whist with my brother. I could not concentrate, but this, however, made me very popular, as it meant that I lost every game.

Wednesday 3 September

Anne and I had the luxury of an evening spent together at Mrs Grayshott’s, where we were able to dance together. It was a joy to be able to touch her, and to spend much of the evening in conversation with her, and although I was tempted to overstep the boundaries of decorum by asking her to dance a third time, I managed to restrain myself, knowing that Sir Walter would soon be returning, and that then I would be able to dance every dance with Anne.

Friday 5 September

I went, as usual, to the river this morning, and I was rewarded by seeing Anne coming towards me. We strolled through the fields, her arm in mine, and I asked her when her father was likely to return.

‘He will arrive in time for dinner,’ she said.

‘Then I will present myself tomorrow morning, though I resent every minute that keeps me from acknowledging you as my future wife. Little did I think, when I came into Somerset, that I would find such happiness.’

‘Nor I. Your visit was spoken of, and I was curious to see you, but I did not expect a friendship to develop, let alone anything more. I thought you would be a rough-mannered and impatient man, a sailor who thought of nothing but battles and the sea. I did not expect you to be someone I could fall in love with.’

We walked on. I spoke of my impatience for her father’s return, and I asked her if she had told Lady Russell of our engagement.

‘No, not yet. I felt my father should know of it first. But as soon as he has given his consent, I will tell her.’

A shadow crossed her face.

‘Do you doubt that he will give it?’ I asked her.

‘My father can be ...’ She paused. ‘He is very proud of his heritage—our heritage. You do not know him very well—yet— but his favourite book is the Baronetage. He often takes it up to read it. He likes to read about the first baronet, and to remind himself that he comes from an illustrious line.’

‘And you? Are you proud of your heritage?’ I asked her.

‘Proud of it, yes, but not blinded to the worth of everything beyond it. There are other things in life beyond the baronetcy, and other men of value beyond those listed there.’

‘But you do not doubt he will give his consent?’

She hesitated, then said, ‘No. No, I am sure he will give it. He might make matters uncomfortable for you, however.’

I laughed at the notion, for if I could withstand the might of the French Navy, I was sure I could withstand a cold look from Sir Walter. But I laughed inwardly, for I had no wish to wound Anne’s feelings.

My brother was not so sanguine as I joined him for luncheon a few hours later.

‘And have you thought that Sir Walter might say no?’ he asked.

‘Why should I?’

‘Because that will probably be his answer.’

‘It is a good thing my heart is not as faint as yours, for I am certain he will say yes,’ I returned.

‘You have no title, no fortune, no estate, nothing to offer his daughter beyond your youth and person.’

‘So you said last week.’

‘I am saying it again. It is as well to be prepared for whatever he might say.’

‘There is something in that. But no, I will not think of it. He will give his consent, and Anne and I will be married. I am sure of it.’

Saturday 6 September

I could eat very little, and this morning I set off for Kellynch Hall. I was far too early, but I could wait no longer. I paced the lane until my watch told me I could proceed. I went up to the door. I asked to see Sir Walter. I was made to wait. I paced the hall. I was shown in. And there was Sir Walter, magnificently attired, with his hair arranged in the latest style, reading the Baronetage.

To begin with, he ignored me, as though he could not tear his eyes away from the book.

‘Sir Walter,’ I began.

He looked up slowly, but did not close the book.

It was not a propitious start.

‘You wished to see me?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I did. I do. On a matter of importance. I would like your permission to marry your daughter, Anne.’

‘Marry Anne?’ he asked, in a tone of disbelief. ‘You have not yet asked me if you might pay her your addresses. It is far too soon to be speaking of anything else.’

I was nonplussed, but came about.

‘My affections have developed swiftly—’

‘They have indeed. You have only been in Somerset a few months.’

‘But that is long enough for me to know that I am in love with Anne. Although they have developed swiftly—’

‘And will disappear as swiftly, no doubt,’ he interrupted.

‘That they will not,’ I said. ‘I know my own mind. I am in love with Anne, and I wish to make her my wife. She wishes it, too.’

He looked at me with haughty dislike.

‘You have spoken to her already?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Without consulting me?’

I hesitated, then said, ‘There would have been no point in my bothering you if Anne had made it clear to me she would not have me, and besides, I could not help myself.’

‘Indeed,’ he remarked. ‘And are you always so rash?’

‘Once my mind is made up, I act on it. I am a man of decision.’

‘Is that what you call it?’ he asked. ‘I call it irresponsible and hotheaded.’

I smarted at his words, and was tempted to reply in kind, but I knew it would do my suit no good, and so I replied mildly.

‘Do I have your permission, Sir?’

‘You say that you have already asked Anne?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘And she wishes to accept your offer?’

‘She does,’ I assured him, heartened by the memory.

‘How very extraordinary. I cannot think why,’ he said. ‘She has been brought up to know her own place in the world, and to value it accordingly. Her name is in the Baronetage.’ He took up his book and began to read it to me, in slow and measured stately tones. ’ "Elliot of Kellynch Hall”.’ He paused dramatically. ’ "Walter Elliot, born 1 March 1760, married 15 July 1784, Elizabeth, daughter of James Stevenson, Esq., of South Park, in the county of Gloucester; by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, born 1 June 1785; Anne, born 9 August 1787 ...”’ He broke off and turned the book towards me. ‘Anne,’ he said, pointing to her name. ‘The daughter of a baronet. There she is, my daughter, surrounded by her illustrious family. Can you offer her a similar ancestry?’

‘No, I cannot,’ I said boldly, looking him in the eye, ‘but Anne places love above rank, as I do.’

‘Indeed?’ he said.

‘Well, sir, do I have your permission?’ I asked him, wanting the matter closed.

He appeared to weigh the matter.

‘Anne is not her sister,’ he said. ‘She does not have Elizabeth’s style or manners, nor does she have Elizabeth’s beauty. But still, she is Miss Anne Elliot, and can look higher than a sailor for a husband. The alliance would be degrading ...’

I contained my temper with difficulty.

‘... and if she disgraces her name by marrying so far beneath her, I will do nothing for her,’ he went on. ‘She will have no fortune. It would be better for you to give her up, for you will make nothing from your connection to her, not a penny.’

I was inwardly seething, but replied, ‘I want nothing, only Anne.’

‘And can you support her?’ he enquired with disdain.

‘I can.’

‘You have a fortune, then?’

‘Not yet, but I have been lucky in my profession, and I will soon be rich.’

‘Indeed? You have a very sanguine view of the matter.’

‘Am I to understand that you are refusing me permission?’ I asked, in no mood for more of his insults.

He paused, then sighed, and said, ‘Ah, well, if you had asked for Elizabeth, I would have sent you about your business, but as it is only Anne ...’

I had to control my temper again. Only Anne, indeed! Only Anne.

‘Yes, all right, very well, you may have my permission,’ he said wearily. He rang the bell. ‘Commander Wentworth is leaving,’ he told the servant.

I was angry; but anger soon gave way before the happy prospect that stretched out before me, so I thanked him, and went to find Anne, to tell her that her father had given his consent.

I came upon her in the garden. She turned her face to mine anxiously, but as she saw my smile, her own face relaxed, and she ran towards me. I ran, too, and embraced her.

‘Your father has agreed to the match! We need keep our feelings a secret no longer. I want to tell all the world of it! I am the happiest man alive.’

She smiled, and said, ‘And I am the happiest woman. I am as eager to tell my friends as you are, but I ask only one thing: you must let me tell Lady Russell of it first. She has been like a mother to me for many years, and I want her to hear it from my own lips, before she hears of it from anyone else. We are dining with her on Tuesday evening at her house. It is to be a small party, only Lady Russell, my father, my sister and myself, and I will tell her then. Then we may tell the rest of our friends.’

‘Very well. I have already told my brother—not of your father’s consent, of course, but I told him I meant to ask you to marry me, and I told him that you had said yes. I am looking forward to telling him that our wedding can go ahead. I would like him to conduct the service. Should you have any objections?’

‘None at all. I think it an excellent idea, if Mr Gossington does not object. I would like nothing better.’

‘If Gossington conducted marriages as a general rule, he might wish to perform the office himself, but since he customarily leaves such things to my brother, I see no reason why he should object on this occasion. I will write to my sister tomorrow. I would like her to attend the wedding, and, if she is on shore at the time, I know she and Benjamin will want to come.’

We talked more of the wedding, of Anne being attended by her sisters, and of my plans to ask Harville to stand up with me, and so engrossed were we that we lost all track of time, and Anne’s maid had to come and warn her that it was time for her to dress.

We parted reluctantly, and I returned to my brother’s house. I could not rest, however. I longed for Edward’s company, so that I would have someone to talk to, but he had been called away to visit one of his elderly parishioners, and was not likely to return all night. The evening dragged on interminably, but tomorrow, everything will be different.

Wednesday 10 September

I cannot believe it. My heart is heavy as I write. Not long ago, Anne accepted my hand, her father gave his consent and we were the two happiest people alive. Yesterday evening, Anne told Lady Russell the news, and this morning Anne told me the marriage could not go ahead.

How can life change so suddenly? It does not seem real. Nothing has seemed real since I met her by the river this morning. The air was warm, the birds were in full voice—a perfect morning, with no hint of the thunderbolt that was about to smite me.

Then Anne appeared. I noticed at once that her step was slow, but I thought she was tired, or that she had not seen me. As she drew closer, however, I could see that her shoulders were bowed.

She looked up and saw me. Her expression was hesitant, and her step faltered.

‘What is it?’ I asked her, covering the last few yards between us in two strides. ‘What is wrong?’

‘Nothing, only ... I have to speak to you.’

Then she said something I had never expected to hear: that she had reconsidered; that we were too young; that long engagements were never a good thing; that it would be unfair of her to burden me with an engagement when I still had my way to make in the world; that we must be grateful we had told no one of our engagement, for there would be no embarrassment in breaking it; and that it would be best if we forgot it had ever taken place.

I was dumbfounded. But I soon came about. Her objections were easy to do away with, and I reassured her that we were not too young, and that our engagement would not be a long one, for I would soon have enough for us to marry on.

‘And then, Anne, our adventures will begin.’

She shook her head sadly.

‘Ah, I see. You have changed your mind about going to sea,’ I said, thinking this was what lay behind it. Although I was sorry, I was not downhearted. ‘You have never been aboard ship, and, now that it comes to it, you are frightened,’ I said gently, taking her hands. ‘The thought of it is too much for you. I understand. But fear not. If you do not feel you can leave your home and family, your friends and neighbours, and above all, dry land, then I will not hold you to it. But that is no reason to break our engagement.’

She drew her hands from mine and said, ‘No, Frederick, I cannot.’

‘Cannot? Why not?’ I asked, seeking to understand.

‘Everyone around me is counselling me against it—’

‘So that is it. They have bullied you into submission,’ I said.

‘No, they have not bullied me,’ she said.

But, despite her loyalty to her family, it was clear that that was what had happened.

‘I knew how it would be,’ I said. ‘Your father was condescending when I spoke to him yesterday, and he has told you I am not good enough for you, and you, Anne, my dear, gentle Anne, do not have the courage to stand up to him.’ I was conscious of feeling disappointment as I said it, for I had thought she was stronger than that, but I quickly rallied. ‘Take my strength, for I have strength enough for two.’

‘It is not just my father,’ she said in distress. ‘Lady Russell thinks it would be a mistake, too. The anxieties of your profession, the inevitable delays. I am only nineteen—’

‘That did not trouble you yesterday.’

‘No. But I have seen so little of life ... I must be guided by those who have seen more, and listen when they tell me it is impossible.’

‘Impossible? To buy ourselves a snug little cottage as soon as I have captured another ship, and then, when I have enough prize money to buy something better, the estate we have talked about?’

‘Lady Russell says it will never be. She says you will have other calls on your purse at this time of life.’

‘I assure you I have a far greater knowledge of the calls on my purse than Lady Russell can have.’

‘And you will be worrying about me whilst you are away. Lady Russell says—’

‘Lady Russell!’ I exclaimed impatiently. ‘Always Lady Russell! Have you no heart and no mind of your own?’

She broke away from me, taking two steps back.

‘She was my mother’s best friend, and I am used to relying on her judgement, and she has always guided me well.’

I reassured her; she was resolute. I argued; she was firm. Back and forth we went, neither one of us giving ground.

‘It will be to your ruin. I cannot marry you,’ she said. ‘I could not forgive myself if I stood in your way, and prevented you from advancing as your deserve. With a fiancée, you would be cautious. You would lack the reckless spirit a man needs to advance. You would not achieve your ambitions, held back by me.’

I could not believe what I was hearing. I refused to take it in, but as last I could argue with her no longer.

‘You cannot mean to break faith with me?’ I asked her, my courage faltering. ‘Say it is not so?’

’Frederick ...’

‘I thought you loved me.’

The words were wrung out of me.

‘I do,’ she declared passionately. ‘I love you, but—’

‘But not enough,’ I said.

I could not keep the grief out of my voice.

‘It is not that.’

‘It is exactly that. You do not love me enough to go against family and friends, to follow your heart wherever it leads, even if it leads to the ends of the earth.’

‘Frederick—’

‘Enough,’ I said, hurt as I had never been before, not even when I had been injured in battle. ‘You have made your feelings clear. You cannot marry me. Very well. I will not hold you to your promise. I will have no unwilling bride. Our engagement is at an end.’

I made her a bow and then I hastened away, for I could not bear it, to have happiness so close, and yet so far.

I left Elliot land, and walked back towards the village.

I was just turning into the lane when fate threw in my way the one person I did not wish to see, the very woman who had caused all my misery: Lady Russell.

She coloured when she saw me, and faltered, as well she might.

I was in no mood to mince my words.

‘Ay, madam, well might you look so,’ I said. ‘You have done me a terrible disservice. You have taken from me the woman I love, and caused a great deal of unhappiness where there was nothing but happiness before. It is a bad day’s work.’

‘I have done nothing but give good counsel to Anne,’ she replied, collecting herself. ‘She has no mother, and it is up to me to guide her. Had I any scruples about the part I have played, I would have lost them when you spoke to me just now. I am not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner. You are a hotheaded young man, Commander Wentworth, with nothing to offer Anne but a long engagement followed by a lifetime of uncertainty and loneliness. I want something better for her. I want her to have the comforts she is accustomed to, and the company of a husband who does not spend half his life at sea.’

‘I could soon have given her the comforts she needs. We are at war! There are plenty of opportunities for a resolute young man to make his fortune, for never was there a better friend to a penniless young captain of ability and ambition than Napoleon Bonaparte. I mean to rise in the world, and I would have taken Anne with me.’

‘A baronet’s daughter does not need a sailor to lift her,’ she remarked in a superior tone.

‘With my prize money I could have given her a better home than the one she has now. In a few years’ time—’

‘—you are likely to be as poor as you are now, for you spend your money as quickly as you win it.’

‘With a wife to support, I would have changed my ways. I would not have wanted to spend my money rashly, for I would have had someone else to spend it on. I would have had a reason to invest in the funds, and watch my capital grow.’

‘So says every young man, until he is married, but then it is a different story. He finds the pleasures of youth hard to abandon, and the call of his friends too strong, and his wife is left to manage on whatever her husband chooses to give her.’

‘And what this husband would have chosen to give her would have been his hand and his heart.’ I saw a smile of derision on her lips. ‘So, you would rather see Anne married to a man she does not love, than allow her to follow her heart?’

‘Love! Young people always talk about love, but nine times out of ten it is nothing but a passing fancy. Anne is young. She will soon find someone else, and you will fall in love again the next time you are ashore.’

‘You presume too much,’ I said. ‘You cannot know my feelings. You have no right to say that they will change, or that I am so fickle. I love Anne.’

‘And are you the only one involved in matrimony? Is it enough for you to love her? Pray, consider, she must also love you.’

‘And so she does.’

‘But not enough to marry you.’

‘No,’ I said, bitterly. ‘You talk of men’s fickleness, but it is women’s fickleness that is to blame, here, today: Anne’s for not loving me enough to follow her feelings, and yours for persuading her to abandon me, in the hope of a better marriage in the future, to a man she will not care for. It is the curse of the Elliots, and all about them, to care more about money and status than affection and true worth.’

‘Have a care, Commander,’ she said warningly, ‘for that statement smacks of bitterness.’

‘You must forgive me, Lady Russell, but I am feeling bitter. When a man has lost everything he holds most dear, through the offices of others, he is prone to that particular emotion. Anne would never have rejected me if you had not interfered.’

She gave a tentative smile.

‘Come, what is done is done,’ she said, holding out her hand for me to shake. ‘Let us part as friends.’

I would not take it.

‘You are no friend of mine, and you are no friend of Anne’s either, Lady Russell. I will bid you good day.’

And so saying, I hurried away.

Luckily, my brother was out when I returned, so I did not immediately have to tell him what had happened. I paced the room, but I could not bear to be indoors and I was soon outside again, trying to ride off the worst of my despair.

To be loved, accepted, and then rejected. It was too much. I could not bear it.

In vain did I tell myself that it was better this way, that if she did not love me it was better to find out now rather than later, when the engagement had been spoken of, or, worse yet, when we were married.

I thought of Harville, and his prosperous love. His wife did not mind a little discomfort. She believed in Harville, and knew he would make his fortune. Lucky man. If I had such a woman beside me ... But I did not want another woman. I wanted Anne. Try as I might, I could not drive her out of my mind. The way she looked at me, the way our tastes and thoughts and feelings coincided, the way she made me feel inside ...

I could not root out those feelings. I had been rejected, and I wanted to feel them no more, but my heart was not under my command. I loved her still.

At last, weary in body as well as in spirit, I returned home.

I had some respite from my brother, as he was not at home, but at luncheon he returned.

‘Well, brother, do not keep me in suspense. You went to see Sir Walter. What did he say? Did he welcome you with open arms, or did he tell you to come back when you had received a knighthood?’ he asked.

I did not want to speak of it, but it could not be avoided.

‘He gave his consent, but Anne has withdrawn hers,’ I said shortly.

‘Ah.’ He said no more, but sat down at the table, then remarked, ‘I told you she would have no taste for living at sea.’

‘She was played upon by Lady Russell. She was happy to accept me on her own account, and would have braved her father’s lack of warmth, but Lady Russell told her I was not good enough for her—told her that she would hold me back— and she did not have the courage to stand out against her.’

‘I am not surprised. Lady Russell has been like a mother to her for the last five years.’

‘So she told me.’ I paused, as luncheon was brought in, and when we were alone again, I said, ‘But there is a time when every young woman must follow her own inclination, and leave her mother behind.’

‘It seems that, for Anne, that time has not yet come. You had better have something to eat,’ he remarked as my food sat untouched on my plate.

‘I am not hungry.’

‘Come now, it is all for the best. A wife would have been an encumbrance. You would not have been so fearless in battle, knowing you had a wife to mourn you if you were killed, and perhaps children as well.’

‘Hah! Why should I be killed?’ I retorted, sweeping his remarks aside.

‘And if you had been,’ he went on, ignoring me, ‘how would Anne have lived?’

I was uncomfortable with the thought of it, but I told my brother he should not dwell on such nonsense.

‘Make your fortune, come back to Monkford, and ask the lady again,’ was my brother’s advice.

‘That I shall never do. I cannot marry a woman who has no faith in me, and who has no constancy. A word, once given, should be kept. Faithfulness, courage and resolve, these are the things I value. These are the things Anne had, or I thought she had. But I was mistaken, for she had them not,’ I said, still in pain.

‘Then you are lucky to have escaped a match that would not have been to your tastes, for you must have found her out eventually,’ was my brother’s unsympathetic reply.

‘Very true,’ I said.

But I did not mean it.

I could not think it a good thing that Anne had rejected me, and if she had come to me and told me that she had made a mistake, I would have welcomed her with open arms. To have her once again, to hold her ... but she did not come.

I excused myself from Edward’s whist club this evening.

‘What, staying at home to brood?’ he asked.

I denied it, saying that I was in no mood for company and would read a book instead, but I could not concentrate. I could not stop thinking about Anne. She would not have rejected me if she had truly loved me ...

But it was folly to think of her, I told myself. She was shallow. Her heart was not as deep as mine, or she could not have told me to go. I would not regret her. I would learn my lesson. I would avoid the fairer sex. I would win such prizes from the Navy as would set me up for life, and I would have none but the sea as my mistress, for, even with all her moods, she was less capricious than a woman.

I would remain a bachelor for the rest of my days.