Captain Wentworth's Diary Page 9

  I walked towards her, quickening my step, until I was almost running. She sprang to meet me and then we stopped, inches apart, and looked at each other as though we could never get our fill.

  She spoke.

  I interrupted.

  ‘I can be silent no longer,’ I burst out. ‘I have watched you these many weeks . . . I have talked to you . . . danced with you . . . been enraptured by you . . . I cannot go on without knowing . . . Anne, my dearest Anne . . . I am in love with you’—and here I took her hands—‘please tell me, put me out of my misery, are you in love with me, too?’

  She blushed, looked down, murmured something I could not hear, looked up, and pierced me with such a glance that my heart stopped beating. I stepped back the better to see her, then caught her hands and raised them to my lips, and thought that a happier man had never walked the earth.

  ‘Anne,’ I said, ‘will you be my wife?’

  She smiled. She blushed.

  ‘Yes, Frederick,’ she said.

  Yes, Frederick! Never had two words sounded better to me.

  ‘When I go to sea, will you come with me? Should you like that, Anne?’

  ‘Yes, I think I should like it very much. You have told me so much about your life that I am longing to see it for myself.’

  ‘The wonders I can show you!’ I said, anticipating the pleasures she would experience; imagining the adventure, the excitement, and the newness of it for her, who had never been beyond her own shores. ‘The ever-changing moods of the sea, its mountains and valleys, its smooth, glasslike plains. And the ports you will discover. The colours, Anne! The vibrant reds and blues and greens, not the dull colours of an English summer, beneath an English sky, but the brilliance of the Mediterranean and the clear light of the Indies.’

  ‘I am longing to see it all,’ she said with enthusiasm. ‘I will be as well travelled as your sister before many more years have passed.’

  ‘Indeed you will. The stories you will have to tell when you return!’

  She was aglow with the sheer excitement of it, asking me how hot it was in the Indies, and whether it ever rained; whether she would understand the people, and whether they would understand her.

  And then we embraced, and walked on . . . I scarcely know what we did . . . where we went . . . what we said . . . I was in a haze.

  The sun climbed in the sky, but still we walked, now talking, now silent, with the world all before us, until at last our steps took us back to Kellynch Hall. The sight of it reminded me of the formality yet to be endured, the disdain of Sir Walter, his raised eyebrows, his cold glance, but they were all a small price to pay for winning Anne’s hand.

  ‘I must speak to your father,’ I said. ‘I will speak to him at once.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘You are too late. He has gone to visit a friend for a week, and,’ glancing at the sun, which was now high in the sky, ‘he will already have left.’

  I was not to be disheartened.

  ‘No matter, I will speak to him as soon as he returns.’

  ‘Until then, we will have to be circumspect in company,’ she reminded me.

  I agreed. I longed to publish my prosperous love, but the matter could not be spoken of in company until Sir Walter had given his consent.

  ‘But what does it matter?’ I said to her. ‘For we can meet every morning by the river, and we know, dear Anne, that we are engaged.’

  We walked on together as the sun climbed towards midday and it became hot, in the joyous manner of an English summer, until at last she said, ‘I must go in.’

  ‘Stay awhile.’

  ‘It will soon be time for luncheon, and Elizabeth will be wondering where I am. If I do not go now, she will send a maid to find me, and then she will ask me where I have been.’

  Reluctantly I agreed.

  She turned to go; I pulled her back; we embraced; she turned again. I let her go, but I looked forward to the day when we would never be parted.

  I watched her as she walked back to the hall, her muslin gown fresh and pretty in the morning light, her shawl slipping from her shoulder and falling into the crook of her arm, her hair curling in the nape of her neck, and then she disappeared from view.

  I stood watching the spot, and then I roused myself and returned to my brother’s house, full of high spirits. I could say nothing of my love to the world at large, not yet, but I could tell my brother.

  He was not at home, and did not return until half past twelve. By that time I was bursting with the news and poured it out almost as soon as he entered the house.

  ‘I have asked Anne to marry me, and she has said yes!’ I told him.

  ‘You ought to let a man have his luncheon before springing that sort of thing on him,’ he complained, going through into the parlour.

  ‘Are you not going to congratulate me?’ I asked him, though I was so happy I scarcely cared.

  ‘Has her father approved?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then I will defer my congratulations until he does. Have you eaten?’

  ‘What care I for food?’ I said.

  ‘If you are going to see Sir Walter, you had better care for it. You cannot go to see him on an empty stomach.’

  ‘As he is away until Friday, I scarcely think it matters. Food taken now will not last until then, so I will defer my meal awhile yet. Besides, I cannot eat. I am too happy!’

  He sat down.

  ‘At the very least sit down, you are making me nervous.’ I sat down. I stood up. I paced the room. I laughed. I sat down. I stood up again.

  ‘Lovers!’ said my brother, taking up his newspaper.

  ‘Edward, she is wonderful!’ I said. ‘The most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on—’

  ‘Her sister is far handsomer.’

  ‘And her manners—’

  ‘Are no better than those of any other gently raised female.’

  ‘Her love of books, her musical taste, her knowledge of the world around her, and her thirst for more. Her intelligence would put a schoolmaster to shame—’

  ‘An easy thing to do,’ he declared, ‘for they have not one ounce of sense between them.’

  ‘And her taste . . . we think alike on everything,’ I said, not to be dampened.

  ‘Then I pity you,’ he remarked drily, ‘for you will never have anything to talk about.’

  I laughed at him.

  ‘Never anything to talk about? We never stop talking! Have I not brought you the most wonderful creature for a sister-in-law?’ I asked. ‘The most beautiful, refined, elegant young woman, superior in every way? With such taste and discernment, such ability and sense?’

  ‘You have not brought her to me yet,’ he reminded me.

  But I could tell he was pleased, for he shook his paper three times before turning each page, and that was a sure sign of happiness with him.

  I was in high spirits all day, and in no mood to spend a quiet evening indoors. I went out for a ride, cursing the fact that I had not been invited to the dinner-party that was claiming Anne’s evening, but consoling myself with the fact that I would see her tomorrow.

  Sunday 31 August

  I met Anne by the river this morning, and we spoke at length, our conversation ranging from our neighbours, to books, to our wedding-tour. I would have lingered there all morning, but, reluctantly, we had to part in order to dress for church.

  As I sat in my pew, I could not help imagining the day, not too far distant, when she would stand beside me at the altar and become my wife. It was a very pleasant daydream, and it helped to pass the time during the long and tedious service.

  Why my brother chose to lecture his flock at such length on such a beautiful day I do not know, for I was longing to be out of doors. I was sure the rest of the congregation shared my feelings, for I had never heard so much shuffling and coughing in all my life!

  Edward ignored them and did not let us go until he had spoken for an hour. He ended with a stern warning agains
t trespassing and the stealing of apples, no doubt with a view to making sure his own orchard would be safe this year.

  I was able to speak to Anne outside the church, and after exchanging pleasantries we embarked on a more satisfying conversation. It was cut short by the appearance of Lady Russell, who greeted me coolly and spirited Anne away, but I knew it would not be long before we were acknowledged lovers and could talk to our hearts’ content.

  SEPTEMBER

  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.’