Amanda Grange: Captain Wentworth's Diary

Mrs Fenning had hired a harpist and I listened attentively, until the sight of Miss Welling dropping her fan attracted my attention. From her glance in my direction, I suspected the incident was not altogether accidental, and that it had been intended to attract my notice. She was a very pretty young woman, as my brother had said, with soft fair hair and a most engaging figure, and I looked forward to speaking to her after the music was finished.

I was not disappointed, and we engaged in an agreeable flirtation before the evening came to an end.

The worthies of the neighbourhood were all at church today, with Sir Walter paying a great deal of attention to Miss Cordingale, much to Miss Poole’s chagrin. However, as Miss Cordingale blushed prettily when Mr Sidders glanced in her direction, and as Mr Sidders is a young man of about her own age, very handsome, and with a large fortune, I fear Sir Walter will have to look elsewhere for a bride. Perhaps Miss Poole will have him yet!

There were some pretty farmers’ daughters in church, and three young ladies whose smiles brightened the morning as I was introduced to them outside, after the service. To my surprise, I found I was enjoying my shore leave even more than my time at sea!

I saw the chestnut this morning and was very taken with it. The price asked was too high, but after some haggling I bought it for a reasonable sum. My brother shook his head, asking what I would do with it when I returned to sea, but nevertheless, he had to admit it was a fine animal.

This evening we attended a private ball at the house of Mr and Mrs Durbeville, a couple of impeccable ancestry and fortune, or so my brother informed me. I found them to be agreeable people, and not above their company, for they welcomed me warmly and hoped I would enjoy the ball.

I recognized a number of people as I walked in. I saw the Pooles, and then my eye fell on one of the pretty young ladies I had met outside the church, Miss Denton, and I led her onto the floor. So well did I like dancing with her, that I asked her for another dance later in the evening. She blushed prettily and expressed herself delighted to accept.

There followed a minuet with Miss Welling, who flirted most agreeably, but alas! the farmers’ daughters were not there, so I had to content myself with Mrs Layne for the next dance. She regaled me with talk of her children, and I believe I managed to sound interested in all their myriad virtues, before the dance was over and I found myself once again standing with my brother at the side of the room.

I soon found my eye drawn to Sir Walter Elliot, who had just arrived, and who was standing next to Mr Poole at the other side of the room. He was marvellously turned out again, his clothes just so, and topped with a handsome head that had been primped and preened by his valet. There was a handsome young lady next to him, and I remarked to my brother: ‘Another of Sir Walter’s amours?’

‘No, that is his daughter, Miss Elliot.’

I could see why she had a reputation for beauty. Her face and figure were both good, and there was something about her carriage that showed she knew her own place in the world. I was much taken with her, and began to cross the room, intending to ask Mr Poole to perform the necessary introduction. As I approached, however, I heard her speaking to her companion, a poor, dowdy creature, in the most slighting way. Her father encouraged her in this behaviour, and it gave me such a disgust of them that I changed the direction of my steps ever so little, and approached the companion instead. A set was forming, and I asked her, ‘Might I have the honour of this dance?’

Sir Walter looked at me as though I had confirmed all his worst suspicions about those beneath the rank of baronet, and his daughter was no more pleased. The companion started, coloured slightly, looked doubtingly at Miss Elliot, and then, with a hesitant ‘Thank you,’ took my arm.

I noticed several surprised glances from those around us as I took her onto the floor.

‘You should not have asked me to dance,’ she said mildly, as we took our places in the set. ‘We have not yet been introduced.’

‘Then why did you accept?’ I asked.

She coloured, and I thought that, although she did not have Miss Elliot’s striking beauty, she was extremely pretty, with her delicate features and dark eyes.

‘I hardly know, unless it is because I have so few opportunities to dance that I cannot afford to ignore one,’ she said.

I was about to feel sorry for her, when a spark in her eye showed me that her words, although no doubt true, were uttered with a spirit of mischief, and I found myself growing more pleased with my choice of partner.

‘You should not allow your mistress to dictate to you. Even a companion has a right to some entertainment once in a while,’ I said, as we began to dance.

Her eyes widened, then she said, ‘What makes you think I am Miss Elliot’s companion?’

‘I have not been at sea so long that I have forgotten how to detect a difference in rank,’ I said. ‘Even to my unpractised eye it is obvious. Your dress, whilst well cut, is not as elegant as Miss Elliot’s. You do not have her confidence or her air, and she speaks to you as though you are beneath her notice. Her father supports her in this, and encourages her to slight you. And then there is the fact that, as we walked onto the floor, you did not receive the deference from others that is her lot, indeed, they looked surprised to see that you had been chosen. You also have a shy and retiring disposition, suited to your role in life. But never fear,’ I went on kindly, ‘you are no doubt far more interesting than the beautiful Miss Elliot, for all she is the daughter of a baronet. And now, let us have done with Miss Elliot, I would rather talk of you. Have you lived in the neighbourhood for long?’

‘I have lived here all my life,’ she replied gravely.

‘That is a mercy. At least you have not been separated from your friends and family, in keeping with the cruel fate of most of your kind. Your mother and father are pleased to see you so well settled, I suppose?’

There was a small silence, and then she said: ‘My mother is dead.’

I cursed myself for my rough manners.

‘Forgive me. I have been a long time at sea, and I have forgotten how to behave in company. I have presumed too much on our short acquaintance, but please believe me when I say that I did not mean to distress you. Do you enjoy balls?’ I asked her, thinking that this would be a safe topic of conversation.

‘I like them very well. But you do not need to change the subject, and you must not worry that you have wounded me. My mother has been dead these five years. I miss her, but I have grown used to the pain.’

I was relieved, for I did not want to wound so delicate a creature.

‘And is your father living?’ I asked her, hoping that she was not an orphan, for then her lot in life would be hard indeed.

‘He is.’

‘That is a blessing. He is pleased to see you living at Kellynch Hall, I suppose?’ I asked.

‘Certainly. He regards it as the finest house in the neighbourhood.’

‘And he approves of the Elliots? He shares Sir Walter Elliot’s opinions and beliefs?’

‘I believe I may safely say that their thoughts coincide in every particular,’ she said.

Poor girl, I thought, if her father is another such a one as Sir Walter, but I did not say it. Instead, I asked her to tell me something of my new neighbours, in order to put her at her ease.

‘The lady to your left is Miss Scott,’ she said, indicating an elderly spinster of a timid disposition. ‘She is easily alarmed, and it is better not to speak to her about the war, for she lives in fear of the French invading England. Her sister sends her newspapers every month, telling her of some new threat, and I believe she will not rest easy until peace has been declared. Opposite is Mr Denton; he lives at Harton House. Next to him is Mrs Musgrove, and beyond her is Miss Neville.’