Amanda Grange: Captain Wentworth's Diary

I overcame my disappointment, however, and passed the first two dances pleasantly enough by dancing with Miss Riversage. Her wit made her an agreeable partner to begin with, but it descended into spite before the dance was over, and I was glad to lead her from the floor.

Miss Welling caught my eye, and I could not resist the unspoken invitation. Her elegant figure made her an agreeable partner, and her dancing did not disgrace me. On the contrary, not a few eyes followed us down the room. She had a great deal of charm as well as beauty, and entertained me with talk of art and books. I was about to continue our conversation at the side of the room, but her mother’s speculative eyes upon me showed me that I was in some danger of being regarded as a suitor, and that was something I did not want. So, after thanking her for the pleasure of dancing with her, I beat a hasty retreat.

‘What! Are you afraid of Mrs Welling?’ asked Edward, much amused at my sudden appearance by his side.

‘She has a calculating look in her eye. I went into the Navy of my own free will, and I have no intention of allowing myself to be press-ganged into marriage,’ I returned.

The next two dances I danced with Miss Bradley, whose company was all the more agreeable to me when I learned that she was all but engaged, and then I retired to the side of the room. As I took a drink from the tray of a passing footman, I found myself at the edge of two groups, and I could not help overhearing both conversations.

‘... he is the best son a mother ever had. Ay, my Dick is a handsome lad, and as good as you could wish for,’ said a proud woman of middle age, who was standing to my right.

A gentleman to my left was not so fortunate in his offspring.

‘... the boy’s always in trouble,’ I heard him grumble. ‘If it is not one thing, it is another ...’

‘... not that he is perfect,’ continued the fond mother. ‘I would not wish any mother a perfect son. He is not above a bit of mischief, but that is all it is, and what I say is, a boy isn’t a boy if he doesn’t get into mischief now and again ...’

‘... his mother is far too complacent, she refuses to see that the boy is getting out of hand and needs discipline. It is all very well sending him to school, but when he is at home in the holidays he is getting beyond control. I am all for sending him into the Army, or better yet, the Navy. That will stop him trespassing on other people’s property ...’

‘... he can climb any wall, no matter how high. A boy should be able to climb, and he’s so good at it, he never takes a tumble, but his father is always complaining ...’

‘... going into our neighbours’ gardens and stealing apples ...’

‘... never takes anything from the tree, of course, it’s nothing but windfalls, but his father will make a fuss ...’ she said.

‘... fighting with the other boys ...’ remarked the father.

‘... very good at his boxing, I do think it is so important for a boy to know the gentlemanly arts. Ah, yes, my Dick’s a good boy ...’

‘... and I intend to pack Dick off to the Army or Navy before the year is out, whether his mother likes it or not ...’

I began to laugh as I realized that the two sons were the same, viewed from a mother’s and a father’s point of view. I hoped Master Dick would not find himself in the Navy, where he would no doubt plague his captain—though if he was good at climbing he might, perhaps, be useful in the rigging!

I was about to return my empty glass to a passing footman when I caught sight of something much more interesting out of the corner of my eye: Miss Anne Elliot. She was being ignored by her father and sister, who were congratulating each other on their looks, and was standing quietly by their sides.

I went over to her.

‘Something has amused you,’ she said, when I had made my bow.

I told her about the excellent and troublesome son, and she told me that the happy couple was Mr and Mrs Musgrove, who lived in the Great House at Uppercross, and were newly returned from Clifton. She further enlightened me that Dick was the boy who had trespassed on my brother’s property a few weeks ago.

‘I had no idea this was such a place for criminal activity. You must tell me more about it whilst we dance, for I need to be prepared,’ I said.

‘You have not asked me yet,’ she returned.

‘Would you do me the honour?’ I asked her.

‘Thank you,’ she said, making me a curtsey, and we went onto the floor in high spirits.

I danced two dances with her, and found that we drew many eyes, some curious, some pleased, and some—those of Sir Walter and Miss Elliot—contemptuous. Anne took no notice of them, however, for she never faltered, and I found her company as well as her dancing exhilarating. We never stopped talking, about art, about music, about her work in the parish and my life at sea.

I was forced to relinquish her hand to a lawyer, a dull fellow, when our dance was over, and then she danced with a baronet. I was far less pleased with this partner for her, and I found it hard to take my eyes from them.

‘You had better look elsewhere,’ said my brother, coming up to me. ‘Your attentions are starting to be marked.’

‘I may look at the dancers, I suppose. It is only what everyone else does.’

‘The dancers, yes, if it is all of them, but you do nothing but look at Miss Anne—and scowl at her partners, I might add.’

‘I do nothing of the sort.’ I tried to turn my eyes away from them, but found it impossible. ‘Who is he?’ I asked.

‘Sir Matthew Cruickshank. He is visiting relatives in the neighbourhood.’

‘So he is not resident here?’

‘No, he resides in Gloucestershire. He will be returning tomorrow.’

‘He looks a very agreeable man,’ I said, in high humour at the knowledge that he would soon be leaving, particularly as it was evident that he and Anne had exhausted their supply of pleasantries, and had nothing further to say to each other.

‘Will you be taking her in to supper?’ asked Edward.

‘Of course.’

‘Then make sure you talk to your neighbour at the other side of you as well,’ he cautioned. ‘You do not want to draw attention to yourself, or to her.’

‘I hope I know how to behave.’

‘So do I,’ he remarked, and was then claimed by Mr Cox, who wished to introduce him to a young lady visiting relatives in the neighbourhood.

As I approached Miss Anne, I was gratified to see an increase in her animation as she saw me walking towards her, and to know that she wanted to go in to supper with me, as much as I with her.

I remembered my brother’s words, and I engaged my neighbours in conversation, which was not difficult as the subject under discussion was a general one, that of Napoleon.

‘There will be no easy victory, I fear,’ said Miss Anne.

‘On the contrary, the war will be over by Christmas,’ asserted Sir Walter, showing no compunction in silencing her in front of the assembled company. I saw her flush, and I felt I would like to have Sir Walter on my ship for a few weeks, to show him the meaning of hard work and the value of respect.

As that was impossible, I came to Anne’s defence, saying, ‘I hope it may be so, but Napoleon is not the type of man to surrender, and his influence is spread so wide, that I believe the war will last for at least the next few years.’

She flashed me a smile of thanks, which more than recompensed me.

Sir Walter, however, was not pleased to be contradicted.

‘Depend upon it, he will be defeated by Christmas,’ he said, more firmly than before.

‘Oh, yes, by Christmas,’ said Miss Poole, nodding vigorously. ‘You are so right, Sir Walter, I am sure it must be so. With our splendid officers fighting against him, it cannot be long before he sues for peace.’