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
‘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
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