The Secret Diary of Jane Elliot

Late Night Thoughts - 11th of May 1851

The rain dropping down onto the dark red roses outside of my bedroom window was a strangely peaceful sight. I could not sleep, and the black sky seemed to cry endlessly. The only light I could see was from the candle beside me, illuminating the reflection of myself looking back at me in the glass pane of the window. Plain features, wavy dark blonde hair, and dark green eyes looked back at me with it's usual, plain expression. I could see no obvious beauty within my dark features, and it was obvious that none could. I'm just plain Jane.

My mind was restless from what I knew would soon happen; my father would force me to accept a proposal from a man I would not love. I know that it is selfish to demand romance and happiness in a marriage, but I can not help it. As I stared out into the night I knew that my date of birth, seventeen years ago, was on this very night. The stars were aligned in the same place, and the moon was full and bright. 

I will soon be presented at court where I will be greeted by sweaty, middle-aged men that had wasted away their attractive younger years on brothels and gambling, and now wished a young wife to pleasure them and provide them with a legal heir to their estate. As much as I despise a woman's role in society I fear my voice would not be heard if I spoke out. Perhaps in a few decades, things will be different; women will become independent and equal to men, but the decade I live in now does not share those thoughts of equality. I find it peculiar I seem to be the only woman who dares think these things- maybe everyone else is too scared to speak out, just like I.

As it is past midnight now I think it wise to call this a new day; yesterday had no exciting events and I would therefore only write down things that wouldn't be of interest to anyone. This night has been restless and my mind has been unfocused with my feelings and thoughts of dread of being presented at court. I have had my father's friends comment on my, apparent, lovely nature and virtue which they find so pleasing, much to my surprise and slight dismay. Four years ago I had overheard a conversation happen between my father and his friend, Willoughby Radcliffe.

"Your daughter, my dear friend, is as lovely as a lily." I heard Sir Radcliffe speak as I walked down the hallway, and I stopped in a place hidden from their sights to listen; my curiosity overtaking me. "Her playing this evening was superb and you should be proud."

"Oh, don't worry, my good friend, I am." My father boasted, causing me to smile, although what they began speaking about next wiped away my small glimpse of bliss.

"It is true, is it not, that in a very few years time she shall be presented to court?"

"Yes, that is the truth. Why do you ask, sir?"

"As you know, I have no wife and no children. Your daughter--" My father interrupted him, much to my relief. I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to bear what Sir Radcliffe would have said about me next.

"--is thirteen years old, Sir Radcliffe, and you are thirty-four. You can hardly expect her to give you children when she is still so young." What my father said was true and I could hear in his voice that he wasn't too keen on the idea of marrying me off so young, which I was incredibly grateful for. My father has always been kind to me, even if he does have a temper which can sometimes spiral out of control.

"I never meant that I would marry her so young," My breath hitched at his next statement, "I was merely asking about whether or not you would allow me to marry her after I have successfully wooed her over, but that shall only be done when the time is right."

"When the time is right, like you say, I shall consider it."

And with that I quickly walked away. Willoughby Radcliffe had been a handsome man in his younger years; with raven black hair, striking blue eyes, and a strong figure. He was the admiration of many women, as I had heard gossip being spoken about him at one of my father's parties. But, over the years his appearance had rotted away along with his charm. He was now a middle-aged man who depended on his fortune to secure future friends and wife. His fortune was large, that was sure, and it was secured with the death of all of his superior male relatives. I have never felt a particular fondness towards Sir Radcliffe, but it seemed that he felt differently about me.

I sincerely hope that father will forget about my birthday this year, as he has done quite a bit over the last few years since the only thing that it reminds him off was my mother, which he does not like to talk about. My mother died on the same day that I was born, so I am often called the reason for her death. Does it make me a terrible daughter for not missing my mother? I'm sure it does, but the reality is that I never knew her. I fear that may blacken my soul, and I hope God will forgive me when I've passed through the grave.

For now, this shall have to do for my first ever diary entry. You shall be a secret, dear diary. My companion whom I can tell all my thoughts and feelings to. I am sure you shall keep silent, and because of this I am entitled to trust you. This is a rare thing, and you should be flattered. You are my secret friend, and I intend to keep it that way.