Courting has officially begun. Throughout this week the men of the house have been out doing much business as we women are stuck at home. It aggravates me that we are stuck within the home, expected to keep silent and do our needlework. Men are treated as inferior and more important than women when in reality their whole world would fall into chaos and madness without us. We may be able to produce children, but that does not mean that we are but only reproduction machines, designed to keep the men happy and satisfied. Some women may be content with corsetting their figure in order to please the men in their life, but I'm not. It should go both ways, for both men and women.
The reality of the supposed importance of men has never felt more obvious in my life before this week. The men hustle and bustle all around, taking care of life outside of the home while us women stay inside and get ourselves ready for the first ball- the Ball of High Spirits.
It takes a few good weeks, and sometimes even months, to get such a large party ready, so being here for the last week has been quite the experience. They've been planning for months, even sectioning off parts of the house which are completely ready to be used, if only they were heated up a bit.
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I have just returned from haven snuck into the largest ballroom in all of the house, and I can tell with absolute certainty that tonight will be quite a glamorous occasion. I do hope, with almost absolute certainty, that I shall not be forced into the accompany of Sir Walter Radcliffe. He's a quite man, most of the time, and I am sorry to say that it bores me. I want a life of excitement. I want a romance which fills with passion every time I even think about my love, but, alas, I feel but a small spark whenever I see him. I see the possibilities, to be sure, but that doesn't mean that he will give me the life that I want.
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What a tiring night it has been. I almost feel as though I may faint from the exercise, but I know I must write the details of the night down before I rest my head and forget my thoughts. However tedious it may be, I must remember this night.
It all began in the evening. I wore one of my finest gowns- light lilac silk, black details, and I had a fan to match. It felt strange, I'll admit, but I also felt beautiful. My feelings were confirmed when I got many compliments by the other women at the ball, and even some gentlemen were brave enough to speak about my beauty. I'll admit, I felt rather beautiful and having it be confirmed by so many people filled me with joy.
I sat with my aunt, as usual, and watched as joy, drinks, and laughter were spread all around within a sea of people. I was starting to gather rather lonesome when Richard, the vile young man I had spoken to you of, asked me to dance with him. It seemed as though he had been forced to ask me by his mother, which was the worst compliment I had gotten that evening.
I accepted, of course. It is a custom for a young lady in a situation of court to never turn down a dance offered by a respectable gentleman. If I had denied it, my aunt would have disapproved greatly. We danced a Fox Trot and I remember him being very cold and stiff- definitely not a charmer.
We didn't speak a single word to each other the whole dance. If anything, it was a waste of my time and company. I thanked him, as per custom, and quickly went back to my seat. I watched dance after dance go by, and I could feel other's stares and began to hear their whispers well.
"My, how lonely young Jane looks over there."
"It's such a shame her mother isn't here to guide her."
"I heard she took care of servant duties while the servant went through childbirth- how odd!"
It was idiotic gossip and I had quickly grown sick of it. I wished for someone, anyone, to sweep me off of my feet and take me away from the stares and judgment. I found myself thinking of Thomas and of how we danced that night. Truth be told, my original reason for going up to the graveyard was to speak to my mother. She's buried up there, and I often visit her. Before that night I had always felt as though someone was looking upon me, but I had always been so sure that it was my mother looking down at me in protection, but now I'm beginning to think that it could've been Thomas all along.
YOU ARE READING
The Secret Diary of Jane Elliot
RomanceJane Elliot was the young daughter of a wealthy gentleman in Victorian era England. In 1851 she began to write a secret diary. A diary that has survived to this very day. She was married to a man she did not love, she got sent to an asylum, fe...
