I have little to no time to write. I hear my aunt downstairs as she is rushing about, looking for her gloves. Lady Pennyworth is with her, ordering the servants around. In little more than five and ten minutes we are to be greeted by Sir Radcliffe and Mister & Misses Taylor down at the park. This morning I was forced to put on one of my most extravagant outdoor coats and frock, but why I do not know. My corset was laced extraordinarily tight I can barely breathe, but I mustn't fuss. The maid looked stressed and tired as she bustled around, lacing me up and finishing as quickly as she could. In truth, I did feel bothered by this, but, then again, this isn't my home and I can't do much about it.
Ah, but now I must leave. There's no time to write more about the boring subject of corsets, I'm afraid. Wish me luck!
---
My hand is so weak I can barely write, but I know that I must. I'm in a state of shock. I shall start in the beginning-
Our walk in the park was lovely. Mr & Mrs Taylor made jokes and hung onto each other like they couldn't bear to be separated for as much as just a few moments. The two were joyful and in turn so was I. My father seemed satisfied enough as he talked and laughed with his friends, but my aunt seemed anxious, even a bit impatient at times. I did not know why this was, as I just thought that perhaps she wanted to go home as soon as possible for whatever reason, but I soon found out the truth. Sir Radcliffe asked my father for permission to talk to me in private, and instead of my father being able to answer my aunt cut in front of him.
"Well, I suppose--" He began, though his tone was a bit hesitant.
"Of course, sir." Aunt cut in with a smile, "She would be delighted."
No one asked me, of course. But nevertheless, I wanted to know what he wished to speak to me in private about. The rest, I must confess, is quite a blur to me. I remember how he lead me towards a view, and we stood there in silence for what must've seemed like an eternity for both of us. I remember him turning to look at me, his face twisted into an expression of desperation and what looked like frustration. I remember his words clearly.
"Jane, I have something to say. I have no template nor proper words to perform the delicate speech you so desperately seek."
This confused me extremely.
"But, nevertheless, I must let my feelings be known. Though our ages are strikingly different, and manner might seem to be the opposite of each other, I must admit that I have learned to care for you. I have learned to love you. I wish, wholeheartedly, that you will accept my hand in marriage."
After that I felt nothing, and I remember nothing. The next thing I knew I was being brought into the Pennyworth's home. I was being held by Sir Radcliffe. His strong arms held me like I was nothing but air, I could hear nothing but faint ringing in my ears and the muffled screaming of my aunt. I looked up at Sir Radcliffe as he rushed along, running with my up the stairs and into my bedroom. His face fell and came into my focus every few seconds as my eyes began to slip closed again, so I couldn't much realize his expression.
So there it is, dear diary. I lay in my bed now, my body weak and mind confused. I must've fainted. I never faint. Oh, how embarrassing it must've been! Getting an offer of marriage should bring both of us joy, but instead my body must fail me and my soul feels nothing. He wants to marry me. I would become Jane Radcliffe, a sir's wife. I would bare his children and stay inside all day. Will I accept? It would be ridiculous to not. He is a man of good fortune and kind character, but I feel no passion. Will I be satisfied with him as my husband? This must all be so confusing for you, dear dairy. Believe me, I am confused, too.
---
I have rested for a while now, and my strength seems to have come back quite a lot. I tell everyone I'm fine by my aunt insists on a doctor to be called. I've told her that a doctor is expensive and unnecessary, but she ignored me. Sometimes I think she cares for me too much, sometimes I think too little. She's as confusing as Sir Radcliffe. I hear his paces in the hallway- he hasn't stopped for what must be an hour. I do not know his state of mind and manner, but I hope it's one of genuine worry.
---
Elizabeth brought up some broth, as prescribed by the doctor, which tasted more like dirt rather than a herbal root. I inquired after how everyone is, and she told me. Father plays pool downstairs with Sir Pennyworth. My aunt, Lady Pennyworth, and Mr & Mrs Taylor are in the tea parlour, all in a state of gossip. Elizabeth told me of how she had to deliver a message from my father to Sir Radcliffe and she said that he seemed worried. She said that he asked if I had given my answer to his proposal yet, which struck me strangely. Is that only what he cares to know? I don't even know if I should accept him. I hope he doesn't ask for an answer today. I don't think I can give a definitive one.
---
Father still hasn't come to see how I am getting along. I'm honestly not sure if he cares that much. After the broth I've been able to stand up, but not for long. I've been hearing quite a bit of yelling downstairs and, from what I've heard, it seems like someone just got fired and did definitely not like it. I fear it may have been the maid who did my corset this morning. Perhaps that was the reason why the shock of the proposal managed to make my faint. It must've been the corset. I still feel so very ashamed by the whole situation. Oh, and to have to have Sir Radcliffe hold me the entire way home! It must've been such a burden to force on his shoulders. Still, it can't be as bad as the one he has put on mine. Am I to marry him? My family seems to want the connection most dearly, and he in return. But what about me? Am I, the one who must bind myself to him forever, to not be asked of my opinion? I confess, the thought of security and being able to run my own home is tempting, but I do not love him. Can I afford to be romantic and stubborn? What if I never receive another proposal in my life? Then I shall become a burden on my father's already annoyed shoulders and, after my father and aunt's deaths, I will be destitute. Perhaps security over romance will be wiser. Perhaps I shall accept him.
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...
