When I returned to Monkford I had luncheon with my brother and I told him about the horse.

‘And can you afford it?’ he asked.

‘Of course I can. I have my prize money. I can afford ten such horses,’ I told him.

‘You do not think it too extravagant?’

‘What is money for, if not to spend and enjoy?’

‘To give to the poor,’ he said, taking another glass of wine.

‘It is a wonder to me how our mother could have had two such different sons!’ I exclaimed. ‘But to please you, brother, I will make a contribution to the poor-box. Are you satisfied?’

‘For the time being,’ he said.

After our meal, I explored the countryside whilst he attended to his duties in the parish. We met again in the evening and prepared to attend the party at the Honourable Mrs Fenning’s.

‘A new suit of clothes?’ he asked, as he cast his eye over me from head to foot when I joined him downstairs. ‘No, do not tell me,’ he said, as I opened my mouth. ‘Prize money!’

‘It is there for the taking, if a man has courage to fight for it. There are French ships just waiting to be captured, and as soon as I have my own vessel, I mean to take a dozen!’

‘You will need a steady supply if you continue to spend your money as quickly as you make it.’

I laughed at him and his caution and clapped him on the back, and told him to join the Navy and sail the seas with me. He returned with a desire that I would remain ashore and give myself to the church, and we set out for the party in perfect amity.

The Honourable Mrs Fenning’s house was a large mansion on the outskirts of Monkford, not as grand as the mansion house at Uppercross, but impressive nonetheless. I looked about me as I went in, thinking that I would like to buy something similar when I had taken a few more French ships. Mrs Fenning welcomed us cordially, and my brother and I went into the ballroom. I glanced around, and saw that there were already a number of people there.

‘And who are all these people?’ I asked my brother, then said: ‘No, let me guess.’ My eyes alighted on a good-looking man of perhaps forty or forty-five years of age. His hair was swept back in the latest fashion and he was dressed with the greatest style. ‘That must be Sir Walter Elliot,’ I said. ‘And the gentleman next to him is ... ?’

‘Mr Poole, with his daughter, Miss Poole.’ Miss Poole was a plain lady of indeterminate age. ‘And the young lady next to Sir Walter—’

‘Is his daughter Elizabeth,’ I said. ‘You are right, brother, she is very handsome.’

Edward was uncomfortable, and said with an embarrassed laugh, ‘That is not Miss Elliot. Sir Walter’s daughters are not here tonight, they are indisposed. A soaking at a picnic has given them a chill. No, the lady next to him is Miss Cordingale. We all thought he would marry Lady Russell when his wife died, for Lady Russell is a widow, they are old friends and they are of an age, but—’

‘Sir Walter, like many men before him, wanted a younger wife. It is the way of the world,’ I said.

Mr Poole stepped forward and spoke to my brother, then greeted me. We exchanged pleasantries, then he introduced me to Sir Walter.

Sir Walter looked at me with a critical eye.

‘You have just won your promotion, I am told,’ he said, in a stately manner. ‘I must congratulate you ...’ I was about to say that it was nothing, that I had only done what any sailor would do, and that I was proud to serve my country, when he continued: ‘... you have kept your complexion remarkably well. There are signs of leatheriness, of course, but it is not yet ruined. It will soon be destroyed, however, for an outdoor life is, above all things, an enemy to the skin. I would advise you to wear a hat, sir, and a veil, when in sunny climes.’

‘Thank you, but I believe I must carry on without them, for there is no time to think about veils in the heat of battle. There is a ship to be manoeuvred and an enemy to subdue.’

‘A sad comment on the preoccupations of the naval man,’ he said. ‘With a tolerable figure, the uniform is not unbecoming, but a ruddy complexion ruins all.’

‘But think of what good work the Navy does in protecting us!’ said Mr Poole, turning to me apologetically. ‘Without such courageous men, we would have been overrun by Napoleon long ago.’

‘So the newspapers would have us believe, but who writes them? Gentlemen? I think not,’ said Sir Walter. ‘There is not a single man of note amongst such scribblers.’

‘So there is not,’ said Miss Poole, much struck. ‘You are right, Sir Walter, there is not a one.’

‘Believe me, Mr Poole, it will take more than a French rabble to overrun England. One Englishman is worth ten Frenchmen,’ said Sir Walter.

‘Ordinarily, perhaps, but under the guidance of Napoleon Bonaparte, who knows? He seems intent on subduing Europe, and so far, he is succeeding. The man is a monster!’ Mr Poole was brave enough to remark.

‘How can one expect otherwise, when his father is a lawyer?’ returned Sir Walter, not to be outdone. ‘It is not to be supposed that he would act with propriety. On the contrary, he was destined from an early age to run contrary to everything that is decent and good.’

Miss Poole bobbed and smiled at Sir Walter’s side in silent flattery, mutely agreeing with every word, whilst Mr Poole looked as though he was about to speak and then thought better of it.

‘Nevertheless he has managed to make himself emperor,’ I remarked.

‘Any man may make himself an emperor, but an emperor is not a king. It takes centuries of breeding to make a king,’ returned Sir Walter.

‘And to make a baronet!’ remarked Miss Poole breathlessly.

Sir Walter rewarded this perspicacious remark with a regal smile, and I made my bow and moved on, glad to leave Sir Walter behind.

I was introduced to a succession of other guests, amongst whom were Mr Shepherd, a local lawyer, and his daughter; Mrs Layne; and Mr Denton. Then I took my place, for the music was about to begin.

Mrs Fenning had hired a harpist and I listened attentively, until the sight of Miss Welling dropping her fan attracted my attention. From her glance in my direction, I suspected the incident was not altogether accidental, and that it had been intended to attract my notice. She was a very pretty young woman, as my brother had said, with soft fair hair and a most engaging figure, and I looked forward to speaking to her after the music was finished.

I was not disappointed, and we engaged in an agreeable flirtation before the evening came to an end.

Sunday 8 June

The worthies of the neighbourhood were all at church today, with Sir Walter paying a great deal of attention to Miss Cordingale, much to Miss Poole’s chagrin. However, as Miss Cordingale blushed prettily when Mr Sidders glanced in her direction, and as Mr Sidders is a young man of about her own age, very handsome, and with a large fortune, I fear Sir Walter will have to look elsewhere for a bride. Perhaps Miss Poole will have him yet!

There were some pretty farmers’ daughters in church, and three young ladies whose smiles brightened the morning as I was introduced to them outside, after the service. To my surprise, I found I was enjoying my shore leave even more than my time at sea!

Monday 9 June

I saw the chestnut this morning and was very taken with it. The price asked was too high, but after some haggling I bought it for a reasonable sum. My brother shook his head, asking what I would do with it when I returned to sea, but nevertheless, he had to admit it was a fine animal.

This evening we attended a private ball at the house of Mr and Mrs Durbeville, a couple of impeccable ancestry and fortune, or so my brother informed me. I found them to be agreeable people, and not above their company, for they welcomed me warmly and hoped I would enjoy the ball.

I recognized a number of people as I walked in. I saw the Pooles, and then my eye fell on one of the pretty young ladies I had met outside the church, Miss Denton, and I led her onto the floor. So well did I like dancing with her, that I asked her for another dance later in the evening. She blushed prettily and expressed herself delighted to accept.

There followed a minuet with Miss Welling, who flirted most agreeably, but alas! the farmers’ daughters were not there, so I had to content myself with Mrs Layne for the next dance. She regaled me with talk of her children, and I believe I managed to sound interested in all their myriad virtues, before the dance was over and I found myself once again standing with my brother at the side of the room.

I soon found my eye drawn to Sir Walter Elliot, who had just arrived, and who was standing next to Mr Poole at the other side of the room. He was marvellously turned out again, his clothes just so, and topped with a handsome head that had been primped and preened by his valet. There was a handsome young lady next to him, and I remarked to my brother: ‘Another of Sir Walter’s amours?’

‘No, that is his daughter, Miss Elliot.’

I could see why she had a reputation for beauty. Her face and figure were both good, and there was something about her carriage that showed she knew her own place in the world. I was much taken with her, and began to cross the room, intending to ask Mr Poole to perform the necessary introduction. As I approached, however, I heard her speaking to her companion, a poor, dowdy creature, in the most slighting way. Her father encouraged her in this behaviour, and it gave me such a disgust of them that I changed the direction of my steps ever so little, and approached the companion instead. A set was forming, and I asked her, ‘Might I have the honour of this dance?’