Jane Austen has ruined me forever. Never will any man’s romantic addresses be enough. Not now that they have to measure up to Captain Wentworth…
I have just finished re-reading Persuasion, my favourite Jane Austen novel. I LOVE the book and also thoroughly enjoy the most recent film version, not least because of the beautiful presence of Rupert Penry-Jones of Spooks fame. Jen’s frequent advice to me on bad days is to “go and watch Rupert look smouldering in a cravat”. Good advice, sure to brighten the darkest of days.
But ohmygoodness, does a man like Captain Wentworth exist? Because the man who wrote me this letter would surly not have to do another worthy thing in his whole life, so amazing is it. Exaggerate? Me? Well, only just…
I can no longer listen in silence… You pierce my soul. I am half in agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you… For you alone I think and plan – have you not seen this?
Oh bliss.
