July 18, 2013

Dearest Diary,

It has been well beyond a fortnight since our last encounter. I have spent the chief of my days doing the sorts of activities one is prone to do when on holiday in the summer. The peninsula has given way to great rainstorms and therefore my visits to the coastal regions have been few. I have not had the leisure to travel as one ought, nor have I entertained many visitors. I can attest to reading literature, pruning gardens, taking carriage rides through the countryside, and giving the occasional music lesson.

I have desired to give advice to those in authority regarding certain organizations, but I have neglected to do so fearing my warnings would be ill-received. And yet I am admittedly most discouraged by what has recently transpired. It is no secret that I have yet to find the particular person for which this Diary exists. But it is perhaps less known that I have ceased looking for him. You might have perceived that, given my absence, dear Diary. I have determined that it is not within my power to discover him, for I have run out of places to look. I am at present relying heavily on faith alone. I am aware that he might arise through a mutual acquaintance, a chance meeting in the markets, or any manner that gentlemen are introduced to ladies. However, to rely on my own occupation or congregation, is becoming less profitable in such an account as the months pass. In effort to build friendships among others of my status, the local Parrish has elected to establish a social event not too unlike a ball. Contrary to such, however we shall be separated, the gentlemen from the ladies, in effort that no introductions shall be a distraction to either party. What a peculiar manner of engagement, indeed! I have lost all hope in their methods.

I do not mention it that I might be pitied, old friend, but as a mere statement of fact. I can do no more to improve the situation, if I should even believe my situation needs improvement. I endeavour to declare that there are a great many women who run their own households without the aid of an husband, and they live on quite happily. On the contrary, I at once wish to deny it for fear I might be one of them. The sum of it is, dear Diary, that I cannot be sure of whence to go from here. I have done all that I might in locating him, and I can henceforth see no advantage to the search. I have only to state that I remain here, at Ashford and otherwise, awaiting his appearance. I do not expect his arrival on the morrow.