Captain Walter Jennings to Captain Frederick Wentworth:
Dear Wentworth,
Your letter followed me to London, where I am staying with my sister, Mrs. Lacey. I would not be staying long if I had a choice, but she is a widow and not in the best of health. My presence seems to give her solace, so now that I am on land again, I am tethered to Town for a little while, at least.
You remember my telling you about my Aunt Jennings, I am sure … jovial, well-intention, and for your ears alone, rather vulgar. She keeps a good table and is always hospitable, and I expected to spend many a cozy evening in her house whilst I am here. Alas, from what she says in her letters, I think she wants to match me up with some young companion of hers. If she asks, I will tell her that I have no intention of matrimony at present, but I have little faith that such a statement will prevent her efforts in that direction. I have yet to meet this protégé, but it is difficult to think she will be otherwise than pert, over-familiar, and rapacious. I fear my only tactic will be to make myself odious to her. I dare not disgrace my family or the Navy by being a rogue or a scoundrel, so my only course is to be as dull and dreary as possible. With any luck, she will refuse to be in my company ever again.
Will you and your charming wife be in Town at any time in the next while?
Yours, etc,
W. Jennings
Excerpt from a letter from Margaret Dashwood to Marianne Brandon:
My Dear Marianne:
In answer to your enquiry, I have not yet had to meet Mrs. Jennings’ nephew Captain Jennings. However, I fear I will do so tomorrow night. We are dining with Edward’s brother Robert (and Lucy, of course), and I have no doubt this Captain will be one of the party. I am keeping to my plan of being as insufferably dull and uninteresting as I can. If he is the coxcomb I think he must be, he will be affronted by my lack of admiration for him and snub me forever after.
Letter from Mrs. Jennings to Mrs. Dashwood:
My Dear Mrs. Dashwood,
After three weeks of my nephew being in town, I finally brought him and Margaret together when we dined with the Ferrars last night. I thought it would be such a triumph, but—Lord, my dear, you never saw anything so stupid. They just sat there, as solemn as owls, neither one saying a syllable more than they could help. I have no patience for either one of them—so charming as they usually are and then appearing to be wanting both sense and conduct just when I want to them to be at their best. I was never so put out!
Letter from Captain Jennings to Captain Wentworth:
Dear Wentworth,
I am glad to hear you may be in London within the month. I will be happy to meet a friend for dinner instead of relatives!
Aunt Jennings arranged for me to meet with some distant relations, the Ferrars. That is to say, the wife (née Steele) is the relation. I remember a year or two ago that Aunt Jennings was forever mentioning the Steele sisters in her letters, as they came to stay with her in Devonshire then. At any rate, one of the Steele sisters married someone (who is somehow related to Aunt Jennings’ son-in-law, but I became lost during the explanation which featured half-siblings, cousins, a disowning or two, and an imperious old lady).
This someone, a Mr. Robert Ferrars, was tedious company, as he offered long and nonsensical opinions on every subject under the sun. His wife was all smiles and complacency, but with a certain slyness behind the smiles. I could almost see her plotting how making my acquaintance might work to her advantage.
And then, of course, Miss Margaret Dashwood was in attendance at this dinner, too. After Aunt Jennings’ gushings about how charming this young lady is, I was fully prepared to see her smile and blush and flutter her fan at me. While fulsome flattery inflates one’s self-importance, it does get a little tiresome to see the old tricks always appear (the innocent questions about life at sea, the round-eyed wonder at some remark about the war, the slight gasp at the idea that one has actually been in a battle…)
As I say, I was quite prepared to encounter such a female, and to be as dull, stupid, and unattractive as I could be in return. Miss Dashwood was, however, not such a female. In spite of my Aunt Jennings trying repeatedly to make us talk to each other, she asked me no questions and gave me no smiles but perfunctory ones. I cannot say she was rude, precisely, but she seemed to stare vacantly at empty chairs for much of the evening. I am much relieved that I will not be pursued by her, at least. I have great hopes that my Aunt Jennings has given up the idea of us making a match.
Yours, etc,
W. Jennings
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