Monday 12th November 1807

Dear Diary,
Such a frost, there was this morning. I dressed in haste and ventured out and into the woods for a brisk and refreshing walk. I was grateful on my return to come upon Jane seated by the brook and she allowed me to warm my chilled hands in her muff. As we approached the Grange, we espied Mr Scrote, a determined suitor of Jane's, being lifted from his carriage. We could hear the scrape of his wooden leg as he limped towards the front door. When he dropped his ear trumpet on the first step, Jane lifted her skirts and ran back into the woods. It was left to me to convey her apologies to Mr Scrote. He understood what I was trying to say at the third attempt and I helped him back to his carriage. Disaster was averted by his vigilant coachman when the horse was startled by Mr Scrote breaking wind as I pushed him up the last step. The carriage jolted and Mr Scrote fell forward onto the carriage floor. I hastily shut the door and winked the coachman off. I am optimistic that the morrow shall be less fraught and more fragrant.