Monday 21st April 1808

Dear Diary,
I awoke this morning feeling bolder than I have in recent weeks. I know not why. Perhaps the promise of spring has pervaded my being and there is hope of happiness to come. I declined the mushroom omlette and partook of a warm buttered muffin with my tea. On my way out to take air I encountered a brazen fellow wandering up the lane with a bunch of withered tulips. He asked if he was approaching Thrushcock Grange and I affirmed he was. He said he was to deliver the flowers there forthwith. I asked who had sent him and he said he had no knowledge of the sender and that he was just hired for the presentation. I said that I would deliver them myself if he would be so kind as to hand them over. I had no intention of handing one of my sisters a bouquet of dead flowers. Imagine their consternation! The fellow happily agreed, presented me with the tulips and turned away.
"Pray tell, to whom should I deliver them?" I called after him.
" Mr Austen," he replied, "Mr Wayne Austen."