I FELT as if I had stepped into the part of a character in Pride and Prejudice.

You know that handsome one, played by Colin Firth in the TV drama or Matthew Macfadyen in the Keira Knightley film? Yes you do... the one who made women go weak at the knees whenever they saw him, fanning their delicate, porcelain faces and fluttering their eyelids before going into a swoon as they gasped, "Oh, Mr Darcy!"

Well, it wasn't him.

In fact, I never saw either screen adaptation and it's decades since I struggled through the classic novel but I believe Jane Austen included a scene where a young suitor came to formally ask a stern, upright, doting father for the hand of his daughter (let alone the rest of her).

But - who said the age of romance is dead? - I have been that ever-dreaded dad.

Tom, my daughter Tam's fine boyfriend of many a happy year, made just such a formal approach to me and it started my brain fluttering wildly like the heart of a Miss Bennet in a boudoir.

Tom knew the importance in timing when addressing these important occasions and so he picked his moment with care. In the circumstances, a little Dutch courage can easily be excused, can't it?

Anyway, he was stone-cold sober and behaving most respectably and respectfully when he asked for a moment of my time as we found ourselves alone for a rare moment in our lounge. And I, luckily, was what might be called rather squiffy. I appreciated the kindness in his timing.

I don't think Tom actually quoted Pride and Prejudice when he took me aside for our private word. Well, at least he certainly didn't utter the only line I know from the classic novel which is: "I would be very happy if you'd do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Bennet."

That was lucky because neither of us would be very good at the 18th century minuet and it would have not only have been very bizarre indeed but would have started us, literally, on the wrong foot.

Instead, he said something along the lines of: "I seek your permission to ask for the hand of your daughter in marriage, sir."

(He didn't actually say "sir" but I am sure he would have done if he'd thought of it.) I was, of course, completely thrown and instead of replying in kind, along the lines of "By Gad, sir, that's a devil of an interesting proposition upon which you must be give me a few moments to reflect," I started to stutter.

I recall saying " Um, gulp, absolutely. Totally thrilled but what are you asking me for?

"Shouldn't you be discussing this with Tam?"

And then, with mutual embarrassed laughter - a male bonding experience - he said something about "discussing prospects" before we laughed (manfully, once again) and then strode, with purpose to another room to share the joyous occasion with my wife and Tam who both, curiously, appeared to know more than a little about what was going on.

Tam glowed as she opened the little jewellery case Tom gave her to display a rather engaging engagement ring.

I admire, enormously, the two of them for making the most of the romance of the occasion and regret that when my wife, Frances and I, announced our engagement many moons ago, we, selfishly, just told our parents we were getting married as a fait accompli.

And never thought to involve them in anything other than the finances.

Which reminds me that Tom was right. We should, of course, have gone on to discuss, in private, the matter of prospects.

I didn't need to. He's a doctor and his are excellent.

It might have been awkward if he'd asked me about mine.