Duchess of the Shire

Before I twitter on about the latest occurrences in my life, it has come to my attention that the Shire is taking part in some lurid competition with the rest of England to portray the smuttiest inhabitants! I have no want nor need to know any more, but there is a tinkling of interest to find out whether or not anyone I know shall take part... Yes, I can admit here that I am a little disappointed (which is too strong a word) to have vacated the area in time, but no doubt it is for the best. That sort of pressure never works well with the messes I get myself into!

Bohemia is far from experiencing the same sort of sordid escapades that I revelled in during my time in the Shire; I am enjoying the time to relax and learn of cultures different to my own, and it is most pleasurable to now have someone to show me everything before me that I did not see.

The 'most courteous servant' has dropped the act at long last and rightfully acknowledged his ancestry and graciously whispered his name, 'the Duke of Albany' in my ear. I dare not mention the tingles that crept up my spine as I felt his breath on my neck, but though it seemed his intentions were obvious, a volatile friendship has arisen. 

I am doing my utmost to smother the regret that I can taste, because while I do value the Duke's friendship, his arrogance is sickening, his intelligence is frustrating and his knowledge of me is slightly disconcerting. We fight every other time we meet, Jeeves accompanying me on every occasion, and yet on days when I am escorted by some other member of the Bohemian court I cannot help but long for the Duke's patronising comments. God forbid he ever finds out; I would never hear the end of it!

Prague again for the weekend as the nights draw colder and winter whistles at our heels. I know the Duke of Albany shall be there. And I hate that this excites me somewhat.



D. S.