Friday, October 11, 2013

The weekend is nigh and I have but a few hours to make my decision. All week I have been fretting about what course of action to take, and as the sunrise draws nearer I am still no closer to making a decision.

Secretly I long to meet this courtier, I want to know exactly who I am dealing with, but I feel that not only does he have the upper hand, but the whole body and soul to his advantage. No doubt it shall be the messenger who will single-handedly deliver me to this 'most courteous servant' and I dread the smirk that shall sit amongst his stubbled chin as I am carted like a peasant through the realm of Bohemia.

I am never summoned. I am invited (and I know the catalyst to this whole fiasco was an invitation) but my hand is never forced to make a decision. I am a Duchess and I do not care for some foreign courtier to treat me like anything lesser. This is my main argument against appearing later today. It is all very romantic to be whisked away by an anonymous suitor if that is what you want. To be ordered around after insults that I refuse to repeat is not only beneath me as a Duchess, but beneath any woman. It is my pride that I am finding more difficult to quell than my curiosity...

Later

I packed a suitcase and was prepared to leave. But now it seems I keep finding excuses to stay. My servants have asked what time will the messenger be arriving to take me to the Ball, and Jeeves has questioned whether or not I will be returning home this weekend (and even more quietly he whispered if I wanted accompanying).

Butterflies are making appearances in my stomach and I cannot for the life of me keep still and concentrate on anything else. I feel foolhardy and naive, I have no expectations, yet I do keep rehearsing an indignant speech in my head. The messenger should arrive this evening, so I have nothing more to do than wait.

A lack of patience is another one of my flaws to add to the list.



D. S.