As I open my eyes with the winter sun streaming on to my face, I can't help but blink at the sunshine as I recall the despicable acts I was party to this time last week. How I wish it were possible to click my fingers and have my body worshipped once again and twisted into almost unimaginable positions, but it seems the Duke of Albany has other ideas.
The week has been rather uneventful; snow has fallen atop the mountains and predictions have been made for the first snows in the cities over the next couple of days. The Duke and I have corresponded every day, and it is not all rainbows and sunshine. We discuss education and the welfare of the masses and how our two different countries choose to look after their own.
He is rather old fashioned in the sense that women in Bohemia are only educated as far as it is deemed necessary to find a husband (or so the men think). But since I have cavorted again with the Sapphic delight from earlier this month and we conversed as well as feasted on each other, I have learnt that women in Bohemia are seriously undervalued. Not only do they run households far larger than I could even conceive, farm land and tithes and serfs are considered a part of a woman's repertoire. Men it seems do all the talking, but are incapable of getting their hands dirty.
Though of course the Duke of Albany refutes this position, and he even teased the notion that I was corrupting the fine young women of Bohemia with my modern views. It is true that I have been ever so fortunate to travel the world with only a small retinue of handmaids and chaperones. I cannot think of another woman who has done so, where as men are able to take a Grande Tour at their leisure, and nobody thinks anything of it.
I have four weeks in Bohemia until I return to the Shire for the Christmas tidings. I have hinted to the Duke that he would be most welcome to visit, but I do not want to give any indications that our lust affair is anything more than that. God forbid notions of love bury their way into our passionate embraces!
I look unruly as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is dishevelled and I need sleep; last night I found it difficult to fall into slumber as my brain played around with the words I have written for myself. Sleep is not what I crave, but as the Duke has once again disappeared, I turn to my musings and continue to write.
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D. S.
The week has been rather uneventful; snow has fallen atop the mountains and predictions have been made for the first snows in the cities over the next couple of days. The Duke and I have corresponded every day, and it is not all rainbows and sunshine. We discuss education and the welfare of the masses and how our two different countries choose to look after their own.
He is rather old fashioned in the sense that women in Bohemia are only educated as far as it is deemed necessary to find a husband (or so the men think). But since I have cavorted again with the Sapphic delight from earlier this month and we conversed as well as feasted on each other, I have learnt that women in Bohemia are seriously undervalued. Not only do they run households far larger than I could even conceive, farm land and tithes and serfs are considered a part of a woman's repertoire. Men it seems do all the talking, but are incapable of getting their hands dirty.
Though of course the Duke of Albany refutes this position, and he even teased the notion that I was corrupting the fine young women of Bohemia with my modern views. It is true that I have been ever so fortunate to travel the world with only a small retinue of handmaids and chaperones. I cannot think of another woman who has done so, where as men are able to take a Grande Tour at their leisure, and nobody thinks anything of it.
I have four weeks in Bohemia until I return to the Shire for the Christmas tidings. I have hinted to the Duke that he would be most welcome to visit, but I do not want to give any indications that our lust affair is anything more than that. God forbid notions of love bury their way into our passionate embraces!
I look unruly as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is dishevelled and I need sleep; last night I found it difficult to fall into slumber as my brain played around with the words I have written for myself. Sleep is not what I crave, but as the Duke has once again disappeared, I turn to my musings and continue to write.
D. S.
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