What have I learnt since my last post? If anything (which I sincerely doubt) I have discovered that practice truly does make a difference, and my sketches have improved immeasurably since the beginning of the year. It is a pleasant feeling knowing that pushing yourself to do something every day does eventually pay off. 

If only I could be as dedicated with my writing, like I was in Bohemia, but it turns out I have to make choices between my arts, my friends, my work and myself. And truly I have been suffering for I have lost who I am, and maybe that's because I haven't been doing my writing? Questions are all I have, attempts to see what works is all I can do, and only from there can I adapt and develop to this being that I believe, nay, that I know I am. 

I know that I need to make more time for myself, to experience things that I enjoy, for it is all too easy to hide away in my ivory tower, drawing, writing, painting, with no thought to the outside world. But when I hear tales of my wonderful Ladies of the Shire, cavorting in the snow back at home, I not only envy their freedom, but wish I had the opportunity for similar experiences here. 

I miss my friends. Of course I have wonderful acquaintances here and few close enough to hold to the bosom of my heart. Nevertheless, it is not quite the same as having your friends from childhood laugh, reminisce and gossip with a furore that I'm sure only we know how. I don't think I have missed my Marquessa and Baroness, Armiger and Court Jester as much as this since I lived in the Antipodes and had yet to meet anyone outside of my family. 

Love is also a thing that I feel I can no longer speak of. It has left me, leaving only bitter memories of that which I have lost. I am in a confused state, still only worrying about me. The Duke of Albany has also been on my mind more than I care to admit. Indeed he has gone from a a name I barely recognise in conversation, to someone who haunted my dreams only last night. I feel the need to speak with him, but distance is a great barrier. So I shall write a letter, letting him know that he is in my thoughts.

For truly, the only other person to enter my mind, is myself. 

D. S.

What a difference a few days can make. I have had the time to myself to gather and collect my thoughts so that I can prioritise what is most important to me (the Duke and my writing) as well as the responsibilities I now carry as a Lady-in-Waiting. 

There is nothing so wonderful as having an organised mind and knowing exactly what it is and where it is you want to go next. I have to admit, the novelty of this feeling hasn't yet worn off ~ which is something that is prone to happening ~ and for the first time I can remember I am enjoying the calm that comes with order. 

The Duke of Albany is away (again) on one of his ventures about the Embassy. He is talking about having his family travel over for the Christmas festivities from Bohemia. Though they were more kind to me than I ever expected them to be, I can't imagine how my Royal Family would react to my asking for a retinue of hundreds to turn up at their door. I have explained the difficulties in logistics to the Duke, but he is more stubborn than I, and has vowed to find a way.

If he can make it happen, then so be it.

I need to catch up with my correspondences; there is a festival in the park this weekend and I want to invite Belle to promenade the stalls with me. I haven't seen her in over a fortnight, which is abominable considering we live nigh on a few miles from each other. I shall indeed write to her, post haste. 

Other than making the most of all I have to do with my new position and learning to cope with the living arrangements between the Duke and myself (it is more fun than I anticipated for I was a little concerned, and though we argue, they are but a trifle compared to when we were apart) there is not much to report. 

This festival shall hopefully increase any dampened spirits, and I hope to maybe have an invite to a Ball in the near future. Oh, how I long to dance again!



D. S.

The sun is shining and the birds are singing; Spring is most definitely in the air and it feels delightful. I long for the lazy summer days in the Shire, but there is talk of returning to the Convent in Brighthelmstone for a few weeks... Belle and I want to relive the the magical weeks from last year and I know that the Duke will stay by my side throughout July and August. Especially as this will give us some extra time together before our more permanent positioning in the North as of September. 

The Duke of Albany is very vague about what sort of property he is looking for in the Northern counties whenever he writes to me. I do wish I could be in my home country and share this experience with him. I know I shall not be living with him, only rendez vous when my Royal charge allows, and there are times when I can imagine the two will clash and cause frustrations. 

Love and duty are not always the same thing...

I have asked the Duke's household here in Bohemia to allow me to pay a visit and my respects to his family. I can only imagine how his parents feel knowing that I have taken their only son away from his duty to his country and I wish to make amends, and at least salvage our relationship with happy memories. 

There is, however, an ulterior motive to this visit. I know that the artist is a part of the Duke's retinue and if I can't get her to agree to come and visit me, then I shall have to go to her. Also I wish to gaze upon the original painting of myself draped and undressed as Aphrodite. I don't think I have actually yet had the pleasure of staring at the painting in all its glory and it's a waste of the artist's talent to keep it hidden from view. 

I am still waiting to hear back from the Duke's household, but I'm sure it shall not be long now, until then I plan to enjoy the sunshine. I may even pen my dear Duke a letter. 



D. S.

Another week is coming to a close and while I lie in bed and count the days until the Duke's arrival, I cannot help but feel I am allowing myself to wallow in self-pity.

It's rather disturbing because I have never been of a melancholy nature, rather always one to make the most of a situation. But without the Duke by my side, I am finding it rather difficult to keep my spirits up.

My writing has taken over my life, which I suppose is the most positive outcome while I wait for the Duke to sort out his accommodation in the Northern Counties. I long to see what he shall purchase; if it is anything like the properties he calls home here in Bohemia, no doubt they shall be spectacular.

I have not yet had a letter from him, though Jeeves assures me that the moment one arrives it shall be planted in my hand with the utmost care and speed. Though it saddens me not to have heard from him, I do have to admit that I too have neglected to send him a letter as of yet... In many respects, we truly are as bad as each other.

The contours of the gorgeous sapphic lover have kept me entertained in my bedroom, so much so that we spent two days wrapped up between the sheets. But though she is wonderful, she does not have the same zest for life nor sparkle in her eye that the brunette used to have. I never thought that I would long for my past lovers, and I don't, but the brunette was special as she initiated me into the ways of the sapphic world.

Maybe I shall contact the artist and have another painting done as a present for the Duke on his return? That sounds like a sensible way to keep me entertained and distracted from my boredom...

D. S.

I have had to contend with a week of varying degrees of solitude now that the Duke is making arrangements for our future in the Northern counties and I still reside in his beloved Bohemia. Though it is nothing to what we have done before, I have another five weeks to go before I can hold him and kiss him.

Long distance is never ideal, and though I worry not for our inflamed passion for each other, I am still anxious about the time we shall spend apart.

I miss the Duke of Albany terribly and am reminded of the time and distance the Captain and I attempted to conquer, to no avail. But this is different because our future is tangible and so within reach. A couple of months when there is a destination in sight is nothing in comparison to a lifetime's worth of travel across the globe.

To pass the time I have enjoyed many walks in the Spring sunshine and I long for the Summer with the Duke and Belle. I know that they met over New Year's Eve but it shall interest me to see how they fare over a longer period of time... Indeed I am intrigued as to how the Duke and I shall cope, as we shall have spent so much time apart before thrust back together in the North!

Walking has not been my only form of entertainment; I took the advice of a wise old friend and made the most of the Duke's sapphic lover. I was fortunate enough that the Duke left me in her capable hands, with a promise to enjoy myself and indulge in my curiosities. It makes me smile when I think about how much he cares about my own pleasure and not just his own... Unlike so many other men I have known.

I look forward to hearing from him and I hope to receive a letter shortly; to think our entire relationship started because of a letter and a disguise.

I miss him terribly but this month will fly by... I hope.



D. S.

Darlings there is so much I have to report since I last wrote, but I shall start with an apology for my last melancholy musings. Valentine's day can be most traumatic for those who do not have a loved one to call their own; I do, or at least thought I did, but the Duke of Albany had forsaken me. Not only was the Saint's day a day of love, but he also had a decision to make regarding our future... Which, was also candidly ignored. 

I spend the weekend in a drunken and sorrowful state and by Sunday had resolved to spend sometime in Prague to try and lift my fatigue. 

Ah Fate. It could be said that she has had quite a hand in my life, especially more recently... I cannot forget how the Duke of Albany and I met, even though he was disguised. But a similar occurrence took me by surprise on my journey to Prague. 

Again Jeeves and I were stopped on the road, but rather than brandishing swords, a true messenger (or so I believe) handed me a letter with the Duke's insignia sealing the words between the parchment. I read the words I had longed to see three days sooner, and as my heart soared I made a decision to meet the Duke and his carriage on their journey to me as I was already on the road. 
The letter did not say more than he was coming to meet me and was only a few hours behind the messenger. No apology hid between the lines, and though I had suffered great heartache at his nonchalant attitude, I was too excited at the prospect of holding him once more in my arms, that all had already been forgiven.

He has now been by my side for two days and we have discussed our future in length. Neither of us are ready for a betrothal; we seem unable to take the archaic approach to marriage and would prefer to know each other far better before making that commitment. But it is a possible future that we do not want to ignore, so the Duke said yes, he shall follow me to the Northern counties in my home country so that we can see where this relationship shall go.

Never have I been so happy in all my life. My sadness has completely dissipated and I am over the moon to have my Albany back in my arms. Though it seems it shall be a fleeting visit. He is to return to the Northern counties and purchase a property that is suitable for he and his retinue. And he has been so bold as to ask me how I want my own room. 

Of course I still have the matter of the Royalty whose charge I am responsible for, but I have the whole summer to sort out the finer details of my future. All I know is the Duke is here and calling my name, and who am I to ignore his cries?



D. S.

Snow! I must confess to having a childlike love for the silly white soft stuff, but a grown up's apprehension for the cold and what such late snowfall means.

Bohemia is known for it's freezing white winters and so far we have had glorious sunshine. True, the temperatures have been hovering around zero, but to see snow in Bohemia is most magical.

I am still in awe that the position of Lady-in-Waiting is mine. Even though I have now received the official letter of appointment I can still scarcely believe my good fortune. The last week has been a blur and I'm not sure what there is to tell...

Oh, yes. A letter. From the Duke of Albany. How could I forget? (I'm seeing a friend later today in the city and we have so much to catch up on, so I'm feeling a little scattered).

The letter. He still makes his abode in my Shire, enquiring after a home of his own in the beautiful English countryside. Though he does say that he plans to venture to the Northern counties (where I am to move to in September) and give me his humble opinion. Of course I know that I can't ask him to follow me up North. It is enough that he joined me in the Shire for Christmas! 

Besides I can be under no misapprehensions that my royal charge will accept me living with a man to whom I am not married, nor even betrothed!

I long for his return to Bohemia. The country is currently at its most wondrous and it saddens me to think he is missing out on his home's first snowfall. Though his letters do bring me great joy, and it gladdens my heart to know that he is still thinking of me. It is a rare thing to feel like an equal in the game of love and I treasure the notion, smiling as I remember how we met.



D. S.

I suppose I should be flattered, but the Duke of Albany's latest ruse has somewhat perplexed me, and I do find it rather bothersome to be perplexed by a man. It is nothing so sordid as others have asked, indeed it is something entirely different and because of this I am unsure as to what is the appropriate response. 

The Duke and I are so wonderful at sending letters to each other when we are not in the company of one another. Reams of poignant thought, speckled with caring words that are often plunged into the depths of a heart that is as twisted and confused as my own, litter pages while we wait for our next rendez vous. It was one such letter that gave voice to an idea of the Duke's; he wants to commission a painting of myself.

According to his letter, it would give him the utmost pleasure and delight to have a deity painted in my likeness to grace his walls. He knows just the painter, an artist of magnificent talent who would be more than willing to paint me, if I would be so kind as to sit for a few hours a day and become immortalised as a great work of art.

I cannot deny the blush that spread to my cheeks as I reread the Duke's letter. I don't know of a single painting of any deities that are even remotely clothed. I do not have to answer his question via letter as he longs to feel my touch and gaze upon my greatness for himself, so he shall arrive post haste. But he implores me not to disregard his wish, and promises that it shall be in the utmost taste. 

Flattered I am, but dubious too... It is far too convenient for this to be a passing fancy of the Duke's and I'd like to know more about this artist (I'd hate to become a laughing stock in Bohemia). I do not know what I shall say yet, but when I have the chance to look the Duke of Albany in his searching blue eyes, I know I shall find my answer.



D. S.

What a fool I was to think I could figure out a man who let my mind wander into the land of gullibility with such ease. 

Ah, the ball. It was a delight; everything I could have imagined had I dared, and so much more than had ever crossed my mind before. The scurrilous and wily messenger laughed at my perplexed expression for some time as it took me longer than I care to admit to realise he had no master, nor was he some lowly messenger. 

As he held my waist and we danced to the vibrant sound of a string quartet I floundered most ungracefully for words to admonish the man before me. I fought my conscience against apologising for my behaviour as I couldn't believe I'd been hoodwinked so obviously. Now that I thought about it, it vexed me somewhat to think I'd been such a fool, especially in regards to my replies! 

Soon after several dances without uttering a word, the messenger, or indeed my most courteous servant, (whom Jeeves was abashed to admit he'd thought they were one and the same) took my hand and led me round his gardens, talking of the beauty of Bohemia, but divulging nothing more about the letter's of the last month.

I do have to admit I too was rather at a loss for words. I wanted to know more about this Bohemian grandchild, yet I could not declare my ignorance without exacerbating my foolhardy behaviour. And there was something about his blue eyes that made me wither inside, as if I were victim of more than just a misunderstanding or a hoax. It was as if he was biding his time to tell me a deep, dark secret that he'd been living with his whole life.

Honestly, the entire escapade was exhausting, yet despite my errors I relished the entertainment and the laughing and cajoling from the lords and ladies of Bohemia. Certainly, some things are as pleasurable in any country and I felt quite at home by the end of the night.

We hunted together the following day. The forests already turning an embarrassed shade of amber, and here I waited expectantly for the secrets to be divulged. Unfortunately, no such luck. His blue eyes tease me, and I am never relaxed in his company, but if he does not attend a ball or a hunt, I enjoy myself less! I do not understand what has happened. I am confused and wait impatiently to find out more.

D. S.

I feel the need to recap everything that has occurred since I travelled across the Continent to start a new life in Bohemia. There is much to tell since I last wrote, but I want to be clear that I had no control over the latest developments; it was as if my fate had already been decided. 

Six weeks prior to this date I was harassed by an unruly messenger who made it his mission in life to create the most awkward of situations betweens us, all the while promoting his master's intentions to meet with me. I'm sure it will come of no surprise to hear that I acted somewhat discourteously despite my intrigue, and my responses held thinly veiled threats. But the day came when I was unceremoniously summoned to meet the author of the indigestible letters and this is where my courage has faltered somewhat and I have been wrestling with what to write ever since. 

The evening darkened as the October sun dipped behind the castle and still I was pacing the floor of my humble abode. I had heard nothing to confirm the appearance of the messenger who had been a thorn in my side for the last month, but I would not and could not believe it had all been a hoax. It was at this moment, as I raised my voice to summon Jeeves to remove me from my tower of humiliation that I heard an overzealous fanfare in the distance.

Before I even had the time to argue, a retinue of handmaids and footmen bundled into my chambers and collected various hats, dresses, gloves and shoes. Quite taken aback, and looking earnestly for the familiar face of the messenger, I gave permission for the strangers to take me as their hostage, nay, guest, as was expected. I never had the chance to put up a fight, though I did request for the company of Jeeves in my carriage.

We pulled up to this gorgeous palace in what felt like no time at all, and I was quickly bustled into my own private chambers. My clothes were already hanging in various closets, waiting expectantly, each vying for my attention, and at last I was alone. There was a single letter folded on the chair in the room, the seal easily recognisable as my 'most courteous servant's'. Despite the adrenaline coursing through my body I remained calm, sliding a fingernail underneath the blood red wax and read what I hoped would be an explanation. 

I had no idea how to respond and fortunately I had little time to dwell on the letter as a handmaid soon returned, and with a a little bob of a curtsey she helped choose me a dress of green muslin and pink lace; an acknowledgement to the summer just gone.

Even through the corridors that I had to traipse to make my way to the ballroom I could hear the agreeable laughter of firm friends. I was nervous; for once I would be the outsider, and completely caught off guard. My steps slowed the louder the raucous ballroom became, and I knew I could outrun the slight handmaid if I needed to. Jeeves was no where to be found, but I was duly informed he was waiting for me in the ballroom.

Though I hate to admit it, I was relieved when I saw the messenger lurking in the corridor ahead of me. I would recognise him anywhere after the few incidents that we'd shared. I wished I had asked him more questions about his master, or indeed given myself more preparation time before throwing myself head first into this social gathering. The messenger turned to leave through another door, but gave me a reassuring wink as he left me once again to my own devices. 

The handmaid had slowed to a halt, explaining that she was unable to enter the ballroom with me, but through the door I would arrive at the top of some stairs and a herald would announce my arrival. I felt like one of those princesses I had read about as a child, but rather than excited to meet prince charming, I was nervous.

As the doors opened and I heard my name read out to the throngs of people below, I scanned the room for Jeeves and the messenger, the only two people I had as allies in the roomful of strangers. I wondered who it was I was supposed to meet and hoped he would not leave me to flounder for too long. Step by step I lowered myself to the spider's nest, and noted the beautiful drapes and delightful chandeliers that lit up the room. 

I blame my inability to guess what would happen next on the intoxication of my surroundings. I'm sure by now it might be possible for you to imagine who it was who had personally been sending me the letters, but I was enraptured with the situation and completely put at ease by my Bohemian courtiers. I had enjoyed several dances with both ladies and gentlemen, and laughed gallantly at our miscommunication due to the difficulty in language, but when I felt a calloused hand on my shoulder, I too sensed that the answer to my impending question was near. 

The messenger's blue eyes met mine with a grin, and he bowed sarcastically as my mouth formed an astonished 'O'. We danced without uttering a single word, neither of us wanting to admit the emotions hidden beneath our conventional façades. 



D. S.

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.

I have not known what to write after I opened the second letter from my 'most courteous servant'. It was nothing so shocking that my speech was lost, but rather it was diminished to a humbled whisper and I needed the time to think of an eloquent response before throwing myself into an egotistical tirade (which we all know I am prone to do).

This is not the first time I have been pursued by an anonymous stranger, (already the ego appears) and I know my reputation often precedes me, so this contact shouldn't be of any surprise. Nevertheless, as far as I am aware, this 'most courteous servant' knows more about me than I thought possible; especially as he resides here in deepest Bohemia. I dread to think how my reputation has scaled an entire continent!

It worries me slightly that he seems to have the entire measure of me, whereas I know nothing, save that he employs rather unrefined characters to deliver his messages. His latest letter left a bitter sweet taste in my mouth:

I'm sure there is a polite way to refuse attending a ball in my honour, but I am torn between disappearing for the weekend (which is only four days away now!) or doing as I'm told ~ but only because my curiosity will no doubt get the better of me. Being overtly polite to someone who has openly called me 'condescending' is not something I can handle. There is no being 'the bigger person' when I may as well give this gentleman his dues and act accordingly. If that's what he wants and who he is expecting, then who am I to deny him? Especially as I am so generous.

Sarcasm is my only saving grace against an egotistical tirade, and I know I am still not doing myself any justice by proving my flaws. I know my flaws. I do not need them pointed out to me by a man I have never met. There is hardly any time to pen a reply to his letter. So I shall just wait for the weekend and make a spur of the moment decision. 



D. S.

A fortnight is completely unacceptable to wait for a repose from a gentleman. I had originally decided to write another letter admonishing the 'most courteous servant' (what a farce) for his behaviour. But no sooner had I wet the tip of my quill did I hear a commotion in the courtyard. Not only was it my duty to get involved and make sure no harm came to my household, my curiosity is not something I find easy to quell.

Rushing down the stairs to the unexpected turbulence I was thrust into the arms of none other than the unruly messenger who had delivered the principal letter all those weeks ago. I couldn't quite believe my misfortune and I was not held in his arms for long before pulling myself away. Affronted, I demanded to know what was his purpose in disturbing my home, and I dared to say that it was not the first time he showed a lack of etiquette in my presence, nor would it happen a third time.

When the messenger did nought but grin and bow sarcastically, I stormed away from the courtyard, content in the knowledge that my household were safe. They had witnessed the entire event most silently, and I could only imagine what would be whispered in the kitchens. The messenger on the other hand did not take the hint of my absence and followed me through the corridors. He did not even call my name nor ask me to stop before he grabbed my wrist. 

Only at the contact of skin on skin did he refer to me properly as 'Your Grace' and I felt him slip a parchment from the inside of his coat in between my fingers. I turned, words had left my tongue and I looked at the messenger intently for the first time. He had dark sandy hair and blue eyes that made no apologies for his actions, a slight stubble engulfed his chin and he was taller than me, but not by much. It took me a moment to realise the messenger was studying my face as intently and I was perturbed by his confidence.

I asked him to explain himself, to which the reply was 'my lord gave me strict instructions to deliver this letter to your hands personally.'

Thankfully he wasn't quite rude enough to shrug, but the glint in his eyes told me to question no further. He bowed appropriately and left me with the belated response. His touch still resonating on my fingers, the warmth of his chest still enveloping the letter. 



D. S.

There is nothing so frustrating as waiting for someone else. Whether it be a rendez vous, a soirée or even a humble acknowledgement of a letter so keenly sent, there is nothing that irks me more than waiting for someone else to consider deigning me with their time and effort.

I am still waiting for my 'most courteous servant' to respond to my letter appertaining to his invitation. Patience is not a virtue that I spent cultivating while in the Convent. Belle has patience galore and I marvel at her ability to wait, to not mind the time that passes, but I'd much prefer to have a more direct approach. In fact I don't appreciate the anonymity that has been veiled from me. I have an idea as to whom the invitee may be but I have no grounds for any of my thoughts.

Oh, I forget that in my waiting I have not even described the stance I chose when developing my own riposte. It was majestic;

But alack and alas, said courtier has stayed as elusive as before, nor have I even had the displeasure of his unruly messenger. I don't know how long I am expected to wait, but I shall not sit idly twiddling my thumbs.

I manage to keep myself busy wandering the streets of the City of a Hundred Spires. This country has so much history and knowledge that I was and still am completely ignorant of. I long to know more, but the language barrier is difficult and I am studying to become more coherent and understood to those that have their lives here. I enjoy the quiet and the opportunity to contemplate on all that has happened and all that has yet to happen.

But my fatigue increases as time passes with no response from this less than courteous servant.

D. S.

I once again hold the unopened letter in my hand. For one week precisely it has plagued my mind, resting on my chiffonier next to my hair brush. I am reminded of the incident most keenly, both morning and eve, but I have not had the inclination to open it.

Not yet.

I have written myself to Belle for her opinion of the matter. I know she shall be frustrated that I have not yet torn through the blood red seal and absorbed the ink on the page through my eyes, but I need a second opinion. As much as I revel in my own company here in Bohemia, those I speak to have only broken English to converse with and my responses in their language cause impolite convulsions as I am far from fluent. So I need Belle to give me her most unapologetic counsel.

In fact, as I sit with this letter addressed to "The most splendid, illustrious, serene and eminent lady of pleasure" I am waiting for my own post master to return from his weekly rendez vous in the town centre. Belle is always concise with her hasty replies and I hope she has not disappointed.

Later

Belle always delivers, a most reliable friend. I ripped open her letter without so much as a second thought, relishing in the familiar penmanship of one so dear. And she never disappoints. She admonished me for wasting an entire week before opening the letter from the utterly impertinent messenger and implores me to copy it word for word so she may be included in its untimely exposition.

It was all the gentle shoving I needed to gain the courage to tear past the blood red seal and feast upon its contents. The previously anonymous letter as follows:

How can one say no to a Ball in their own honour? Surely though, there is a lack of etiquette in not signing a name? I have many questions, but first I shall peruse my calendar for a suitable day for this Ball.

D. S.

I know I ranted previously about the incapabilities of men ~ the greatest flaw of that gender being their inability to comprehend that they may not be wanted. I claimed there was nothing in particular that spiralled me down to the level of loathing I had for the opposite sex, however that isn't strictly true.

There isn't one specific turn of events, just a compilation of experiences that I hope never again to encounter. Indeed, though I have no complaints whatsoever about how I live my life, and I am eternally grateful for all the generosities my parents have bestowed and what my social status accomplishes, it is rather like being considered a prize mare, waiting around for the highest bidder.

Of course I won't say I was running away from my responsibilities as a daughter, but Mother was none to please when I broke off my faux betrothal to the blonde Esquire, and I know she was less than indifferent to the Prussian Knight. I don't know what my parents expect of me. Am I supposed to somehow marry a Prince? And what of my feelings? Hark should they get taken into account.

But all of this was grumbled to myself in a carriage on a short journey between towns before an even greater liberty was taken, by none other than a chauvinistic male, a lowly messenger. 

The roads in Bohemia are as safe as any other roads on the Continent (I shall not compare them to the windy paths of the Shire that I would know blindfolded) but as it so happened, on a journey I was partaking, we were stopped. I was mid thought, mid curse, mid vent for I have been suffering from anxiety and frustration ever since I left the Convent and I barely noticed the carriage stall. 

Eventually I called out to my driver, Jeeves, to explain the meaning of the wait but was answered with an ambiguous yelp. It did not occur to me that outside may be dangerous, so I soon clambered out the carriage, bustling skirts in tow, to be faced with Jeeves waving his sword in the face of another man who was brandishing his own weapon most scurrilously. I was frozen in time for I could not believe what was before my eyes, and it was the two men who noticed me first (I blame the million petticoats that rustle as I move).

The stranger stopped as he saw me, lending an opportune moment to Jeeves who sliced through the man's navy lapels. Jeeves look positively horrified at the thought of making contact with an actual body that he dropped his sword. Most terrible was what occurred next; I laughed. It was awfully rude of me, but I couldn't help myself. Thankfully the atmosphere seemed to dissipate, but I was not foolish enough to trust a man with no name who yields at the sight of a lady.

As said stranger stepped closer, he stooped to pick up the sword from the dry ground and handed it, hilt first, back to Jeeves. I was perplexed, but had thankfully taken control of my laughter. Also I knew I had a small pistol mercifully sewn into the pockets of my underskirt. I was not afraid.

Two steps closer the stranger came, before he uttered a coherent sound. He addressed me by name and handed me a sealed letter. I had my fingertips resting on the trigger of the pistol in my pocket the entire time, but I think we both knew I would never pull it. He left with a bow, whistling to gorgeous black steed, and made no apology for his actions.

I am still furious with this individual for incapacitating Jeeves and for his rudeness. Nor have I yet opened the letter... All I can see is that it is addressed to "The most splendid, illustrious, serene and eminent lady of pleasure"... If that is not thinly veiled misogyny (or indeed an honest compliment) then I must question all I have ever learnt. 

I hold the letter in my hand. It has been two days. 

Shall I open it?



D. S.