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I believe I will soon be learning to ride horses, and the duke has promised to teach me. He also says he will take me to the village to meet the people there. It is as though he does truly intend to present me as his betrothed. I know this is false as he admitted that he never wants to marry, so I feel conflicted that I might want him to.
I must guard my heart such that it is not dashed to pieces at the end of this affair. Do not tell mother, but I must admit that he can be quite bold in his speaking. I have promised her to mind myself and keep up my guard around him. Yet, not just in the house for a few minutes, we were alone in a corridor together. You cannot imagine how my heart raced.
I have a feeling that we may find ourselves alone together much more often than if we were in the city, but only because it cannot be helped. The sparseness of the country makes one feel so much more alone, so much freer, than the constant oversight and judgement felt every day.
I will write to you often to keep you appraised of my well-being.
Yours, Lydia
She finished her letters long before breakfast was due to be served. Unsure what to do with herself in the quiet stillness of the early morning, she decided to venture through the house. Soft noises through the hall informed her that the rest of the servants had long been awake, going through their daily chores. Maids and footmen that she passed in the corridors bowed their heads to her briefly but said nothing to prohibit her from wandering.
Though Michael had not given her a tour, she guessed where certain rooms of the house might be. He had indicated that his study and the front sitting room were down the hall her uncle had gone the day before, so she headed in that direction. Fearfully, she pushed open a few doors, finding the sitting room mentioned first. Through the next door, though, she found a library.
The shelves were covered with books. Some education or academic in nature regarding buildings, history, or even plants and animals. However, there was significant portion dedicated to literature, even novels like those she had read at home.
Stroking her fingers down a couple of spines, she picked up a book by an author she knew and settled down into a comfortable armchair to read. Becoming engrossed in her story, she hardly noticed time passing, until the door pushed open.
