On reading over these few paragraphs I have surprised and shocked myself. I let my thoughts run directly to my pen, writing the words that were uppermost in my mind without consideration of content or discretion. I cannot believe I am a loose or perverted woman, nor do I possess whorish tendencies. Many who read my words might think so and condemn me for it. But they have not walked in my shoes, suffered what I have suffered, and been touched the way I have been touched.
They have not felt the agony of loss, the terror of starvation - or beautifully gentle caresses given with care and affection. They would not know how strong and powerful such caresses can be to a woman who has experienced the first two.
They would not understand my desire to enjoy all my gentlemen to the fullest, and thus would be horrified and disgusted at my stated intentions.
So be it. I do hope nobody like that ever reads this journal.
*~~*~~*
“Good morning, Giles,” said Gwyneth as he walked in for breakfast. “I trust you slept well?”
“Thank you, yes. I passed a fair night.”
“I would beg a few moments of your time after breakfast, if I may.” She looked at him calmly, and yet he sensed a certain hesitancy in her words.
“Of course, my Lady. I will be only too happy to share some time with you.” He poured himself some tea as Evan came in with another tray, this one filled with scones. The smell tempted both himself and Gwyneth. “A scone?”
“Yes please,” she grinned. “I couldn’t possibly say no to that wonderful aroma.”
Jeremy, Royce and Gabriel were already there, the debris of their meal scattered in front of them
The conversation turned general, including comments on yesterday’s successful event, some good-natured jests about burned noses and sore shoulders, and an outline of what was planned for the day.
“Mrs Barnsley asked about the Whit Sunday fête,” said Jeremy. “I told her we’d yet to discuss it, but she pointed out—quite accurately—that it is not far off and we should probably…er…”
Evan chuckled. “If I know her, she suggested we get off our arses and start planning.” He glanced wryly at Gwyneth. “Excuse my blunt language, my Lady.”
“I’ve heard worse,” she smiled back. “And I suppose she is correct. Is there a traditional event that happens at Wolfbridge around that time?”
Giles nodded. “There used to be activities every day of Whitsuntide, I understand. But a whole week away from the fields proved to be too much of a challenge, so about ten years ago it was winnowed down to a fête and dance after church, along with activities and parties for the children.”
“And we hold the fête and the dance?” Gwyneth’s eyes widened. “How many are we talking about?”
Giles held up his hand. “No, not the dance. Just the fête.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “That makes sense.”
“It’s usually fun,” said Evan. “Last year we were rained out, but the year before I judged the pie contest. Each of us does what we can…Jeremy handled the bowling…”
“And I think we can do that again if the good weather holds. The oak field is still pretty flat. I will look it over and see if it needs any rolling,” he commented.
“Daniel and Trick gave pony rides to the children,” said Giles. “We could possibly pass that to Royce?”
“If he promises not to scare ‘em,” chuckled Jeremy.
Royce ignored him. “Very well. Horses or donkeys?”
“Do we have donkeys?” Gwyneth blinked.
“No, my Lady,” answered Royce. “But some of the farmers do. I’m sure we could borrow a couple. It’s a little easier for the children to sit atop a donkey. Not quite so intimidating as a fifteen-hand hunter.”
“And the rest of the activities come from various members of the estate. I think Mr Smart had a darts board set up last time…” Giles frowned.
“He did,” said Evan. “I won a cake.”
Everyone laughed at his dry comment.
“Very well then,” said Gwyneth. “We must indeed begin our planning. And it should start with someone telling me what I need to do…”
