Post by Rose D'Aguillon on Jun 21, 2011 10:47:17 GMT -5
June 21
Day One
It has been two years since I've seen him. I've known that the day, three months from today, was coming. I've been keeping to myself a lot lately. I've filled two new scrapbooks of paintings and read several books, books mostly concerning how to be a proper lady -- purchased by my father. I've found a beautiful spot in the garden. It is under a cherry tree where the cool shade blocks the beating sun. That is where I've been spending most of my days.
Peronelle just gave me this. A diary. I've confided that I've had too many thoughts and fears to keep in my head, and she presented me with this. A leather bound book filled with blank pages. She said she spend the rest of her wages to by a special one with a lock, so no one would stumble upon writings, especially my father.
It has been two years since I've seen James. He's probably become fatter since the last time. He always is. I just hate the way his nose sticks up. I also despise how he twists his curls with his fingers. It certainly makes him look daft. My father said that he heard the Duke send something off to the blacksmith. "Must be an engagement ring, for certain!" He said. I moaned at the possibility. The possibility of a life imprisoned by the boy I despised.
Rose closed her diary and locked it. She put her quill back in it's case and she turned around looking for a good hiding spot for the secret writings. Rose walked over to her armoire and reached on the top shelf. She found an old hat box with the inside lining coming undone and stuffed it in the lining. She then replaced the hatbox to the very back corner and turned around. Rose's room was filled with the finest any young girl would want. She had a large, light blue canopy bed, a beautiful ornate mirror, and her wallpaper was blue and silver -- the most vogue print of the day. Though it was a room any girl would dream of, it looked dead. It had a cold, empty feeling to Rose. Everything chosen by Rose's mother and her decorator, Rose could never hang one of her paintings or one of Peronelle's letters.
Rose sat on her bed. She was happy to have a release. She concluded that next time she should write in the garden, if she could sneak the diary out there.