((OOC: I would like to thank a very dear friend for the inspiration to write this story line. You've pulled me from the mire of complacency and dissatisfaction into a new world of possibilities. Yes. You did. Shush.))

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I have not written of this clearly, until now. I feel that I shall perish with the telling of it, but so it must be... I need assurance that this all actually occurred, and this entry shall be my last and only remnant of a path not taken.

Each night since seeing the man outside my windows, I had thought of him. Of how his head tilted slightly forward, the dim reflection of the moonlight on his eyes, the shape of his mouth, and his fine, clear brow. So often did I dream of him, that I convinced myself he did not exist, but was merely the projection of a bored and ill contented mind, seeing what it wished to see.

Until five days after.

Whilst walking along the grounds, a figure appeared in the distance. At first, just the shape of a man. And then clearer until it formed the very gentleman I saw. My heart nearly leapt from my chest, and I had to dig my nails into my palms to prevent myself from running towards him. When first our eyes met, we knew. We both felt it there, between us, like a hazy wall of light in deepest summer that makes all things seem to shimmer within its heated grasp. Finally, I learned his name: Edward Stafford. Edward. My heart wrapped around each syllable, and held it close as he spoke it. He bowed, and I curtsied, but neither of us cared of such things. The sun was warm, and only small clouds painted the canvas of the sky above our heads.

He turned and offered his arm, and I, so eager to learn more of him, accepted it gratefully. We walked but a little, stopping to turn and look at one another. So handsome, and engaging, and polite, was he. As he told me of his life, I relished each word, watching his face as it changed expression. He was a budding composer and son of a local land owner; likely to be saddled with the land and its tenancies and responsibilities, but still hopeful was he of a change in his fortune, so that he might pursue his own passions.

I pushed aside the thoughts that often came to mind in such meetings: that he would not be a match approved of by my parents, and simply walked with him as if we two were already promised, and our future union blessed. The simple act of walking with him, being near to him, and finally hearing his voice, and how he leaned over to look upon me when he made me laugh brought me to a happier place than I believe I had been in far too long.

When the rain started again, as it so often does, out of nowhere, I turned as if to bring him back to the house, but he (wisely) suggested we run beneath the nearby bridge for cover. We smiled at one another and ran, hand in hand, like children, toward the mossy stones, where I lost my footing and nearly fell into the stream. But he, so deft and quick, caught me and in a moment that I will carry with me for as long as I occupy this earth, his eyes locked with mine. I looked up at him, unaware that my arms were encircling him, and his lips were upon mine. O, I still feel them now... So warm and soft, so urgent in their passion, yet so careful and so gentle.

And from this entry, anyone would believe that my tarot reading sprang to life. That my path was clearly chosen, and that from that day henceforth, all would be as if in a fairy tale. And oh, in that day, it was. The rain with gentle tiny fingers caressed our faces as we kissed. And even in that rain, a stream of sunlight poured down upon us as if providence itself were bestowing its blessing.

We spoke again. And again. We planned our escape. He thought Belgium a place we two could steal away to. And each day I moved one gown, one pair of slippers, one hair pin, one hat, one belonging, to a place where they could be taken at a moment's notice. I used excuses of repair, of giving them to the less fortunate. Any excuse to avoid suspicion. I grew closer to stepping over the threshold and into my future and each day closer brought such joy to me, that my friends likely believed me ill. T'was that I was so deep in thought of when my horse threw me, and t'was that which brought a brighter smile to my greetings.

Oh, but such paths are not to be taken.

On the day of our first meeting. On the day of my lips first knowing their mate, I did not see my maid... formerly my mother's maid, Katie, as she crossed the bridge, returning from the market. She must have spied us. And I have no doubt that she immediately reported it to Mama. Oh that selfish, shrew! That I could go back in time and see her, I would give her anything... anything... just not to do what she has done...

Today, upon my return from a very lively and insightful book discussion, a letter was handed to me by Katie. I should have known the contents by the guilty expression on her face.

Nothing could have prepared me for this....

Dearest Daughter,

I write to tell you to come North immediately. Your Papa and I have finally agreed upon a match.

You are to marry Robert Clive a Baron of good fortune and although his age is advanced beyond what I had hoped for you, my dear Olivia, I fear that some rumors have reached me that make this match imperative.

Your things will be packed and moved upon completion of the nuptials, one week hence at the Parish here at the country estate.

Make haste, my dearest daughter, for your future awaits you, and your groom must away to the colonies shortly after.

Your own Mama

Flinging the letter to the floor as if its words could be removed if never looked upon again, I sank down against the doors. I have never cried so hard without any tears; as if my tears had turned to ash, and my dreams burned to blackened, lifeless embers. The hope for my happy future is over. Edward is away seeing to lodgings at our final destination, and when he returns, I will have gone. He will think me uncaring and I shall never be able to tell him this is not my doing. I have no doubts that the servants will do all they can to dissuade him from following me, should that be his inclination.

I am inconsolable. I can only hope that this Baron... this horrid man who has stolen away my dreams... shall go to the colonies forever...

[the entry ends with smudged droplets... evidence of tears lace the page]