((Note. Any entries which do not give a specific location, are the current writings of Cecilia, all others are from her past experiences.))

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Dear Diary,

It’s late and Byron is away again. I cannot say I miss him, I cannot say I ever enjoy his company, but he is my husband. Today I found myself thinking, remembering a time when my life was filled with joy, passion and good companionship. I remember Luc. I was much younger then, away at finishing school where my mother expected me to be cultured in the ways of being a proper lady. I suppose she thought it would make me more marketable to potential wealthy suitors. Father, I know, never liked the idea of me being so far away, but he never was a man to tell my mother no, or me for that matter.

I remember the first day I saw Luc; he was standing by the lake reciting some poem of his own creation. I stood watching him, rude I know but I couldn’t help myself, I was mesmerized by his voice and his words. I had never met a man who could create such fantastical imagery with mere words and his own thoughts. It was improper I know, I was walking alone, something completely unheard of, but I had few friends at the school at that time and enjoyed my solitude. He noticed me eventually, and I know my cheeks must have flushed several shades of crimson when my eyes beheld his full visage. He was handsome, one of the most handsome men I had ever seen, and when he smiled, my heart skipped a beat.

I know it must have been a shock to him to find himself spied upon and though it might have annoyed some, it didn’t bother Luc, he simply smiled and asked what I thought. I should have excused myself right then and there, but his smile was so endearing that I found myself walking closer and giving my opinion. I was doing everything wrong, presuming to share my opinion with a man and being without a chaperone in his presence. My mother would surely have died to see me. I will admit that thought was somewhat of an encouragement. I was surprised to find that Luc genuinely desired an opinion, my opinion. We spent almost half an hour discussing his work, and he permitted me the pleasure of hearing two more poems. He truly was gifted. It was an unorthodox meeting at best, but such a wonderful one.

Being a gentleman, he escorted me safely back to the school, and I would learn that his mother was my art instructor. When we said our farewells that evening, I was saddened, saddened in a way I can’t describe since I barely knew him, but the thought that I might never see him again distressed me. Luckily I would see him again.

Oh Diary, why couldn’t I have married him? Why couldn’t I have married a man I loved and respected, not one whose bank account I needed in order to survive? I could have had love but no substantial income as the wife of a literature professor, but mother would never have that. I did my duty to my family, to spare my father’s good name. I couldn’t bear for anyone to think ill of him or have his name attached to the irresponsible frivolity of my mother. I know must accept my situation, but I find it hard sometimes. Sometimes it’s hard to keep the smile upon my face while inside I want to scream at the top of my lungs to be set free from the misery of a marriage I find myself in. Would anyone hear me if I did scream? Would they even care?

Why do I bother to write these things? Why do I spill my heart and soul into your pages? Perhaps one day I will understand, but until then I will continue to jot the wandering thoughts of my troubled mind onto your clean pages and hope. I’ll hope one day that I won’t have to wake from the joys of my nightly slumber, that the good Lord will allow me to stay in blissful fantasy where I am happy and loved.



Cecilia