The text alternates frequently between English, Welsh, and French, sometimes by sentences and sometimes by paragraphs.
I cannot abide reading, and so I will see whether it is much preferable to write. Preferable to sitting and doing nothing, I suppose, which is in turn preferable to reading. So there is my answer.
As I sit and watch him amuse himself in play, I cannot help but think that Arthur is the dearest of children, which every mother must surely believe of her child, but it does not make him any less precious to me. I often wonder whether he feels the absence of a father? Sometimes I fear he will eventually when other children begin speaking of theirs. And then there will be questions, and God knows what I'll do then. Perhaps I might have lured in a suitor by then, not that I think any would willingly take on a role of 'father' to the poor boy.
And God help that poor man. I fear I am so accustomed to my freedom, such as it is, I will be reluctant to have a husband to order me about. No, some wealthy old man with little sense would doubtless be best, I dare say the role of widow would suit me well. However, I know how the powers that be love to torture, and so that old man would live to be a hundred. How twisted a sense of humor the Almighty must have.
In any case, it was often brought to my attention this winter during the recess of my so-called need for a man to care for me, since I fear every day to receive a letter notifying me of my father's death. I grow bored of the topic however, and a steward of some sort for my father's estate will have to suffice in the mean time.
Also during recess, I became better acquainted with Mrs. Hyacinth Elliot. Saint Mrs. Hyacinth Elliot, that is. She is a Catholic, but that is more a mark in favor of Catholics than against her, I think. A true angel, she is. If I had known my grandmother, I do not think I would like to think she would have been like Mrs. Elliot, though I do not think anyone could be quite like that dear lady, a blessing and a misfortune at once.
The oddest letter came for me. All about eyes and seeking, yet the author said I should not seek him. That is cruel. It is signed 'B', yet I can think of few lords who might have signed in such a way. First name or surname? Or estate? Surely no one I have been acquainted with, because he would know that the curiosity would kill me. I will have to work to determine where the missive came from.
I look forward to socializing again. Arthur is my world, but one needs more company than just a toddler. Narissa is sweet, but she is a maid and, while being a very sweet and (I hope) loyal creature, is not the most intelligent. Mrs. Elliot was fine company, but I have always been a social person and speaking with only one does not entertain me for long.
It will be good to talk to James again. I only knew him for a short time last season, but I like him and actually missed his company during the break from court. I wonder how his journey to Scotland went? The doctor is the sweetest of men, and a good friend, I think, unless he is just terribly clever and a skilled actor. That is hard to believe, though, since it is unlikely anyone could pretend to be so easily read as he is, while really being completely deceptive.
This morning when I arrived I investigated the room situation and oversaw a bit of the unpacking. It was raining, but I decided to go for a ride anyway. Near the coast it often rains in Wales, so I thought little of it. At the point I had reached, a cold would be a suitable tradeoff for not being confined inside forever and ever. Lord Daniel ended up accompanying me on the ride. Almost immediately I observed a change in his demeanor, from his moronically constant happiness. The death of his mother, it seems, has sobered him up quite a bit. A welcome change, I think, since he no longer annoys me quite as much. Too bad he had to lose his mother in order to come by it. Perhaps I will have to send him a letter. Doubtless he'll live, though. On my ride, I also met Lady Lismore, a baroness. Much as I would enjoy getting to know her a bit better I think, I must be wary. The woman is terribly fun, and I am afraid it would be a lot of effort for me to behave myself with her presence. There would be much too much temptation to join in the fun, I believe, but perhaps I will have to send her a letter some time as well.
There is a ball tonight, which I am very excited for. Dancing is one of the world's most enjoyable activities. And meeting knew people is always important.