Page 49 of Better Love Next Time
Katherine
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Notfelle, December 21, 1758
Day 245
Dearest Julian,
It snowed this morning. And while it is quite pretty, it means that Lord Staverton must grace us with his presence for longer. Of course, this is great news to my father who, laid up with a bout of rheumatism, has a companion with whom to speak of the heresy that has fallen upon our country. That it has been over two hundred years hardly matters. I remain silent as they plot the return of the True Faith and, you know, they ask me no questions. But, if they did, I would ask: Is there really such a difference in gods?
Everyone dies, Julian, and the status of my loved ones’ souls matters nothing to me, except that they are no longer here. I believe the rules concerning worship are wielded like Machiavelli, a power used against our mortal condition. And when I die, I am most suspicious that I will not care. In truth, the assurance I would be united with my mother upon death was once my greatest conviction. Now, I do not believe it.
I hope to be reunited with you soon. Please write to me on your adventures.
Yours in Disbelief,
Kitty
Notfelle, December 27, 1758
Day 251
Dearest Julian,
Lord Staverton eyes me like a meat pie, which he is very fond of and eats excessively. Our larder is almost empty from his gluttony and my father has sold the last of my mother’s silver plate—you know, the platter which Cook served the delicious tea cakes on? Gone. And her gold-plated clock. Gone. Rest assured, I wear your ring when out of my father’s presence, lest he strip it from my finger.
But Lord Staverton wants to put a ring upon my finger and if it were not for Father Dunlevy advising against it—I am just seventeen, if you remember—I would be making children with a grandfather. Julian, Lord Staverton put his hand on my thigh when my father left the room to find Shelley and he squeezed it.
Please write back and tell me what I should do.
Yours in Fear of Grandfathers,
Kitty
Notfelle, January 5, 1758
Day 261
Julian,
As I did not hear from you on how to repel Lord Staverton’s continued advances, I resorted to my own methods. Recall the last he cornered me in the butler’s pantry, and when I dropped to the floor to crawl around him, he was unable to bend down and catch me. Why he wishes to make children with me when there are far prettier females in the world is a mystery. I can only assume I smell of mutton and onions.
I awoke last night with a crushing weight upon me and the stench of tobacco and fish spit on my mouth. Lord Staverton, peer of the realm, ardent lover of Christ Jesus and Mary, was undressed, on top of me, kissing me. I lay there, in complete shock. What to do? I knew I had but one chance, and you, Julian, saved me. Remember when you laid Shelley low with a knee to his breeches? What inspiration! I shoved my knee where there were no breeches and an apoplexy overcame him. I then proceeded to push him off my bed and, because villains are never thwarted with one strike, whacked him over the head with a candlestick. Remarkably effective.
However, I’ve read enough novels to know he wished to compromise me and thus force me into marriage, so I remained utterly silent to avoid my father’s discovery and dragged the beast out of my room, down two corridors, and left him in front of my father’s chamber door. It took me a good half hour and if I hadn’t been exhausted, I would have rolled him to the stairs and kicked him to his Maker. Instead, I brushed my teeth three times.
At breakfast this morning, he was gone from Notfelle. Suffice to say, our Twelfth Night celebration is restrained.
Yours in Violent Inspiration,
Kitty
Notfelle, April 18, 1758
Day 324
Dearest Julian,
