What must he have seen when he looked upon me to make my very presence lead to such uneasiness?  I have always been slight of figure, looking perhaps less strong than I in fact am.  There would be nothing in my face or less-than-average height to make anyone tremble.  It must, then, have been either my garments or my nammer which gave him pause.  I was dressed according to my station, with the brooch my lord presented to me, the symbol of his house, pinned to my gown.

Not knowing me or my history, he instinctively saw in me a lady of rank.  In this he was not wrong: that is, in part, what I have now become. It put me in mind of what Barron told me some time ago; it is perhaps true that the position is worthy of respect even if the man–or woman–is not.  It may well be that some day my inner self will match my exterior and I will become a lady in truth, as Priya of Carmichael is.  I have written elsewhere in these pages how some even among my close companions have found difficulty seeing the change in me.  Somehow, this stranger did.

Certainly a title does little to truly ennoble the bearer.  After all, my brother-in-law, whose name is barely spoken among us, misused his office and was far from the example of virtue which should accompany the name he bore.  All of his wealth, along with the acclaim of many, could not keep him from pursuing a path which led him to betray king and country.  However, it is only grace which keeps any of us from stumbling.  There is certainly no inherent goodness which can be ascribed to poverty either.

In my own case, I recognize that I was no longer belong with the people I was born among.  In their eyes, my marriage transitioned me out of their sphere, though in all honesty that is where I still perceive myself to be most comfortable.  I am a servant who has risen to become the servant of the entire town as its lady. Who am I to place myself above them?  I am nobody particularly noteworthy and I do not.  They are of equal worth, and I suppose that what I do could be managed admirably by even the least educated.  Mistress Simetra, who has taught me so much, would make an admirable lady, as I have remarked to her.  Nor do I covet the status: I would be content in the meanest hovel, were my lord with me.

Still, in the perception of those like Lady Paige, I will never be among the ranks of the nobility either.  I may adorn myself in all the trappings of privilege.  I may attend to my lessons in deportment diligently. I may learn to ride as if I had been born to do so.  I may even manage the Manor house and my responsibilities to the town admirably, and still I will be nothing more than an upstart, dressed in borrowed plumage.  The Master Inkeeper and his sister, the Lady Astera, were viewed differently because their mother’s blood was common.  I have been told such was one of Lady Paige’s objections to her son’s union.  So, too, my children will be seen differently because of me.

Where, then, /do/ I fit?  My place is with Barron; that much I am certain of.  I will remain by his side as we weather the tempests which will come together.  My place is also here in Lancelyn Green, this town which I have pledged myself to.  I feel as duty-bound as if I /had/ been born to the responsibility.  Furthermore, my place is to use what I have been given with wisdom, holding firm always to what is right and fitting.  This, then, will I do.

Finding the grounds unoccupied, I gave in to the sudden urge to stop.  I am no archer; the only time I have held a bow in my hands was when I went to watch Mistress Pippa, long before we both married, and she insisted I try.  The afternoon being more than commonly fair, I borrowed bow and quiver from Master Pelton.   As can only be expected, few of my shots managed to land anywhere near the target.  It came to mind how often we miss the mark and fall short of what we should be–is that not the very definition of transgression?  And I realized:  all too frequently, we do so out of love.

Love is meant to spur us on towards action in the same manner my bowstring, when drawn back tautly, propelled the arrow towards its intended target.  Where there is no love, there is stagnation.  How many years was Barron content to retreat inside his Manor house, untouched by the people of this town?  He cared in his way, but it was insufficient to drive him to see after their inerests himself when his own family’s tragedy came crashing in.  This, then, is one way love may lead us astray:  through its deficiency.  He has come to understand, as have I, how to be zealous in our duties towards them.  After all, if we had only considered our own desires, we would have left Lancelyn Green far behind us and sought to build a life together elsewhere.  We did not.  He came to the window, and love did the rest.

If too little love guides us far from the center of the mark, too much love, where it is wrongly given, is equally in error.  Lord Bar, whose name is never spoken other than in hushed, derisive whispers, is such a case.  He loved, it is true, but gave himself to seeking after power and his own gain, and ended a traitor to his king and country.  There is nothing worse, as acting against the king is acting against the Emperor himself, who set the king over us.  It is possible to love pleasure too much as well, and even love for another person must not be allowed to take precedence over the love we owe Him.   We make choices, believing rightly that we act out of love, and they lead us astray before we realize it.  Cities have been demolished and families have been forced to go hungry, all in love’s name.

Of course, it is not always the /amount/ of love which is the question.  Love can be twisted beyond all recognition and turn to its very opposite.  After all, the Lady Paige surely loves her children, but I have watched her cut them to shreds with her words when they failed to please her in some small way.  Can this be called love?  Perhaps so…an excessive love of self, and a desire to maintain the status she thinks she deserves no matter the cost to those she claims to love.  Once again, hitting nowhere near the target.

As for my own flaws, I can hold the mirror up to myself and speak eloquently of them.  Time and time again, the arrows which would represent my own loves swing wide or break upon the ground, or I slip at the last moment.  Perfect love shines like a beacon, a goal to serve as guide.  This was what I contemplated while on Pelton’s field, amidst the green of the range and the “thock” of arrows hitting cleanly, and I was able to return much refreshed and ready to apply myself to my tasks once more.

I am blessed to have learned to love and to be loved in return, and Barron and I will seek the mark together.

It is enough to hold sleep at bay a little longer, and it was on nights like these when I would be pressed to tell my younger sisters a story to help soothe them into rest.  I have always been drawn to stories of adventure and lands beyond Archenland, perhaps because my own life has been so circumscribed.  If I could not visit far off lands myself, there was no reason why I could not imagine them, and sometimes those pictures were even more compelling than the reality could possibly be.

Such creativity is a gift from the Emperor Across the Sea, and now I no longer have to rely on my own devices, since I have both access to a great many texts and the ability to understand them.  How many hours have I spent in the library this past winter, curled up by the fire with a book to bear me company?  I have stopped keeping track, and what a world has been opened to me.  I still gravitate towards tales of other lands, but now I find myself drawn more and more to philosophy and history, sober subjects indeed for one of my gender and background.

When I was young, the stories that my siblings and I would tell one another made our lives fuller…richer.  They provided a means of escape.  Now, I am happier than I believed possible and I no longer have the need to turn to story for that reason.  The more I read, the more I find my mind opened to ideas which, though I may have considered them before, I could certainly not have articulated nearly as well.

It is, in a sense, very like participating in a conversation which transcends time and space.  To consider topics such as love, honor, hope, loyalty, and see them with outside eyes is important occupation indeed.  While one man, or even one generation, may be led astray, the written word lives on and can counteract the tendency to err.  I do not dwell on what I have missed having spent so much time without the ability to avail myself of the old tales, but rather find myself grateful for the opportunity which is now before me.

Thus, I read until my eyes begin to become bleary with strain, and still I do not tire of it.  I remind myself that the more I learn, the better prepared I will be to fulfill what is expected of me.  My children will have a mother who, even if she does not consider herself fit teacher for them, can at least demonstrate a vigorous and an expanded mind and can show them how to find joy in learning what subjects they will.

The Lady Astera, when we were at court together, showed me that she is a like spirit.  She, too, along with her brother the inkeeper, used to entertain each other with story.  Those stories contained essential truths, as all good stories do, couched in a form which makes them far more palatable.  How strange that two such different women as we are, by birth and by education, would independently conceive of tales which bear a remarkable resemblance to each another.

Yet one more way in which my eyes have been opened, and how good it is to be taken outside myself.

Was it virtue or was I acting out of less…becoming motives?  Both, were I to be completely honest with myself.  There are /always/ consequences, blossoming from each choice as they spread outward.  I am tempted to digress, to ease myself into the subject at hand.  I shall not allow it; perhaps safe within these pages, I will come to a new understanding.

Let it not be said that I do not know the companionship of regret, but I do not wish to take back my decision to end my silence.  Perhaps that is where I have erred.  Barron’s study is normally outside of my scope; in fact, in the months since I took up residence in the Manor, I never ventured there until tonight.  Though he would not have gainsaid me, it is his realm far more than it will ever be mine.  Still, that is where we retired together to discuss the disturbances created by the conduct of his squire.

I was honest–how could I not be?  This truth, I am afraid, will bring repercussions to bear down on Squire Brynn (deserved, perhaps) and on Mistress Pippa, who is in the unenviable position of having married a man of questionable judgment.  I told Barron as succinctly as possible what I had observed, and to watch his face change during the time the recitation took me was akin to observing the sun suddenly swallowed by thunderclouds.

The squire has much to learn… then again, I can say no less of myself. Will he allow himself to be teachable, becoming stronger through the experience, and make the effort to learn from his future mistakes?  Were it just that I felt slighted, I hope I would not have brought it to Barron’s attention; however, a squire who willfully choses to go to excess to dull his wits and then uses it as an excuse for brutish behavior has an impact on his lord.  Were his squire to fail in some greater charge because he lacked control and was inattentive, Barron would be at risk.

Barron told me, when he was aware of all, that he would attend to matters.  I do not know what he has planned by way of instruction.  But I must put my faith in the knowledge that the man I wed is good, and his judgments sound.  I little like the idea of anyone being punished because of my word; however, in Master Brynn’s case it seems that lighter lessons are not effective.

The dull ache in my head tells me that I am likely thinking too much…again.  I have enough trouble sorting through my own jumbled thoughts at times, goodness knows!  Here I sit attempting to make excuses for and ascribe motivation to another person.  It is impossible.  He has a wife–he ought to consider her welfare; she deserves a husband who will lead her into virtue and to see herself in proper perspective.  Never this…never having to make her own way in spite of his folly.

What possessed him to endanger it all?  What possesses any of us, really?

That’s done it; surprisingly, I find that I am angry, and not because he was insulting. He has been given privilege and the opportunity to care for his family and thus far has made no effort to show himself deserving of it. He’s simply taking it for granted, as so many do.  It is a blow to Lord Barron, who chose him, and to me, who encouraged the selection.

Soon, he will be called into the very study where my lord and I spoke and asked to answer for his actions.  Were I in the squire’s place, I would select my words with care and be slow to answer.  Perhaps something is weighing heavily upon him, causing him to forget himself utterly.  If so, I will do what I can in his defense.  May he come to his senses before he is beyond the pale of reason.  He must see how this is affecting Mistress Pippa; that will reach him, if anything can.

This will also serve as a reminder–Master Brynn relies very little on his head and is greatly driven by his emotions.  If anything, I suffer from the opposite defect, which is equally dangerous.  It is only when both exist in balance that there is security for any of us.  Since my head is still throbbing, I will leave off here and seek the gentle soothing of the out of doors.

My surprise quickly turned to delight when I realized that I held, for the first time in the months since my marriage, word from my sister Violet, closest to me in age as well as temperament.  I do not speculate on how she managed, both to find someone willing to serve as scribe and to do so without incurring Father’s disapproval.  The steps leading me away from Chesterton and into a new life here severed the ties between us more efficiently than mere miles would warrant.  Though I wrote to my father last fall, telling him of my impending wedding and assuring him that I had not forgotten the duty owed him as a daughter, and the messenger informed me that he had received my letter, he remained resolute in his dismissal of me.

I feared as much when I made my choice; I could not burden them with my continued presence under their roof.  His speech cut deeply, though my sister’s letter brought my yearning for a reconciliation between us to the fore.  I miss the comfort of being able to seek my mother’s counsel, the opportunity to share my happiness with Violet, who was my companion in so many of my childhood memories, the chance to hold my younger sisters close and watch as they race towards adulthood.  I feel too much…too much to mention, even in the pages of this journal.

There was a time he called us his garden, his six daughters, all named after my mother’s favorite blooms; my brother was to have the farm after him, while my sisters and I were to seek our security in marriage.  How ironic that now, when I find myself in a position to look after the welfare of my family and would willingly do so in ways which were  impossible while married to the husband he chose for me, he will none of it.   Why does it still wound so?  I sometimes believe him that my obedience was incomplete, but I also see the good, the healing, that has resulted through my settling here.  He permitted me to leave, but there has been a cost to both of us.

Violet and the others suffer in my absence as well–reading between the lines of her letter makes that clear enough.  From the time I worked at the inn, I sent enough of my wages as I could spare to the safe keeping of my brother and his wife, since I was aware my father would not accept.  It is my hope that it has given some ease to them, since I am not there to do so.  Perhaps it is Violet, sister nearest to my heart though I love them all dearly,  who has felt the separation most.  On the few occasions she came with me as I waited on the Lady Avery, she would always return home and imagine that she herself was a fine lady.  Now I /am/ a lady, though I do not make any pretensions at how fine I will be.  What would she make of my life here?   How her eyes widened that day Sir Tyren, still no more than a boy, snuck a sweet from the kitchen for me to share with her; she is likely grown taller than I am by this point.

They are written on my heart, this family of mine, but I am coming to see my definition of family shifting from all recognition.  My husband is my home and my family now, and I will not erase their image–I cannot–but I must learn a new way to love them.

I spent my afternoon in the Embroidery Room, attending to a piece of fancywork.  As I rapidly plied my needle through the fabric, the exercise allowed me to focus on my still more swiftly moving thoughts.  Sir Tyren would doubtless observe that such contemplativeness is nothing unusual for either of us.  Thus, my hands went about their work as my mind surrendered to reflection.  Surrender—It is not surprising that I should fix on that particular word, since that is the very idea I found myself dwelling on.  Many times we are asked to give up the rights we believe ourselves possessed of or even any claim to be our own masters while remaining in darkness as to the reason for our surrender.  Society itself is built upon such a willing setting aside, after all.  There is an order, and even lords such as Barron, in authority over many others, must submit to the will of the king in Anvard.  It is the way our lives are, and it is right.

What does it mean, then, to completely surrender?  Is it to be carried along, as a leaf is by the current of a stream? Is it a defeat? A force in the field of battle must give way to the much greater strength of an opponent, and that is also called “surrender”.  It is fearful to be no longer completely one’s own, but there is such a wealth of freedom found in surrender that it must be a good.  Oh, there are reasons enough for ceding rights: fear, a desire for protection, necessity, and even hope of rewards. It can be brought about by force or freely entered into. It came to me, as I pondered, that perhaps the small acts of surrender, at times done without our conscious realization, may serve as preparation for much deeper levels of submission to come. If I had not learned, when a child, to set aside my own desires and prove myself obedient to my parents, I wonder if I would have been able to accept their choice of a husband for me when I was eighteen. I was able to surrender and learn trust within my family, or it would have been immensely more difficult to practice surrender when it came time to honor the lords appointed to govern me, first the House of Chesterton and most recently Lord Barron (before ever I came to love him). The ultimate end of surrendering the will leads where all roads eventually do: to the Emperor-Over-the-Sea Himself.

Surrender to Him, in particular, cannot be done by half measures. We have the choice not to surrender ourselves, but if we do it must be all of us, heart, mind, body, and soul. It seems a paradox, but it is only when we willingly give up that we truly gain what we have released. Cling too tightly and we cannot hope to keep it, even if what we intend to preserve is life itself. Why is it that we, and I am as guilty as any, stubbornly insist on striving against surrendering, when it is only gain? When I worked as a cook, bread needed to baked each day; in the same way, I have learned that I must constantly keep practicing the act of surrender, since I am likely, in my own weakness, to take back what I so freely released earlier. Long ago I came to the recognition that nothing is truly /mine/, after all, and I suppose such a lesson comes more easily because I was of humble birth.

Everything a commoner possesses or even is belongs to their lord, who can order as he will. This is a relatively easy matter when the lord is clearly worthy of what has been entrusted to him; however, as my own brother-in-law exemplifies, that is not always the case. Is surrender still expected in such cases? The difficult answer, I believe, is yes, insofar as it is proper to do so. Knights who face combat know that they must be prepared to offer up their lives, if necessary, as part of their service. There is no guarantee that their adversary is worthy, and yet they offer to serve their king with willing hearts. This is one image of surrender. They benefit because they do so, that is true, but surrender is even more beautiful when there is no apparent recompense. We may never see what the fruits of surrender turn out to be anyhow. Each single thread in my needlework is part of a pattern, though one wouldn’t necessarily see it until the piece was complete. Such must be true of acts of surrender as well: one needs time and distance to understand their import.

Much of what I now understand about surrendering comes through my marriage. Is that not, in a sense, what such unions are founded on? By that I mean mutual surrender, where each party cedes what might be good for them personally to instead do what is in the best interest of the other. When the heart is involved, it is easy to put one’s spouse above oneself, but feelings are notoriously fickle. Continuing to do so throughout the entire course of a union requires head as well as heart; it is a more conscious commitment. Both are integral, and anyone who assumes differently need only look to my first marriage as an example. Though my actions were correct, and I honored him as a wife should, submitting my will to his, all was done out of a spirit of obedience rather than love, and my surrender in that instance was incomplete and poorly motivated. The same could not be said of me today. I am reminded that Lord Barron and I both had to sacrifice, to surrender in certain ways, in order to wed each other, and we were led to do so by the love which continues to grow between us.

Though the Master Innkeeper was flustered by some of the questions Oliver asked, I found myself reminded, as usual when I see Oliver, of my own sister, Lilly, who is just nine years old herself and also has an all-consuming desire to know. He will learn tact in time, and the boy’s innate sweetness more than makes up for any lapses in decorum.  If the innkeeper and his wife stand in for Oliver’s parents, then I am something of an older sister to him, and with the gracious consent of the Master Innkeeper, Oliver accompanied me back to the Manor as well.  Recalling a book I had promised to loan his mistress, I determined to send it with the servant when he walked Oliver back to the inn.  The boy’s excitement at seeing the library paralleled my own when I first caught sight of the shelves stacked high with books of every description.

I do not fully understand why I am so drawn to the child, whether because of the resemblance to Lilly or because he is like I was–and indeed still am–hungry for knowledge.  If I have any say in matters, he will not lack the education which I was unable to pursue as a child.  At any rate, I gleaned from him that he has not yet been taught his letters, and I was in a position to encourage him to speak with Mistress Simetra, who was my own tutor not long ago.  Though he was loathe to impose upon her, I know her heart and it would be a joy for her to instruct him.  If Lord Barron does not object, and I do not think he will, I will send some of the rudimentary texts which are currently gathering dust in the schoolroom along to the Sun and Moon.

Oliver returned this morning, with a container of preserves which Mistress Simetra sent in thanks.  The child has lost his family, and the nights have not been kind to him in consequence.  It may well be that the entire town will make up the lack, so thoroughly has he gained the affection of those who have met him.  He will work hard at the inn; I above all know that, but perhaps the occupation will distract his mind, at least a little, from what he has suffered.  I have good cause to know how kind the Master Innkeeper and his wife are, and it occurs to me that Oliver will be good for them as well.  My time in Lancelyn Green has transformed me, and I hope that it will prove the same in Oliver’s case.

The voices of a group of children just beyond the borders of the Manor lawn carry up to me where I sit writing, and it lightens my heart.  The entire town shows evidence of growth, from the buildings which are occupied nearly as soon as they are built to the enclosures of herds and flocks fattening through the cold months.  The increasing families are another indication.  More and more I find myself eager for the time when,  if it is the Emperor Beyond the Sea’s will, I am able to present my lord with an heir.  Perhaps my son will be very like the young innkeeper’s apprentice.  Lancelyn Green has known enough of shame; if Lord Barron and I are blessed with children, we will do everything we can to make certain that they only have reason to take pride in the town and in her industrious, contented people.

We managed to reach the warmth of the Sun and Moon Inn, a beacon drawing us through the storm.  On such an evening, the tavern was well-nigh deserted other than Prinn, the tavernmaster, and the squire, Brynn.  My attendant and I seated ourselves in a darkened corner to wait out the snow, with the wind’s howl providing an eerie counterpoint.  She procured me a fragrant cup of tea, steeped perfectly, to take the chill away, and I anticipated a period of quiet before we pressed on to the Manor itself.  The new squire was doing an excellent job finishing off tankard after tankard of Prinn’s ale.  Whether he is unable to handle the alcohol or some other perverse mood took hold of him, his behavior rapidly degenerated into rudeness.  I was stunned, since insolence towards one’s sworn lady shows a definite lack of wisdom.

My own response was to match his sharp words with cold politeness, assuming the virtues of nobility until that point when they are ingrained into my nature.  With a great deal of effort, I did not deign to reply to him, even when he laughed at my servant’s discomfiture.  This was far from the first time I have dealt with men of his stripe–after all, my life until recently could hardly be described as sheltered.  I was more concerned than anything else, to be truthful; what led him to be alone, away from home on such a dismal night?  If his attitude was any indication, something is assuredly amiss.

His affairs are not my concern, as I remind myself.  I must, however, consider what to say to my lord about this evening.  Though I do not care for the hunter personally, for Mistress Pippa’s sake, I do not wish to bring trouble upon him.  However, my lord Barron has a right to know how his squire comports himself as well, since his actions, much like my own, reflect upon the town as a whole.  With this weighing on me, it is no wonder that I have not slept much tonight.

This morning I followed my custom of rising well before it was light.  There is something indolent about remaining abed when the world is stirring, and I always wake with my mind full of the day’s tasks to be accomplished, banishing sleep.  I glanced out the casement briefly until the early morning birdsong called me out of doors, where I discovered that Barron was there ahead of me.  I watched in silence as he painstakingly inspected one wicked-looking weapon after another, ensuring the soundness of each.  To say that he was surprised at my presence there would be an understatement.  He claimed my hand, and, as we walked the grounds of the Manor, still verdant even in midwinter, he opened his mind to  me.

While it is true that his elder brother was always intended to have the running of Lancelyn Green, my own lord’s training was not neglected.  To the west of the town proper stands an arena, mute testament to the hours they both spent acquiring the skills expected of men of their status.  I have never seen it used, but Barron has plans to set in motion the steps necessary to open the arena again.  What’s more, he fully intends to take up his own blade and resume regular practice.  It is another sign that our marriage has changed him, and I cannot help but believe it is for the better when he chooses to revive  some of his former interests.  Even so, I had to suppress the cold, tight knot of fear which I could feel in the pit of my stomach.  He will be prudent, I know, but I cannot abide the thought of  him in pain.  And to envision his life, which has already come to be so dear, risked in the heat of battle…

I know he will do what he must and serve his king with honor, and I keep telling myself to push these foolish worries to the side.  That is easier said then done.  He has also determined that he will need the services of a squire and has proposed to offer the position to the hunter, Brynn.  I little relish the thought of Mistress Pippa having to be parted from her husband for the many hours which his new duties will demand of him.  I do not expect that he will turn down my lord’s offer, with the accompanying increase in position and the promise of steady recompense.  Barron seemed to sense the direction of my thoughts, and simply saying, “Far be it from me to part them,” explained to me that she would attend me and if it pleased me they could even take up residence within the walls of the Manor.   She has been a friend to me, and I expect she’ll soon discover that I am far more used to waiting on than being waited upon.

As for my lord Barron, I shall have to commit us both into the hands of Him who set our purpose and our days, knowing that His care for my husband is even greater than my own.  There is comfort in that, and so I am able to leave off writing in an easier mood than when I began.

]]> http://ramblingrosa.wordpress.com/2009/01/12/12-newlightchiaroscuro/feed/ 0 _ Fair Rosamund, John William Waterhouse http://ramblingrosa.wordpress.com/2008/12/28/28-eveningstarstarry-night/ http://ramblingrosa.wordpress.com/2008/12/28/28-eveningstarstarry-night/#comments Sun, 28 Dec 2008 22:17:11 +0000 _ http://ramblingrosa.wordpress.com/?p=144 ]]> We have come home again, and this time I entered the Manor not as servant but as mistress.  I wonder how many months must pass before I no longer feel a guest here, under the stern, unyielding gazes of portraits depicting so many ancestors who would likely wonder why a mere cook is granted passage among them.  From the servants’ quarters above to the cellar below the kitchen, all aspects of the Manor will soon come within my sphere; this reality is reinforced by the iron ring of keys which I can feel swinging against me as I walk the hallways.

It is clear from the condition of some of the rooms, which have seen little traffic in the intervening years, where my husband’s interests have focused.  The library is well-maintained, and I have little doubt we both will spend many hours there.  The nursery, on the other hand, looks to have been abandoned since my lord and his brother outgrew it. It is a gloomy reminder of how Lancelyn Green itself has been neglected, and yet I found myself envisioning our children, if we are granted them, and the notion brought only pleasure.  There is a ladder descending from the nursery ceiling, and it was there I discovered an observatory; one of those aforementioned ancestors must have taken an interest in stargazing, though I was the first to visit it in some time.

I stood transfixed; the view of the town, spread out below, nearly took my breath away.  Everywhere I looked I saw signs of growth, from the new buildings being constructed nearly as soon as they can find inhabitants to the people going about their way unaware of my observation.  I was still standing there, unheeding of the icy wind which played with my hair, when a servant found me and informed me that I had a visitor.  A moment later, Mistress Simetra, bundled in a cloak against the inclement weather, made her way to stand beside me.  Of all the responses to the news of my marriage, I have been most concerned to face hers.  After all, having worked beside her,  I know that had circumstances been different she would have made an excellent lady.  She is possessed of all the required wit and intelligence and has managed the inn admirably.

I soon learned that my fears were groundless.  We resumed conversing with one another as if no separation at all had occurred between us.  If anything, a new understanding has developed.  I have often wondered whether she imagines herself to have harmed the Master Keeper through consenting to marry him (which led to him ceding his title).  He would not choose differently, and if anything he is stronger because of her.  I am well aware of how easy it is to assume blame which is undeserved, and I did what I could to ease her mind.  The night grew colder, and she was soon able to coax me inside, where we took tea together before she returned home.  It is good to have seen for myself that our friendship is undiminished by my absence and by all which has changed between us.