The twenty- eighth of April, the year of Our Lord fifteen hundred and seventy.

Father's in a... mood -again. 'Cecily,' he asks me, 'pray tell, how old are you?'

'Eighteen,' I always reply, sadly, for he does not want to forget such things. I know he doesn't.

It is worryingly often now that he forgets something so large about me. Yesterday he called me Catherine again. 'No, Father, I am Cecily. Your daughter.'

My mother died many years ago, and while I admit that I do share her blue eyes and round face, I have my father's sandy curls and mannish height. The similarities between my mother and I are not enough to warrant such a mistake. Father is getting so troubled now, and with naught but one son (and my brother Edmund but twelve years old!) he told me after I gave him my age that I needed to marry.

I do not mind. In truth, marriage is one of the things I've longed for most- of course, as long as the man Father chooses for me is not too old, too wild, or too shy. Out here on the moors my chances are slim, as there are few manors within a few day's ride with eligible men. I shall see. 

I set down my quill and blow on the ink to dry it before closing my journal. Margery, my maid, is calling for me. Of course she is- it's nearly seven o'clock! Only then do I realize just how hungry I am.

"Coming!" I holler back to her. I try my best to be a lady- and I daresay I succeed- in company, but there is no company here, just Father, Edward, me, and the staff.

I straighten my skirt and open the door. Margery stands outside, her hand poised as though she were about to knock.

"Oh, Miss Cecily, you've got to get into something nicer. Lord Rogers is here."

I curse inwardly. Shutting the bedroom door, I rush to the armoir by my window and pull off my brown dress, quickly changing into a teal gown that I worried may have been too formal. I'd never met Lord Rogers before, but I knew that he was about thirty and that he owned Brownsville Chase about ten miles down the road. His wife had died a year before- they say that her collar was caught and it choked the life from her- a horrible death, to be sure, rest her soul. Lord Rogers has grieved ever since.

I have a very good idea as to why he's here, especially after Father's words earlier. 

I go down the stairs and Margery shows me into the drawing room. My father stands by the fireplace with a man I can only assume to be Lord Rogers of Brownsville.

"Ah, yes, Lord Rogers. My daughter, Cecily..." His feeble voice trails off as I curtsey to Lord Rogers.

"It is a pleasure, Lord Rogers, for you to have graced this house with your presence" I say. "I am pleased to have made your acquaintance."

He bends and kisses my hand. "The pleasure is mine, Miss Osburne."

Tall, with jet- black hair and dark grey eyes, he is still young and really very charming. Of course, I must make conversation with him, but be carefully guarding myself... just in case. 

"Cecily, darling, Lord Rogers is here on your behalf," my father says. Of course. I was expecting this. I make a slightly confused pout, cocking my head a little to appear demure.

"Yes, Father? How so?" Men don't like a clever girl. For now, I can pretend. I know perfectly well why Lord Rogers is here.

"He would like to ask for your hand in marriage. I thought, perhaps... it would be best for you to have a choice in it. It is, after all, your hand..." He smiles gently and I realise how blessed I am to have such a caring father, who doesn't just auction me off to the highest bidder.

"Father," I reply with a smile, as though my entire future is not being decided, "I trust you with my hand, for it is you who has led me with it this far."

*****

Later.

I am engaged to Lord Rogers- a fate I don't know quite what to make of! He's charming, good-looking, and certainly very intelligent, but can I live with a man that still pines for his dead wife- can I, an innocent, never-wed girl, know that my husband was never only mine? Can I lie in the same bed that another woman once occupied, could I ever bear children that should have been hers? I do not even know her name...

I trust Father with all of my soul and he says that the marriage would be the best thing for our family. If Father says it, it must be true.

It also does not hurt that Lord Rogers- or is it permissible for him to be Walter in my private diary?- is still young and is rich. I shall be comfortable, and maybe- hopefully- I shall be happy.

*****

"When is it you leave?" My brother fidgets in his chair, twisting his quill back and forth- sending little sprays of ink onto the otherwise empty paper below.

"A few months," I reply, my nose still in my book. "Keep studying your Greek, Ed, or Father won't be happy with you at all."

He scowls and keeps swinging his legs back and forth.

I love our little library, it smells of parchment and dust and tastes of warm sunshine. I can never be distracted by anything while I'm there- but Ed, of course, is distracted by everything.

"You're not going to leave me here alone, are you?"

I sigh, recognising that I'm not going to get any reading done. "You won't be alone! You have Father,  Cook, and all of the servants to keep you company. Besides, it's not as though I'm moving to Paris. I'll be an hour's ride away."

"An hour is a very long time if you're trying to escape."

"Why on Earth would I ever want to escape? I'm getting married, not going to prison!"

"What if he tries to kill you, like he did the first Lady Rogers?"

"Edmund Osburne, you have no right to say that! Have you no idea how much he grieves for her?" My mouth drops open and my brother just shrugs. A fat drop of black ink splatters on the paper.

"That's just what Henry told me. He worked at Brownsville when it happened, too."

"And did he by any chance see Lord Rogers 'murder' his own wife?"

Ed gives a shake of his blond head. "No, but his brother found Lady Roger's body. She was hung."

My stomach churns. "That's enough, Edmund," I say firmly. "Now do your Greek. No arguments."

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