"The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone," she citied her favourite author. Her head was leaning on the trunk of the linden tree, her eyes were closed and she was listening to the soft music of the leaves.

"Which highbrow pronounced those words, Lady Greta?" a voice asked. He had been peaking through the low hanging branches.

Her heart dropped, but not because of excitement that she could lay her eyes on his face. He had found the only place she was safe from everything, the only place where she could enjoy privacy and immunity.

She didn't feel vexed, because he was trying to be intrusive, as a matter of fact that wasn't his intention. He just tried to uphold the standards of courtship. They had to marry, no, they were likely to be set up for marriage together, nothing was written in the stars yet.

"Nobody you would know, my lord", she answered simply, she didn't mean to be rude, but she just wanted to be left alone.

An abashed smile was dancing on his lips. Lips that, she had been told, were kissable. She just didn't see the appeal herself. He must be handsome, everyone kept telling her how handsome he was, with his fair soft skin, his small piercing eyes that were glimmering beneath his epicanthic folds and pitch black hair.

"Aren't you scared?" he asked, not entering the subject of my impoliteness, "They have robbed your father's treasury and you are sitting out here completely on your own. I understand that you enjoy reading books and being intellectual, but don't you prefer to do this inside, where it is safe?"

"The fuss about the stolen property is ludicrous," she mentioned, "Apparently, the most precious belonging that was stolen was only an ancient mask. Just imagine! All this fuss because of a ball mask. Thousands are sold in just merely a year, why do we bother?"

"Because we value what is ancient, Lady Greta," he said softly. "A lot of people went missing around your home, the stable lad, for example."

"I can take look after myself, I'm not a child," Greta brushed a blonde curl out of her face, her summer dress felt heavy, "Nobody will find me here."

"I just did," he replied, "But your father told me that I could find you here, and your sisters supported his statement. Why don't you take Clove and Mathilde with you?"

"Because they don't come with me, they don't care for literature, they find me reading to them boring. Clove would rather climbs trees and break her ankles and Mathilde is too busy turning down eligible men," she replied.

"I think you do them wrong, I think they have the potential to be just like you, they just lack a bit of encouragement," he said, "You are a pioneer of our time."

She knew that he meant it as a compliment, but somehow she still felt offended. How dare he think she was revolutionary, just because she was interested in books. There were plenty of women who read, there were plenty of women who wrote!

Her sisters as much as her could be considered different from the norm. Clove and Mathilde adventured like men did, one rode horses and went on long hikes, the other had mastered the art of seduction.

They were able to be like they were, because they had the privilege not fight for their life. Their station saved them from an act of survival, in which, yes, acting unconventionally could result in death.

If Greta really were a pioneer, she would tell him the truth, about why she was so reluctant to marrying him.

"Lord Capell, I would like to continue reading. Preferably – alone."