Dearest Journal,

There is a small parlor which I have claimed as my own. I don’t mean to say I’ve mentioned this to anyone, or that I actually have a room here in the Lukeson house. No, rather what I mean is that I had begun thinking of it as my own as no one uses it and I have begun to spend my hours there. It is tucked into the back of the house on the first floor and is decorated with beautiful greens and golds. It reminds me of the gardens back home. There is plenty of light to embroider by and it even has a pretty little desk to write at. I’ve taken to writing my correspondence to Flint Manor there, as well as composing my entries to you, dearest friend.

Yesterday as I was working on the hand cherifs for Ace when Mrs. Lukeson looked in on me. I admit, I was rather afraid she had come to claim the room back. That I was to be turned out of the room for some future company, but Mrs. Lukeson was kind about it, and, while rather awkward (one day I do hope that our interactions are less awkward, I assume this has to do with her own experiences in life less so than me - although I could hardly blame her if it were myself, after all, I did plunge her family into rather a dreadful scandal) allowed me to ‘host’ her in the parlor. We even took tea and I admit that I did rather enjoy my afternoon.

The whole afternoon made me wonder how Mrs. Lukeson might have treated me if I had been engaged properly to her son before our marriage rather than having been engaged to another previously and then running off with her son? I wonder if she would have helped me plan the wedding, if she would have wanted any say at all. Would mother and her have enjoyed suppers together planning what Ace’s and I’s life would look like when they were done with us? If mother had passed away first would she have taken on the role of mother? Did she wish for Ace to find a wife that she might consider a daughter of her own? I was so wrapped up in my own life, in my own dread of the circumstances, of my love for Ace that I hardly stopped to think how she might feel about the whole thing. I suppose I assumed that she, like everyone else, would think of foolhardy and naive. But would she, had we let her know?

I am not brave enough to ask Ace, or Mrs. Lukeson, but perhaps with time I shall be.

Lucille