My sister charged into the bedchamber, her candle flickering and nearly extinguishing from her haste. She smiled at me and I jumped up from my sewing – not that I’d done a stitch of course.
“Did you see him?” I asked.
“I don’t think they saw me,” she said, still catching her breath.
She enjoyed keeping me in suspense, but I was impatient.
“Just tell me! Did you see him?”
“Oh yes, and you will be pleased. He is young and very handsome.”
That was a relief to me. I’d imagined all kinds of ogres. Now that only left Anna to secure a good match. Although for her, they lined up around the earldom.
She set down her candle. “I even heard his name.”
“I know he is Sir Richard of Roxbury.”
“Sir Richard Mortimer. Of Roxbury.”
My heart felt like it dropped down to my feet, and I must have looked ill because Anna turned ashen, led me to the bed, and looked ready to call in the physician at any moment.
“Oh no,” I said. It was all I could get out. In that instant, I knew my life was going to be a nightmare. But perhaps, a delicious one.
My heart fluttered like a trapped bird as I rested my head upon my pillow. Sir Richard Mortimer of Roxbury. Oh, what sweet trepidation. When first I learned of the intended match, I had feared the worst: Sir Richard Featherstone of Roxbury, that balding, impotent cad; or Sir Richard Givvens of Roxbury, a lisping, effeminate fop of no earthly use to a woman in her prime. But Sir Richard Mortimer -- young, handsome and virile . . . I would soon be getting the best Dick in Roxbury.
Opening: Anonymous.....Continuation: Anonymous