The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 6

by Beth Brower

This is just the sort of day of which I approve. Brilliant, crisp, clear—owing to a wind that raced through London in the early hours of the morning. Fresh as a New Year deserves.

oh we are so back

Lady Sheridan continued, “Miss Lion, I have discovered, is also a great friend of the Duke of Islington.” Ah. Ah. Here came the Greek chorus of approval. “The Duke of Islington…” “So well mannered…” “…handsome.” “…charming.” I was right. Islington was to blame. I resolved within myself to throw him in a lake as soon as the opportunity would allow.

Ought one, when entering the realm of Legal Adulthood, put one’s best foot forward? Or is a mediocre foot a wiser mark? Likely.

I’ve just endured the most backward mess of a spectacle. Wonderfully amusing if it had happened to somebody else. I do feel it incumbent upon myself to record the whole, in the hopes it will benefit someone, somewhere. If only to illustrate that their life is not nearly as plagued as my own.

I felt that lol

“‘Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.’ I wisely put my youth before your great age, Lady Spencer, for instruction.” We all waited as Aunt Eugenia’s face contorted. He had given an apology, yes. He had invoked humility, true. He had also called her aged and quoted scripture for a second time. One couldn’t make sense if it were backhanded or fronthanded.

I am not so very unusual a person, but when expected to fit a predetermined mould? Well, I’ve disappointed many a person in the past. And, I daresay, will live to disappoint again.

Fate is determined to force the absurd on my person. Heavy-handed. I do not feel I deserve the result of today’s random spin of the wheel. And on a Sunday, no less. I even went to church.

But I couldn’t bring myself to exchange winter as the observer, for winter as the experienced. I like days of solitude. Not as an everyday dress, but for the special occasion where one’s world revolves so slowly it is almost stillness. And so the long month of January almost comes to an end.

I wish I had more of Father’s thoughts written down. We often hear people say life is not fair, and yet it always feels like stubbing one’s toe when we actually find it to be true.

I sit at the very top of a fresh month with a choice before me. One which very well may have an impact on the whole of my existence. Which book do I read next?

mood xD

I’ve gone back to read my favourite passages, and some of his as well. I don’t know why it always feels like a triumph when I find them to be one and the same, but it does. Wouldn’t it be something wonderful to own a book he loved unabashedly, with no qualifications, nothing to argue with?

We all cast shadows from our past, only how difficult a thing it is to let others see them.

Cousin Archibald has got hold of a tambourine. (Where in heaven’s name did he find it?) Parian, Agnes, and I have formed a pact. The first to find said tambourine unattended is to bury it in the garden.

w h a t how why

“Your hands are pink.” “They are.” “Dare I ask?” he said, half his attention given to opening his letter. “I murdered a beloved, albeit already deceased, family pet.” Pierce nodded absently, then paused. His gaze flicked to my face. “That sentence is problematic in more than one place.” “A metaphor of my life.”

The sun is out, and February seems happy with its place in the world. I’m glad. It can be difficult to truly love February. Out of all the months of the year, it pulled the shortest straw in weather, beauty, and general temperament. However, there are snowdrops. Redemption for everything, I suppose.

I was half asleep when I remembered that today was Monday, and I was again marching into battle. Never was a more unpleasant realisation to be had.

MOOD XD

However, there was only one thing to do: square one’s shoulders and get on with the job.

brb pinning this above my desk

There is no feeling quite like finishing a book that you’ve loved. I expect to feel nothing less.