bound by decencycaptured by freedommenaced by nobilitybedeviled by propriety

Bound by Decency

Captured by Freedom

Menaced by Nobility

Bedeviled by Propriety

Saturday, January 28

The Hush of Night

January 7, 1717

The candle burns dim as I compose these words. My eyes grow weary, my body even more so, but my mind will not allow me to rest. When I do, the dreams come. The dreams I dare not speak of, yet hold so dear to my heart. It is a time when I am free to be as I will, where there is no shame in word or deed, and where Teddy...

I must not think of those things now. My heart knows it is wrong. I am to wed Richard Grey, and yet, the very thought of him touching me the way Teddy does in my slumber makes me wish to weep. He came to call today, as ardent as ever in his pursuit. There is but one merit in a life forever bound to propriety: he vows that as his wife, he will allow me to run North Atlantic Freight as I desire. It is my fondest wish, one my father, bless his loving heart, despises.

I see a bright future. Trade routes we have yet to explore with hungry markets. With the gab about France's protective assertations on purebred brandy, the sugar markets will demand new ports. I yearn to be part of that. To establish myself as an equal and competant ally with my father, and Richard and Teddy's grand venture in partnership. What a sight it would be if my records exceeded mine husband's!

But such hopes would be vain, and I am too well-bred to dream of such. If it should happen it will be because fate desired such. My father would be shamed, and for that alone I do not speak of these dreams to anyone but Richard.

With the merger of the Grey and Cathain fleet into Prescott Shipping, I would be wise to keep mum about my piddly fleet. Richard will be well received, myself as well. I should not wish to damage that reputation.

But alas, if only life could bear the hope of dreams. What a different world this might be. Perhaps I should be lucky enough to know that world. New horizons greet us all, and for those who rely upon the sea for livelihood, tis a grand season of opportunity.

And now, I fear, its time to let slumber collect me. I know that my secrets are safe here, yet still my hand hesitates to compose the words I wish to most. I shake as I confess, 'tis Teddy, the man I have never met yet hear so much about, I cannot wait to see again when I close my eyes and embrace wickedness.


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Send us a pigeon, matey. We'll be sendin' it back on the next hearty gale!