Friday 3rd January 1851
Well, here I am, sat in a little bubble of candlelight because the sun hasn't risen yet. It's so early, but I think this will be the only time I have to do this. I never thought I'd do this but I'm keeping a diary. I'm not quite sure when, or even why, I changed my mind about writing down my life, but here we are nonetheless.
I must say I love this book; the red suede is so soft that I cannot help but touch it at any spare moment I have - which are many, seeing as I am not allowed to parties, or any special events. I must at least try to hide my disdain at not being allowed to attend such affairs, no matter how trivial.
Nathan got me this diary. Oh, Nathan! I could go on about him forever, I truly could. I was quite surprised when he gave me the book; he's been trying to persuade me to do this for months, but I never thought he would actually do something about it.
Nathan is the only son of the lawyer who works for Father. There's been something special between us for years, despite me being only thirteen and he sixteen. I'd grown up with his father's visits and occasionally Nathan would come to. By the time I was eight, we were close friends. This diary was Nathan's Christmas gift to me so I shall follow through with his wishes and write in it. This is the one place I will be able to talk about Nathan freely, for it is extremely inappropriate for someone of my age to even think about marriage, let alone everything that goes with it.
What does one write in a diary? I find myself lost for words already. I do not wish to discuss today's weather, for it has not yet snowed, the sky still remaining a steely grey. I could talk about the perfume Father brought me; I cannot wait for tomorrow to come so I can wear it. I wonder Nathan will think of it...
I'm thinking of Father's words from last night: 'Something your mother would approve of'. Now that I think of it, I have no dresses that Mother likes. The last one I had was conveniently stained with tea, and was impossible to clean. I think I put on a pretty good show when I had to pretend I was upset.
Today I'm going to visit my friend, Margaret. We did have plans to go down to London for the day but she took a tumble, slipping and falling down a flight of stairs. Now that she has been freed from the hospital, she is bedridden because of her healing leg. We might play cards perhaps, a particular favourite of hers, along with giggling about boys. Not even Margaret knows about my Nathan. She's met him, of course, but she suspected nothing then and still nothing. Sometimes I long to tell her, simply to see the look in her face.
I must arrange another time for Nathan and I to meet again. I wonder if he's written yet, in response to my last letter.
It turned out that Nathan had replied to my letter. It was brought in with the rest of this morning's letters. Sometimes I think my family suspects something, seeing as I receive letters nearly every other day. In fact, I got an odd look from Mother this morning.
It's late afternoon now and I've not long returned from Margaret. She was feeling well, but not yet well enough to begin to walk around, even a little. I pity her at the moment; I would hate to have to lay in bed all day, meals being brought to me like a baby.
Oh well, I must change for dinner now.