(The following is carefully penned into a fresh, new journal.)
I have taken to marriage well. Gaven is an endless curiosity to me.
There is a severity to him I did not predict; a temper more heated than Alexander’s or even my father’s. It has a hair trigger, persistent and ever-ready to erupt, yet he has never directed it toward me. I am ashamed to admit that more than once I have displeased him. Measuring the personal expectations of a nobleman has been no easy task. It is very strange, living in a home with a man I would have, just weeks ago, been required to distantly venerate. On that basis accommodating him comes easily; more difficult is conversation, calling him something other than ‘my Lord’, and understanding what is and is not presumptuous. I have always known and been wholly comfortable with my status. That has changed. With all else written and cast aside, there are worse things than feeling love for one’s husband, and I am relieved to acknowledge that I irrevocably do. Already I could not picture life without him. I wait for him to come home every evening, and I am always eager for him to call me to him. There is an intimacy between us that I have never before experienced; our physical connection (why was I so frightened of that concept, before?) falls by the wayside in comparison. His mystery only adds to his allure. I adore him.
I have not told a soul besides, but we are expecting our first child. Ever since our honeymoon I have felt weak, stricken with spells of dizziness, powerfully nauseated, and everything smells so incredibly strong. I was gathering my mail at the Town Hall when I simply fainted. Tybalt saw me to the Madison, and the on-hand nursia knew my symptoms well. I am unsure what I expected Gaven’s reaction to be, but all my anxiousness and preparation were proven wholeheartedly foolish. He was overjoyed. He ensured I knew he would assist me every step along the way to fruition. He even picked me up and spun me (this did not help my dizziness, of course, but it was well-meant and beautifully touching).
Gaven has allowed me to claim the gardens at his estate (our estate, I should say… that is still difficult) for my own. I have spent many an afternoon in the green house, tending carefully to Zeita’s saffron and vanilla, and I think of her often while dabbling with vials of perfumes and colognes. Gaven’s sister often brings Zeita to the forefront of my mind; they have a similar confidence and tenacity – a strong, feminine will that I both envy and admire. Margaux has left Lithmore for a time to take her daughter to Crestley. I have already missed her. I need to remind myself to write to her before she returns.
There are so few things troubling me that I truly have little to write. I was overdue an entry, but what is there to say? After so long spent lost in uncertainty and melancholia, I have found a pure and unadulterated happiness so perfect that at times I am tentative to relent to it. I am going to be a mother, and my husband treats me with respect. Life seems so utterly flawless.
Until Next Time,
