Passion Read Online Free Page B

mother’s side. In a time where everyone scratches and
claws for the top, when connections are everything, and in a
society where power is envied, ‘tis an advantage.
    I was taught not to express my opinions, to
obey rules, and that a high-ranking union, and a powerful husband,
was the golden ring—the pinnacle, of success. My past two seasons
have been enlightening, to say the least. As far as hypocrisy goes,
I have seldom seen more play-acting on the stage than is being done
at ton gatherings, and in the homes of the aristocracy. Of course,
one might say that my eyes have been opened, thanks to discovering
the root of my parents being strangers, and the fact that my father
had a young mistress and sired a daughter.
    I have made a friend, a forbidden and
frowned-upon by some, young woman, named Harry (Lady Harriet
Brunswick.) I have no clue why I was drawn to so bohemian a
bluestocking, so shockingly independent a woman.
    Harry, with her intelligent gray eyes and
cropped nut- brown hair, was the first woman I had ever encountered
who was independently wealthy at twenty and two, and impressively
educated, and brave—dear lord—she dares things that astound me.
Brought up by her widowed father and a succession of his lovers,
depending on where they lived—a diamond hunter she called him, who
took her around the world, and exposed her to other cultures and
lifestyles most only read about. She has, according to her own
admittance, taken on the task of broadening my mind as well as my
world.
    She has certainly loaded me down with
numerous books and papers, which I have kept hidden. Exposing me to
physical sciences, philosophies, mathematics, and literary works
outside of those my “tutors” deemed fit for a young woman of my
status.
    One can only deduce that she is so opposite
of me that I am fascinated by her. That, and the fact that she is
not in awe of me at all. She often laughs outright at me. She has
seen and done so much that she makes me feel ignorant. In fact, I
think that is why so many of the older women have a distaste of
her—for she makes us all look superficial and ignorant.
    In any case, she helped dig up that old bit
of information about my father, and is doing the search for the
child this woman was supposed to have had. I have no notion what I
will do when she is found, but curiosity is eating me alive.
    Time—yes, I am aware my hourglass is
draining. I sense that father is still pleased, full of pride at
the success I’ve had in society, at the invites I get to court (the
royals have taken to calling me cousin) and how so many of those
who matter say nothing but kind things of me.
    I am, after all, a young woman, well trained.
We are all aware that two seasons are fine, but afterwards one
starts to count a woman’s single years and wonder. I would rather
not be wed to a man over forty, who I know will apply to my father
eventually. They lust for me as one does a virginal and pure woman,
something to plant their noble seed in. They would take my fortune
true, but their motives are clear in their eyes when they kiss my
hand, or dance with me. I do not know why that frightens me. To be
worshipped for one’s purity. However, it has something dark and
base under it, that though spoiled and treated well, I sense that I
would dread the begetting with them.
    I think I must be daft to respond, at least
mentally the way I do to the Jules, also. It makes little sense to
me that I should care, since I have no say, and since I know well
what a ton marriage is. Yet I ask myself, is he as cold and perfect
as he looks? Is there anything behind the perfect beauty of him,
that flawless character? I don’t understand why I feel a kind of
loathing there too—for what woman in her right mind would not
simply be enthralled by his wealth, princely face, spotless rep,
his ancestors, bloodlines, or the sheer thought of catching his
notice?
    I am not in my right mind of late.
    He has not attended the ball tonight, and