She writes her mother.

Dear Diary, (May 24th)

I slept poorly last night, in good part I'm sure because I was still sore from Kylson's brutal pounding of my body in that small observation room above the breeding hall. As much as I ached in places that I didn't even know I had, the real reason for my tossing and turning was that I was in over my head, and I knew it. Why had my father revealed the secret of my tainted blood? What was the point of inheriting a fortune if it comes with a millstone around my neck that keeps me from enjoying the benefits of being the owner of a great plantation like Havenhall.

I have not forgotten the feeling of helplessness that I endured at the hands of Miles as he held me down and made it clear he was going to **** me like a powerless negro ****. Mr. Kyleson's timely arrival should have helped settle my fears but after what occurred yesterday between me and my overseer in the **** barns, I am less sure of myself than ever. Mr. Thornton might be a useful ally, and I think he cares for me, but I do not have enough experience with men to know how to keep him here at Havenhall.

I have done it. I carefully cut a page from the back of this very journal and wrote to Mama explaining my good fortune and the problems that I am facing. The envelope I found in the secretary in my room. There was paper in the drawer too, but I hope that my mother will recognize the fine paper from the journal that she gave me. It might add to the authenticity of this otherwise incredible account.

Mr. Thornton agreed to post the letter from Charlston on the morrow. With luck it will arrive in Philadelphia within the week, and I may hear back from her in a couple weeks.

For a brief moment I hesitated to place the missive in the young lawyer's hands for fear that he might break the seal and read what I wrote. I was, you see, very candid with Mama, including all the intimate details about what happened between myself and Mr. Kyleson. When I wrote the embarrassing account of how I coupled with my overseer in the barns, I believed that every detail might be of importance, especially if what the Irishman told me about himself and my mother has any truth to it at all. The thought of Mr. Thornton reading those shameful paragraphs had me blushing fiercely.

“Are you well, Miss Diflorentini?” The concern in Mr. Thornton's normally stoic eyes only added to my embarrassment. The young man, I believe, thinks that I am as innocent and virginal as the beautiful young debutants of Charlston. To have him read about how I let myself be ploughed from behind by my surly overseer would undoubtably be enough to have him wash his hands of me and my troubles here at Havenhall.

I find, as I write these words, that I would be profoundly saddened if Mr. Thornton left Havenhall, and not just because of how useful his advice and family ties have been as I struggle to keep this plantation running smoothly. Perhaps, instead of letting Kyleson mount me like a bull, I should have paid Mr. Thornton a visit and expressed how grateful I am for his good council and growing friendship.