Her secret is safe

Dear Diary, (evening of May 20th)

My previous writing was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Naylor who upon hearing of my recovery wanted to congratulate me on my good fortune and offer both his friendship and services if they were ever needed.

There was paperwork to be attended to, documents to sign and counter sign and the like, but Mr. Naylor's attentiveness made the process at least bearable. Mr. Naylor told me that Miles and Priscilla Manton had taken their leave without waiting to hear about my condition. Apparently, finding out that they had been disinherited had had a unifying effect on my cousins as they left Havenhall in the same carriage.

Mr. Naylor did not leave until after lunch, and even then, only after I insisted. My duties, it seemed were only just starting and I was obligated to accompany Mr. Kyleson on a tour of the entire plantation. The Irishman was as taciturn as ever, but I kept my calm as he gave me the grand tour. In any event, it is only now after eating dinner that I have the peace and time to finish recording the events of the morning.

“He said I was his daughter?” I asked Mr. Thornton as we sat in the empty library. Still grappling with the implications of this new information. Mr. Thronton nodded somberly.

“Your father, in ****, found the courage to do what he could not do in life.” The young lawyer confirmed what I thought I heard just before fainting. “You are a wealthy woman, Miss DiFlorentini, and with the title from your mother's side of the family, I expect you will be much sought after by the men of Charleston.”

“You too, Mr. Thornton?” As I write this now, I realize I shouldn't have teased the young man as his face blushed brightly and he stammered some nonsense about his willingness to serve. At the time though I listened with keen interest as he filled in the missing details.

“Mr. Heyward left a brief account of your mother's and his whirlwind romance in London and copies of both their marriage license signed by the monsignor conducting the ceremony and your birth certificate with his name clearly written as the father.” Mr. Thornton must have seen the confusion on my face, because my mother never spoke of any marriage, and certainly not of London. He rested his hand briefly on mine,

“I will not lie, Miss DiFlorentini, your mother's Catholic faith will not rest well with many of the old families here in Charleston, but it explains why your marriage was kept secret at the time.” The warmth of his hand on mine had been nowhere nearly as disorienting as the story he related. I suddenly realized that my father's lies had created for me a shield of protection; nonetheless I pulled my hand free to give myself time to think.

Mr. Thornton must have suddenly realized how presumptive he had been because he stood awkwardly even taking a step back from where I sat with my arms crossed considering all this new information. Now that I am alone in my room, I have the time to wonder if I am any different than the young woman who arrived just a day ago hoping to meet her long estranged father. As I contemplated this existential question, I took the time to sketch a new portrait of myself.

Me, mistress of Havenhall:

Mr. Thornton tried again to apologize but I stopped him before he even got started with an assurance that he had done nothing wrong. While I did not want the earnest young man to fall in love with me, I certainly did not want to hurt him after all he had done.

It is, I think, for the best that we were interrupted by Mr. Naylor at that point because the conversation was becoming more and more awkward. Mr. Thornton is a handsome enough man in a scholarly poet sort of way, and especially after seeing his interaction with the house ****, Angelica, I have pictured being with him as man and woman, but it doesn't seem prudent at this time to have a passionate fling just to ease an itch that is starting to grow inside me again.

I wish my father had still been alive when I reached Havenhall, I have so much to thank him for, and no one to share our secret with.