Ayana Prende

Resting my head on the high-backed chair, I silently marvel at emotion so strong itcan quite literally chase away all reason and good sense. It is something I have neverexperienced. I pity Frances for being victim to such devastating passions. But, if I amhonest, a small part of me envies her, for she possesses something that I should: desirefor my husband. Moreover, she knows what it is to feel alive.

My very core clenches and spasms, my hips with a mind of their own, lurch. It is as if I no longer have control of any part of my body. __gh,_ I continue to groan in relief. And then, slowly, the rush is over and I am able to part my eyelids again. David is still looking at my face, a light sheen of sweat on his brow indicates that his task was not without effort. Finding his gaze too forthright in the currentcircumstances, my eyes move to the arm that still dwells beneath my skirts and thehand that clings viciously to his sleeve. My hand.

A woman must find a husband, otherwise she is at the mercy of the world. If she waits for love and it never arrives, what is to become of her? I consented to Edward's proposal because he wanted me, and it was quite possible no other man would.

Just stop, for once, answering my questions with a question. And, incidentally, it's my concern because I care about you.