Diana’s brows arched as she considered. She’d never really thought about that. Her journals were her private thoughts and sketches and reflections, but travel memoirs were popular and few were written by independent, not to mention scandalous, ladies. This was definitely worth considering. She returned to reading.
I probably shouldn’t ask this, my favorite aunt, but have you considered returning to England? You are missed here by everyone, most of all by me. You could stay with us in London—the house is so large you’d never have to see us if you didn’t want to!
Plus—I’m also increasing, slightly behind Constance, who is ever more efficient than I am. It won’t be long now! (Clearly I haven’t written in far too long! Blast, more exclamation points have escaped!)
Gabriel is delighted but also rather anxious despite my assurances that Lawrence women are famously fertile and never, ever die in childbirth. As you know, I put the “rude” in “rude good health.”
I’d like you to be godmother to this new little person, as you were for me. You were the best godmother! The globe of the world you gave me was the most marvelous present I ever received and inspired my own adventures. It has a place of honor in our library.
And—if you don’t mind and I have a girl, I want to name her Diana.
Diana swallowed hard when she read that, sharply aware of how much she missed her family. Most of them were quite enjoyable people, and now that she was thirty and officially a spinster, they wouldn’t be trying to marry her off to some boring, bossy gentleman. They wouldn’t dare!
Once a Spy Page 33