May 22nd, 1763

Today I had to break my fast with my husband. He got tired and annoyed of me keeping to my room and crying and behaving like a little child. Or so he told me. He ordered me to be ready and presentable to take me to church, for it was already a week since our coming to Leyland as husband and wife. One week of marriage. One week of total sorrow. I put on my yellow-striped silk dress with the embroidered fichu around my neck, a black trimmed straw-hat and my black silk neckband with the cross. I had no prayer book with me; it must still be in the boxes in my other room. My cabinet which I haven´t seen until today after church. The service was hardly worth remembering, the vicar being very old and speaking monotonously. I stared across the tiled floor, only mouthing when it came to the singing.
When we came back to the house, I made my excuses, headed for the stairs - thank God, they´re in the Hall and not at the end of the house like at home - but Lord C. called me back; or hissed. I´m not quite sure. His countenance didn´t betray a thing, though I think he´s very angry with me. I shouldn't be so self-centred; he`s perhaps angry with my parents, marrying me off to him as an amiable, charming young lady that I am obviously not. I think I like this variation better... So he took me on something like a tour of the house: showing me the Little Parlour, where we will have our breakfasts and dinners (where I HAVE to join him, he ordered), the Ladies' Withdrawing Chamber next to the Great Parlour.
(It was his mother´s, now it is mine and also the Music Room, though the harpsichord is in the grander chamber.) He left me there, explaining, that the little saloon across my bedchamber is my private one, my Cabinet. His study is on the Ground Floor, where he was going then; estate matters. So I was ordered by the Master of the house to accompany him at least twice a day. And still, I´m grateful he allowed me my privacy and my own apartment; right on the opposite end of the house where he´s going to spend most of his day, when not riding over the estate or being at the stables...
I went straight to this Cabinet, a delightful room, which I had not expected. It was still in the style of his mother. But her taste was very refined indeed. I must admit, I like the room and find it a comfortable retreat for my days. Some oil and gouache paintings are displayed on the crimson walls; Lord C.s parents or at least his father must have commissioned them after his Grand Tour or bought them right there in Italy; places I will never even dream of being able to visit myself. How delightful it is, being kept in a golden cage with a view! The ceiling´s plaster work is very elaborate, the leaves and flowers and grapes again displayed in the carpet, the upholstered chairs and the Ottoman at the window. They're facing the garden and overlooking the small lake with its bridge. All in all, Leyland is a very beautiful place. The only thing not matching this scenery is me. I'm a black spot on this idyllic painting. An unintended scrape by the artist, one he forgot to paint over; now the oil is dry and the picture not to be revised?
As I write this, I can review an eventful day: I unpacked my things. My books, my sheets for the harp and the harpsichord, which I already have brought downstairs to the respective instruments; hearing Lord C. talking to his steward (whose name I have not the slightest idea of). I found writing paper with my new name on it in the desk drawer in my cabinet. How strange it looks and worse, it feels, to be now Lady Emmeline Cartwright. I went on with composing a letter to Harriet. I had one from her two days ago from Bath and have not yet answered, the selfish wretch that I am. A bad friend indeed. I must make amends!


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