This morning had a vastly unpleasant interview with my Father. Last night, Mr. Ancaster, who is the indescreetest young man alive, was seized suddenly while riding home along the shore with the desire to say good night to me. He climbed the wall, the postern gate being locked at the late hour, and had the Boldness to attempt to climb the ivy below my window; while but half way up the Poor Impudent young man fell. (If he hadn’t, Lord knows what would have happened, for I am terribly catched by the Handsome Wretch.) As ill luck would have it, Papa and Ned, who were conversing in the library, looked out at the moment and saw him lying Prostrate on the ground!
No need to describe the scene that followed....Interested in reading more of this 18th century diary by Cleone Knox? Interested in finding out why she's a phony? You can read more at my post over at English Historical Fiction Authors.
|A Gainsborough portrait of a fashionable lady|
from the same era as Cleone Knox