Dear Diary,

I have successfully completed my studies in proper manners enough that the dear Duchess Burtwell has allowed me to hold a tea party.

I am most honored with this, and will thoroughly fulfill my duty as the hostess, and as the daughter of my father, Duke Wells.

…What a load of crap.

As the newest installment in Duchess Burtwell’s etiquette lessons of hell, I have been given the great task of writing a diary for Duchess Burtwell to read, written in perfect agreement with the rules of social etiquette. She thought this would help me “Get in the mindset of a noble woman”, clearly telling me she doesn’t see me as one.

But none the less, I really have been given permission for a tea party. Obviously to seek out beard candidates, but even more so to hear the latest news of the politics and the kind of chatter that only other noble woman would chatter about.

Like Sir Windsor Balliol for instance. As the prince’s possible love interest, and as half of my ship, I need to know if I have to buy an anker or if I can start to set sail.

Seeing as there are absolutely no BL books in this world, I either have to fantasize or write some myself, but alas, I’m no writer. I am but a consumer of the beautiful arts, and as such, memories from before Truck-kun and a future of seeing my Horus x Windsor ship are the only things keeping me up.

Also, I’m pretty sure writing BL in the world would be a crime… I like my head where it is… On top of my shoulders… Attached.

“Lady Amy Wells. Do you once again find yourself in the middle of your own little world? It should not be too much to ask for you to at least pretend to listen to me, Dear”

Duchess Burtwell interrupted me as I shuttered from the fear of losing my head. Right. I was in a lesson. We were planning the tea party, and I was told to write about it in my diary. Yes yes. I’m totally present now.

“Oh, My dear Duchess Burtwell, my deepest apologies. I just found myself so immersed with the thought of the tea party to come, that I got lost in which kind of teas and cakes I would like to serve.”

Oh my, how far I’ve come. Even though Duchess Burtwells’ stare glared daggers at me just a while ago, it is now a self-satisfied look. She probably knows I’m lying through my teeth, though, but she is satisfied as long as I can save my own ass and not put a spot on her record.

We sit in silence for a while, smirking back and forth. I know she knows, and she knows I know that she knows, and so on and so on. Ever since I really put a real effort into our lessons I have grown to like Duchess Burtwell quite a bit. After all, she never left, even though she threatened with it a lot.

I do know it’s partly because of the favor she owes my father, that I still don’t quite understand, but I also don’t think she would have stayed if she hadn’t taken a liking to me.

“Lady Amy” she says sternly as I once again find myself caught up in my own head.

“Yes, Duchess?” I respond, sweetly.

She just looks at me with a little, almost not-there-at-all smile, and shakes her head as in “What am I going to do about you”.

“On another note, Lady Amy, your father has requested your presence in his study after our lessons. I would suggest you go now, as your attention-span clearly is running out” She said, while gracefully standing up, brushing of her dress so there wasn’t a wrinkle, and almost looking like she was floating as she excused herself for today.

I wish I could move that gracefully as well… But I still look like a sack of potatoes.

Breathing in, I leave the room and walk ahead to my father’s study. What does he want… I have only gotten praise from Duchess Burtwell, so it’s not the usual “Do better or die” speech. No point in speculation, I guess

“Come in” Seba-the head butler says as I knock on the door.

I enter, seeing my father sit at his huge desk, piled up with papers. No wonder he never comes out to lunch or dinner recently.

“You wanted to see me, Father?” I ask, curtsying a curtsy that would win gold at the Olympics.

“Yes, dear, take a seat” his hand leads towards a little couch, and I take my seat.

“As you know, you are no longer a young girl. Not only are you of age, but you are also well-studied, well-educated, and finally, you can be sent out in public without your mother and I worrying about you making a fool of yourself.”

…How can this man sound so polite while absolutely dissing me?? And where is this going? I have a bad feeling. I notice my back slowly starting to slouch and immediately sit up straight, resting my hands in my lap, sitting stiffly as if someone were painting me.

“What I am trying to say, dear Amy, is that it is time we talk about finding an appropriate partner for you to marry”

…. HUH? WHAT? WHO? ME? MARRIAGE?