I was utterly thrilled, beyond even the exultation of Christmas, to hear a whisper of a cure for the residents of the borough against plague. Fortunately, no single individual at my court, or indeed my ladies in waiting, the understaff, lower servants, kitchen staff etcetera, and not even a delivery boy, had succumbed to plague. And this, my dear loyal readers, is directly related to the Countess' location within the county, and constant confinement to the Palace by the Sea.
I had specified that all staff be isolated with your Countess for safe measure, except for the delivery boys who were pricked regularly for plague testing by Butler and who wore suitable PPE. (Palace Protocol Enveloping).
One's social life has been hindered beyond recognition and the Countess' loins are fair approaching mummification. 'Tis properly three-quarters of a year, some nine moons I should say since the Countess fluttered lashes and bestowed kisses upon the people, any people, and most particularly, men people.
So, my dear children of the borough by the sea (and those further still across the oceans), I have appointed a seamstress to measure up the Countess curves which remain abundant after involuntary incarceration. I am to have made with the hands of four gentlewomen of good standing (and pure from plague) to construct the garb fit for four seasons when the new year passes.
I shall travel far in my carriage (which undergoes gold trimming as I pen) and once the absurdity of banishment is over I will frequent once again my fine club in Londinium for wine a fair frolic, and occasionally a pipe! I will visit Goodwood, Glyndebourne, the Royal Ballet, the Royal Academy, the Society of Arts (as for there I was made a Fellow and will breakfast regularly for the finest Parisien croissants and Italian coffees, do forgive my digression) Ascot, Cowes Regatta, and some other palaces about our fair land of Hamtun and beyond.
excerpt from The Diaries of a Countess © 2022 Sarnia de la Maré
