Page 5: found herself in some trouble not unlike the kind I sought last year. I heard my brother mutter “Damned Wickham!” before riding off in a huff. I grieve that my actions of the last year should weigh on him still, such that another young lady’s impetuousness should raise my disobedience in his mind. I only hope whatever young man Lydia has set her happiness upon deserves it more than Wickham did. Other than that visit, so welcome and invigorating, it is quiet here. I paint tables, I play, I read, I stitch. Martha brings the tea, smelling of bread and onion from the kitchen. Our neighbour Mr. Stanhope calls each day to see how I am faring. It is strange — he brings the scent of Christmas, or of the oranges of Spain, but is perfectly at home in our English parlour in August. He brings me wildflowers that he picks along the