Greystone Castle, the South of England

21 December, 1819

DEAR DIARY,

I cannot believe Noah invited the Duke of Rathbone—that is, The Ratbag—to our Christmas house party! Has he forgotten what that scapegrace did to me? I’ve scarcely been able to look at another man for the past year, and just when I’d finally mustered up the fortitude to respond to Lord M’s flirtation, my addle-pated brother does this?

I hate The Ratbag! I HATE him! I HATE HIM!

Why do I hate him, you may ask? Oh, let me count the reasons…

TEN REASONS I HATE THE RATBAG

1. His extraordinary good looks hide his vileness.

2. His apparent kindness is completely feigned.

3. The lock of thick, chestnut-colored hair that insists on falling onto his forehead is irksome.

4. His excessive height makes him look noble (and while he is a peer, a true noble he is not!).

5. His fathomless sapphire-blue eyes make him seem deep and sensitive. But he’s not. He’s shallow and callous.

6. He disappeared from society for the past year with nary an explanation. What does he think, we’ve all had nothing better to do than sit around wondering where he went? (Where DID he go?)

7. That wicked half-smile of his is extremely distracting.

8. He smells too good. Also distracting.

9. He kisses like he means it. But he definitely doesn’t mean it.

10. He left me at the altar.

I’m sure Noah expects me to play hostess (not to mention forgive and forget), but I quite intend to hide in my workshop and finish making Elizabeth’s Christmas gift. Crafting jewelry has always calmed me.

Still, the thought of five whole days with The Ratbag here at our house makes me want to scream!

Or maybe get revenge…

Exasperatedly,

Claire