Thursday 17 September 1942 This is not going well. I didn't expect Alice to be pleased about this damn business, and she certainly isn't, and even less pleased that I didn't talk to her about it before yesterday evening. Which means that when we talk to Elizabeth, we won't be presenting a united front. Or I could talk to her alone, except that I can't because Alice said that she deserved to know that she wasn't the only woman in the house who would be upset about having her daughter's marriage arranged over tea.
I had wished they could be better friends, or at least on more amiable terms, but it's hardly worth this price.
And then at the end of all this I have to write to Kathleen, or Elizabeth can if she can be convinced to. I wouldn't half mind hearing Mercy's opinion on this, she's been caught up in this kind of mess far longer than we have. Of course, it won't be soon that I hear her real opinion on marriages,
de jure or
de facto. Or on parenting. Alice brought up Arianwen, of course. She wasn't engaged to Martius Starn for the same reasons, that we can tell anyway, but Poppaea Rosier is, of course, Dracaena's sister. I am sure Florian Leffoy is nothing like Starn — Ed reports he's a charming child — but does this make us any better than Cariadoc Rosier, giving away Elizabeth's daughter?
I didn't tell Alice what this Miss Naszvadi said, that the alternative would perhaps be sacrificing myself. As perhaps Cariadoc should have done to save Mercy and Arianwen and Llewellyn from whatever it is that Poppaea has over them all. As perhaps I should have done. I never imagined I would have fellow feeling with that man over this, of all things.
Current Mood:
guilty