CHAPTER TWENTY- ONE
It was at that particular time of the year when London resounded with the sounds of dance, music, and merriment. And, may I confess, I find myself compelled to attire my person in a manner most akin to that of a lifeless mannequin, for there is naught that I loathe more than the confining nature of a corset and the heaviness of a ball gown. They are invariably too tight and stifling to my spirit. It has long been my custom to abstain from the dining table. The sole pursuits that engage my attention are the tending of wildflowers, the immersion in novels, the study of historical tomes, and the delicate art of botany. None appear to mind that I have chosen to forgo their company at mealtime, nor do I find any cause to be concerned, for I am indifferent to their disregard. The solitary comf
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