He never did. What had I done? I waited and waited for him and he was nowhere to be found. I felt stupid. I let a scoundrel take advantage of me again, though I was to blame as well. I wanted to be with him. I let him do things to me and I to him. I hid my face in shame and hoped that it would go unnoticed. Three weeks passed and I realized he was a true scoundrel and player in every sense of the word. I felt like an idiot. I was grateful that my New York reputation was not ruined, as we seemed to have got away with our little erotic carriage ride. Then it happed. I felt sick to my stomach. I panicked and grabbed my diary. I was late on my period, very late. I was pregnant. I cried realizing the full extent of what I had done. Now I would have to go back to St. Louis in more shame than I had left. “Let’s go, we’ll be late!” my aunt yelled at me. “We were off to a winter party at one of her social elite acquaintances. I would enjoy it as it would be my last.” The carriage pulled in front of the grand fifth avenue townhouse.
What do You think about A Victorian New York Romance?
