Dearest Diary,
My mother just brought up the topic of marriage. A good, rich nobleman. His name is Paris. When my mother asked my opinion, I told her "It is an honour that I dream not of." This man, the nurse said was a flower to the eyes, is not sure if I desire. But girls younger than I, are happy mothers. My own beloved mother was only my age when she married my father and had me. Forth not on thou mind. At dusk, I will meet the man they hath call Paris. The one on a later date will be named my husband. I shall not close my mind, only keep it open.