Mistress Charlotte
He read it a second time. Then he did launch himself, grabbing his thick cloak and flying down the stairs to stalk up and down the High Street, sucking in deep breaths of the frigid air to calm himself.
As brief as it was, her underlying message was clear. She was keeping the door open to their relationship, despite how the previous summer had ended. He’d never expected her to write to him, he’d written simply to have a fighting chance of rekindling their romance when he returned. Unable to take it in, he kept staring at the letter, almost turning his ankle on the cobblestones.
He wanted to leap for joy, skip along the road, he wanted to grab a horse and ride through the night to her, studies be damned. He wanted to use reams of paper to scribble all of his thoughts and feelings to her.
However, he needed to be strategic. To do so, he’d have to find his composure and contemplate his approach with care. His fingers were still shaking when he composed his reply, but his mind was serene. Their correspondence was like a cricket match, it would not be won in a day. This was an inning; the rest of the match would be played—and won—when he returned to London.
Dear Mistress,
Why is it that the pleasure you bestow is most sweet after a punishment? Never mind, I do not need the reason. I shall bask in your attention either way.
The brevity of your reply tells me you have not fully forgiven me. I shan’t push (see, Icanbe trained), but here is another passage for your Latin lessons—an excerpt. Can you fill in the next line or two before I arrive?
Dear one, a kiss I stole, while you did wanton a-playing,
Sweet ambrosia, love, never as honily sweet.
Dearly the deed I paid for; an hour’s long misery waning
Your obedient servant,
William
Blazes, he wished he could see her expression as she read this apology. By the time it got to her, she would not have time to write back, as he’d be on his way back to London.
In the meantime, he needed to find patience and focus on graduating. He had done everything he could think of for now. Once he was home, he would have easier ways to regain his spot in her affections. He refused to entertain the possibility of failure. His heart might shrivel in his chest if he had to live without her much longer, to say nothing of other parts shriveling, as no other women interested him.
* * * *
William had been home a mere day, most of which he slept after a week of writing his final exams, packing his room at Oxford, and traveling to London.
Exhausted, he still hoped to sneak over to Charlotte’s house to start the process of regaining her good graces.
Instead, he was summoned to the parlor by Emily, where Folly waited.
Confused as to the reason for his summoning and Folly’s presence, he asked, “What is this?”
Folly responded, “A graduation celebration. ’Tis not every day nor every working class lobcock who has two friends complete their university studies.”
“Ah, when was the last time you spoke to South?”
Folly thought for a minute. “My birthday last summer.”
“What?” William paced. “He left Oxford in October.”
Folly’s eyes widened.
“He said he felt…lost. I told him to come by and let you know he was back so he’d have a voice of reason.” William’s vision of having one night free of responsibilities in Charlotte’s arms went up in smoke. As did any likelihood of celebrating his own matriculation. They needed to find South.
“Let’s go.”
Emily stepped forward.
William frowned. “Where do you think you’re going, squirt?”
“With you. I’m already in my first Season, and I’m eight-and-ten now. There is no reason I cannot join you.”
