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LADY ELLA PEREGRINE
TO HER COUSIN, MRS. FULVIA WOODWARD
SENT FROM THE PEREGRINE ESTATE IN YORKSHIRE
October 14, 1815
Dear Fulvia,
The exciting news here is that your mama has married again! She and Mr. Jarvis married yesterday in a quiet service in the parish church. She is still in mourning, of course, but she looked very beautiful, with touches of white at her neck and wrists. As well as inexpressibly happy.
Fiennes and I have asked the new Mrs. Jarvis and her husband to care for the Northern estate. You know what a terrible condition it had fallen into; Fiennes has offered Mr. Jarvis a generous sum to bring the estate back to its former glory. I think your mother will be very happy there as chatelaine of the house she loves so much, albeit no longer as a viscountess. They will move immediately, so as to be comfortably settled when the baby arrives.
I’m thrilled to hear that you have been promised a role in the renewed production of King Lear when the Theater Royal reopens after the flood. I agree with you that the actress playing the role of Cordelia was not entirely satisfactory. I thought your portrayal of the evil sister Goneril was magnificent, but of course you will shine in the lead role, if only they give it to you. We have our fingers crossed! If you are given the lead, I hope that the play will still be on the stage when we return to London.
Most warmly,
Ella
* * *
LADY REGINA CHARLOTTE HEYWOOD,
SISTER OF THE DUKE OF LENNOX
TO HER DEAR FRIEND, LADY MARTHA BROOKS,
COUNTESS OF SILVERTON, NÉE TELTON-SACKS
SENT FROM LONDON
November 12, 1815
Dearest Martha,
I’m writing to you from London because my sister-in-law and I simply cannot rub along together without friction. Beatrice is terrifically unkind, and of course Jonah always takes her side. It was a sad day for me when they married; I’m sure Jonah did it just to spite me, though he makes a great fuss about being in love. At any rate, we’ve agreed that I shall live in London with Lady Alcon as my chaperone. She’s a fool, of course, but she doesn’t bother me.
I hope your confinement is going well. I am entirely sympathetic with the horror you expressed in your letter, but darling, it’s just as well that you are getting the loathsome business of hatching an heir out of the way early. It is ghastly to carry a child late in life.
Did you hear that Viscountess St. Trevelyon is carrying a child at her advanced age? You can imagine what it’s done to her figure. When I last saw her, her ankles looked like turnips with slippers attached.
Never imagining she might be enceinte, she was made wretched by her enlarging girth and pitifully grateful for the advice and slimming recipes I gave her. I even found a diet tailored to older women. At the very least, mourning clothing will disguise her bulk. If it is a son, one has to hope she doesn’t name the son “Posthumous.” I think it is such a dreadful name, don’t you? I’m sure you’ve heard all the details of the viscount’s demise, so I won’t repeat that.
Speaking of the St. Trevelyons, darling, you would have squawked with laughter last night. You’ll remember all the excitement last Season over Miss Fulvia S-T running off with an actor? Well, it’s worse than that! She played a minor role of some sort in a Shakespeare play over the summer, but then the Theater Royal suffered a flood. It reopened last night with King Lear, a fantastically unpleasant play, but of course we were all there anyway.
Walking into the theater, I was immensely displeased to be ambushed by Fulvia, as brazen-faced as if she weren’t persona non grata. She was handing out broadsides, informing everyone that she would play a better Cordelia than the woman who was assigned the role. Well! The curtain no sooner drew back than ruffians down on the floor—likely apprentices—started howling her name! The theater was in a total uproar, and after a half hour, they began the whole production over, with her in the lead!
I can’t tell you what it was about because I loathe Shakespeare, especially a play in which a man is blinded. So revolting and uncivilized. I believe her character died at the end, but really, I couldn’t be bothered to pay attention.
Just across from me, in a box, if you please, was the Countess of Eagleton. I told you all about that fracas. I can’t believe that I even considered marrying the earl. People play up to her disgustingly, considering what she is—and I’m not even talking about the fact she’s a by-blow. Last night, they were clustered around her, telling her that she was a credit to her race, and so articulate. As if!
Well, that’s the end of my news. While I am disappointed to find myself facing a third Season, it’s the fault of rapacious women who simply won’t accept their place. Not that I wanted to marry Lord Peregrine, but he married a housemaid, which is nearly as bad as Eagleton’s choice. I’d rather stay unmarried than lower myself in such a manner.
Hopefully that won’t be the case. Lady Alcon reports that the Arch Rogues (you must have heard of them) have ceded to their mamas’ wishes and have—all three of them—pledged to find wives this Season. It’s just as well because they must be at least thirty, having been at Oxford together all those years ago.
But of course, their titles make them ageless as far as the Season is concerned. I don’t want to sound bitter, but it is difficult to be facing my third Season. I fully expect to hear whispered comments about my age, but I fancy I look at least five years younger than I am.
I know you are managing the indignities of motherhood as well as anyone possibly can. It will all be over next month. I’m sure you’ll be back to yourself by the time the Season proper opens. I can’t wait to see you.
