~12 June 1813
10 Avalon Close, London
Dear Samantha--
I write in haste, praying this letter reaches you before the London papers, which I know your husband has been known to take. There will be a great deal of talk, I am sure, but you at least must know the truth.
Colonel Sheppard is every bit the rake that rumour has made him out to be! I have been made a scandal before the whole Ton, and the worst of it is that I know I am as guilty as he, and yet do not know if I even care. Now, lest you make any assumptions regarding the nature of this scandal, let me return to the beginning and tell the whole tale in order.
Our first weeks in London were spent making sure that Kate and Laura both had suitable wardrobes for the Season, and let me tell you, it was no easy task! Yet in the light of more recent events, I feel safe in stating briefly that Laura was naturally the root of it, and leaving the matter at that. Once that was accomplished, their Season began in earnest with the fête at Lord Ernest and Lady Catherine's. Much to my immediate relief, neither Kate nor Laura lacked for dancing partners, and neither did Laura tread too severely on the feet of any of hers. It seems the dancing lessons I persuaded Stephen to arrange for her whilst she was recovering from the incident with her horse have paid off!
I was quite content to sit out, knowing that no one would approach me as long as I still wore mourning for Simon. I took the opportunity to study the company--one might say the competition. Mr. McKay was there, along with his sister, Miss Jean McKay, who is as perfectly lovely as described--I had a chance to speak with her briefly, and she began by apologizing for her brother's behaviour towards you. Apparently he told her of it and received a firm dressing down in return. If only more men had such sisters!
Lord Beckett was also present, much to the astonishment of all, as he is said to rarely leave that remote Scottish castle of his except when called upon by the King himself. He asked Laura to dance twice, which I take to mean that she did not address him too informally, tread too hard upon his toes or do aught else that would have revealed her to be the unruly child she truly is. (I say with affection, of course!)
After about half an hour, I was finally given a glimpse of the mysterious Colonel Sheppard! He entered the room and all eyes immediately went to him, which was how I knew who he was. And truthfully, he is a handsome gentleman--long dark hair pulled back in the fashion of the regiment, warm hazel eyes and a little boy's smile. One could almost hear the collective sigh from the unwed young ladies present. Then, Samantha, I tell you my heart nearly stopped, for he cast a disinterested glance about the room...and then settled his eyes on me! I saw him lean over to speak to Mr. McKay, who glanced at me and then turned to give him some answer. I thought that would be the end of it, but no, his eyes never left mine.
At this point, I fear a most unseemly blush began to colour my face, for the look in those eyes--I tell you it was something no unmarried woman should ever see from a stranger. Nor a married one from any man but her husband! I gathered my scattered wits about me and deliberately looked away. Yet still I could feel the heat of his eyes upon me.
Nor did it stop there, or while I might still be privately scandalized, none but the two of us should know of my shame. I had almost persuaded myself that it was once again safe to stop staring at the wall when I saw movement out of the corner of my vision. When I looked up, there he was, so close that I could see his uniform had been freshly pressed and all his buttons newly polished. He introduced himself with a polite little bow, and then promptly asked me to stand up the next waltz with him! I turned him down, of course, but not as easily as you might think. But then, you know how I love to waltz, so perhaps it would not surprise you.
Regardless, a true gentleman would have taken my refusal to heart, along with the gentle reminder that I am still wearing mourning. Colonel Sheppard, however, merely leaned closer and whispered too low for anyone but myself to hear: "Come on, Elizabeth. Haven't you ever wanted to just forget about what people think for a little while and live your life?" (He must have been in the Americas for a long while--he even talks like a Colonial!)
He held out his hand, and heaven help me, Samantha, I took it, without even correcting his casual form of address. I cannot in good conscience explain myself, except perhaps that it has been so long since a man has asked me to waltz that I forgot myself. I certainly forgot myself during the dance--it was so lovely to be waltzing again! Sense returned to me, of course, as soon as the music had stopped--I rather wonder that it didn't stop as soon as we stepped onto the floor, as surely the musicians must have been a shocked as everyone else--and I thanked him and moved to return to my seat. The more fool I, for thinking a man so brazen would be content with just one dance! No, he caught my arm as I was leaving, and before the night was out we had stood up every dance together.
When the evening concluded and I was safely ensconced once again in the carriage with Kate and Laura for the drive home, I of course felt mortified at my own behaviour. Yet, I would be lying to you if I said a part of me was not also in rapture. I had resigned myself to the dull, spinsterish life of a chaperon, yet you know as well as I that I have always been too much of a romantic for my own good. Perhaps this should be a lesson to me about letting my heart rule my head. Of course, it would have been easier if my two charges had not plied me the entire ride home with questions about the mysterious Colonel Sheppard.
Perhaps had it ended there, my reputation might still be intact, despite the drubbing it took at the fête. However, the next morning while I was in the kitchen supervising the preparation of our luncheon to distract myself, Peter--our butler--came in to announce that a Colonel John Sheppard had come to call. In the vain hope that he had asked me to dance last night with the purpose of ferreting out how best to charm me into trusting him with my charges, I sent Peter back to inquire which of the ladies he wished to call upon: Miss Highgate or Miss Caldwell.
I should only have been so fortunate. No, the reply he sent back was that while he was sure Miss Highgate and Miss Caldwell were both quite charming, it was Mrs. Wallace with whom he desired to speak.
Flustered as I have not been since the night Simon called to propose, I ordered Peter to have tea laid out in the blue parlour, and I would greet him there. I then took myself quickly upstairs to freshen up, as though I were a flighty child rather than a grown woman and a widow!
Upon returning downstairs, I greeted him as formally as possible considering the way my heart was palpitating in my chest. He thanked me for my company last night at the fête, and then began to ask me questions about myself. The truly remarkable thing, however, is that he listened to the answers! You may recall from our own Season how rare this was: most men would make enough inquiries for polite conversation, yet it was clear that their preferred topic of conversation was themselves--how much they had a year, their titles and their properties. My attempts to elicit any information from Colonel Sheppard (and I did not ask after his annual income--I still retained that much sense of propriety!) were met mostly with evasion. I only caught his interest when I inquired about the name of his estate. He looked surprised and even pleased to discover that I had read Plato, and he spent the next several minutes quizzing me about the classics. I daresay I need not tell you how pleasing it was to speak with a man who did not sniff and look down his nose upon me, commenting that reading gave women airs and led them to forget their proper place. Perhaps there is something to be said for a man who is so improper!
I will tell you, we talked for nearly two hours. It was only when Peter came to tell me that luncheon was ready, and would I like it laid out in the parlour, that John--for so he has insisted I address him!--took his leave. And I, I am left in a state of utter mortification, for I have realized that I truly do not know what I will say or do if I see him again. Kate and Laura are both seething with envy, and I can only imagine what the other chaperons will be saying about me by the time this reaches you.
And oh dear, here I have been so caught up in my own troubles that you must think I never even received your letter of a week past. Mark has behaved shamefully--to accuse your father of a dalliance with the parlour maid when there is no evidence to suggest such a thing! I am not surprised that he has been disinherited--perhaps once he can no longer live in the fashion to which he has become accustomed, your brother will come to his senses and beg forgiveness. Nevertheless...I think, having read this letter, you will understand (or rather I hope you will) why I say that I only wish a troublesome brother were the greatest of my problems!
Do write and advise me what I should do about the dreadful Colonel. I know you well enough to know your advice will be correct even if not strictly sensible, for you have never yet advised me wrongly.
Your flustered,
Elizabeth
10 Avalon Close, London
Dear Samantha--
I write in haste, praying this letter reaches you before the London papers, which I know your husband has been known to take. There will be a great deal of talk, I am sure, but you at least must know the truth.
Colonel Sheppard is every bit the rake that rumour has made him out to be! I have been made a scandal before the whole Ton, and the worst of it is that I know I am as guilty as he, and yet do not know if I even care. Now, lest you make any assumptions regarding the nature of this scandal, let me return to the beginning and tell the whole tale in order.
Our first weeks in London were spent making sure that Kate and Laura both had suitable wardrobes for the Season, and let me tell you, it was no easy task! Yet in the light of more recent events, I feel safe in stating briefly that Laura was naturally the root of it, and leaving the matter at that. Once that was accomplished, their Season began in earnest with the fête at Lord Ernest and Lady Catherine's. Much to my immediate relief, neither Kate nor Laura lacked for dancing partners, and neither did Laura tread too severely on the feet of any of hers. It seems the dancing lessons I persuaded Stephen to arrange for her whilst she was recovering from the incident with her horse have paid off!
I was quite content to sit out, knowing that no one would approach me as long as I still wore mourning for Simon. I took the opportunity to study the company--one might say the competition. Mr. McKay was there, along with his sister, Miss Jean McKay, who is as perfectly lovely as described--I had a chance to speak with her briefly, and she began by apologizing for her brother's behaviour towards you. Apparently he told her of it and received a firm dressing down in return. If only more men had such sisters!
Lord Beckett was also present, much to the astonishment of all, as he is said to rarely leave that remote Scottish castle of his except when called upon by the King himself. He asked Laura to dance twice, which I take to mean that she did not address him too informally, tread too hard upon his toes or do aught else that would have revealed her to be the unruly child she truly is. (I say with affection, of course!)
After about half an hour, I was finally given a glimpse of the mysterious Colonel Sheppard! He entered the room and all eyes immediately went to him, which was how I knew who he was. And truthfully, he is a handsome gentleman--long dark hair pulled back in the fashion of the regiment, warm hazel eyes and a little boy's smile. One could almost hear the collective sigh from the unwed young ladies present. Then, Samantha, I tell you my heart nearly stopped, for he cast a disinterested glance about the room...and then settled his eyes on me! I saw him lean over to speak to Mr. McKay, who glanced at me and then turned to give him some answer. I thought that would be the end of it, but no, his eyes never left mine.
At this point, I fear a most unseemly blush began to colour my face, for the look in those eyes--I tell you it was something no unmarried woman should ever see from a stranger. Nor a married one from any man but her husband! I gathered my scattered wits about me and deliberately looked away. Yet still I could feel the heat of his eyes upon me.
Nor did it stop there, or while I might still be privately scandalized, none but the two of us should know of my shame. I had almost persuaded myself that it was once again safe to stop staring at the wall when I saw movement out of the corner of my vision. When I looked up, there he was, so close that I could see his uniform had been freshly pressed and all his buttons newly polished. He introduced himself with a polite little bow, and then promptly asked me to stand up the next waltz with him! I turned him down, of course, but not as easily as you might think. But then, you know how I love to waltz, so perhaps it would not surprise you.
Regardless, a true gentleman would have taken my refusal to heart, along with the gentle reminder that I am still wearing mourning. Colonel Sheppard, however, merely leaned closer and whispered too low for anyone but myself to hear: "Come on, Elizabeth. Haven't you ever wanted to just forget about what people think for a little while and live your life?" (He must have been in the Americas for a long while--he even talks like a Colonial!)
He held out his hand, and heaven help me, Samantha, I took it, without even correcting his casual form of address. I cannot in good conscience explain myself, except perhaps that it has been so long since a man has asked me to waltz that I forgot myself. I certainly forgot myself during the dance--it was so lovely to be waltzing again! Sense returned to me, of course, as soon as the music had stopped--I rather wonder that it didn't stop as soon as we stepped onto the floor, as surely the musicians must have been a shocked as everyone else--and I thanked him and moved to return to my seat. The more fool I, for thinking a man so brazen would be content with just one dance! No, he caught my arm as I was leaving, and before the night was out we had stood up every dance together.
When the evening concluded and I was safely ensconced once again in the carriage with Kate and Laura for the drive home, I of course felt mortified at my own behaviour. Yet, I would be lying to you if I said a part of me was not also in rapture. I had resigned myself to the dull, spinsterish life of a chaperon, yet you know as well as I that I have always been too much of a romantic for my own good. Perhaps this should be a lesson to me about letting my heart rule my head. Of course, it would have been easier if my two charges had not plied me the entire ride home with questions about the mysterious Colonel Sheppard.
Perhaps had it ended there, my reputation might still be intact, despite the drubbing it took at the fête. However, the next morning while I was in the kitchen supervising the preparation of our luncheon to distract myself, Peter--our butler--came in to announce that a Colonel John Sheppard had come to call. In the vain hope that he had asked me to dance last night with the purpose of ferreting out how best to charm me into trusting him with my charges, I sent Peter back to inquire which of the ladies he wished to call upon: Miss Highgate or Miss Caldwell.
I should only have been so fortunate. No, the reply he sent back was that while he was sure Miss Highgate and Miss Caldwell were both quite charming, it was Mrs. Wallace with whom he desired to speak.
Flustered as I have not been since the night Simon called to propose, I ordered Peter to have tea laid out in the blue parlour, and I would greet him there. I then took myself quickly upstairs to freshen up, as though I were a flighty child rather than a grown woman and a widow!
Upon returning downstairs, I greeted him as formally as possible considering the way my heart was palpitating in my chest. He thanked me for my company last night at the fête, and then began to ask me questions about myself. The truly remarkable thing, however, is that he listened to the answers! You may recall from our own Season how rare this was: most men would make enough inquiries for polite conversation, yet it was clear that their preferred topic of conversation was themselves--how much they had a year, their titles and their properties. My attempts to elicit any information from Colonel Sheppard (and I did not ask after his annual income--I still retained that much sense of propriety!) were met mostly with evasion. I only caught his interest when I inquired about the name of his estate. He looked surprised and even pleased to discover that I had read Plato, and he spent the next several minutes quizzing me about the classics. I daresay I need not tell you how pleasing it was to speak with a man who did not sniff and look down his nose upon me, commenting that reading gave women airs and led them to forget their proper place. Perhaps there is something to be said for a man who is so improper!
I will tell you, we talked for nearly two hours. It was only when Peter came to tell me that luncheon was ready, and would I like it laid out in the parlour, that John--for so he has insisted I address him!--took his leave. And I, I am left in a state of utter mortification, for I have realized that I truly do not know what I will say or do if I see him again. Kate and Laura are both seething with envy, and I can only imagine what the other chaperons will be saying about me by the time this reaches you.
And oh dear, here I have been so caught up in my own troubles that you must think I never even received your letter of a week past. Mark has behaved shamefully--to accuse your father of a dalliance with the parlour maid when there is no evidence to suggest such a thing! I am not surprised that he has been disinherited--perhaps once he can no longer live in the fashion to which he has become accustomed, your brother will come to his senses and beg forgiveness. Nevertheless...I think, having read this letter, you will understand (or rather I hope you will) why I say that I only wish a troublesome brother were the greatest of my problems!
Do write and advise me what I should do about the dreadful Colonel. I know you well enough to know your advice will be correct even if not strictly sensible, for you have never yet advised me wrongly.
Your flustered,
Elizabeth