Dear Joel,
How very devious you are becoming and how clever! I did not intend that you go to so much trouble on my behalf. I will not feel guilty, however, because there does seem to be a good chance that you may get work out of your maneuverings.
Did you cultivate the acquaintance of Mrs. Dance merely because she is a friend of Mrs. Kingsley, my sisters’ grandmother, and then get yourself invited to one of her literature and art evenings? How would you have felt if Mrs. Kingsley had not put in an appearance? I daresay it would have been an enjoyable evening anyway, though, and it did give you a wonderful opportunity to display the paintings you took with you. I am so glad Mrs. Kingsley did appear, however, and looked with interest at the portrait you showed her of a young lady. How very sly of you to work in the comment about how rare a treat it is these days to find young persons in Bath to paint.
You must let me know if anything comes of all this. It is a disappointment that you have seen only Abigail, and even her only a time or two. I do worry about my sisters. I have thought of writing to them, but Cousin Elizabeth as well as my own good sense have advised against it just yet. They must be given time to adjust to the new facts of their lives, and I am the last person they need to be reminded of.
I do not even know where to begin with my own news. I have not written since the ball three evenings ago. It was a huge success. I felt like a princess in my ball gown (until I saw all the other ladies, who were far lovelier than I) and I was in any case treated like one. I believe even my grandmother and my aunts were astounded. Not only did I dance every set, but I had at least a dozen prospective partners to choose among for each one.
And the next morning no fewer than twenty-seven bouquets of flowers were delivered here for me. I did not count how many gentlemen as well as a few ladies came to call during the afternoon. Several of them invited me to various entertainments. One of the gentlemen, with his brother, took Elizabeth and me for a drive in Hyde Park at what is known as the fashionable hour, and I now know why. Very little driving or riding or walking is accomplished, but a great deal of chatter and gossip is. Yesterday one young gentleman came to ask to whom he needs to apply before he can make an offer for my hand. And I heard during the afternoon that several other men have made similar inquiries of my male relatives.
Have I grown suddenly beautiful, charming, witty, and otherwise irresistible? Well, irresistible, yes. For I am rich. Very, very rich. Never wish great wealth upon yourself, Joel. And how very ungrateful that sounds. Ignore me.
Oh, Joel, Joel, Joel—I am betrothed. To the Duke of Netherby! I have no idea quite how it came about. He can surely have no real desire to marry me, or I to marry him for that matter. There is nothing whatsoever about me that might attract him and a great deal that might repel. He has no interest in my wealth—he has enough of his own, as he explained when I was complaining to my family about being a prey to every fortune hunter in the land and they were trying to marry me off to Cousin Alexander (he looked as uncomfortable and dismayed as I was feeling). The duke strolled up to me and told me I could be the Duchess of Netherby instead if I chose. It was surely the most extraordinary proposal in history. And, oh yes, I remember now. It all started when I said I wanted to go to Wensbury near Bristol where my mother’s parents are still living. He found out that information for me and then he said he would take me there, either unwed with Elizabeth or Bertha or both to chaperone me, or wed just with him. And I chose to be wed. And so I am betrothed.
Can you tell that my head is in a hopeless jumble? What I ought to do is crumple up these sheets of paper and dash them to the floor and jump on them. But I have not told you all yet. He is to come this morning, presumably to discuss the wedding, which the rest of the family arranged down to the finest detail after he left. He did, you know—leave, that is. After he had made his offer and I had accepted, he just went away. One could search the world for the next century and not find anyone else half so strange. Read on if you are not already convinced!