Dear Mr. Berbrooke
One.
“…but the most shocking events at Lady Charmswood’s ball, was the argument between Miss Penningston and Mr. Berbrooke. Up until recently, rumors had been flying of an alleged romance between the two, and there was even talk of an engagement. But since then, there have been no sightings of the couple together at any event. And Miss Penningston was even seen with the earl Lord Chatteris at the theatre. It seems that the couple of Miss Penningston and Mr. Berbrooke are over for now. The question is, which party is to blame? This Author shall investigate tirelessly to bring my dear readers the truth.”
Sarah let the society papers slip out of her hands where they fell on the table, tipping over her teacup. The tea went spilling all over white, linen tablecloth but she didn’t notice it.
“Sarah, look what you have done!” her mother screeched, jumping up with a napkin to blot away the mess. “You must get a hold on that clumsiness if you ever want to catch yourself a husband.”
“Nevermind about the tablecloth, Mother! Have you read these?” Sarah scooped the papers back up and waved them at her. “It is pure slander!”
“Yes, I read them. But it is of no consequence, Sarah. Mr. Berbrooke has withdrawn his suit for you, so we shall forget him and move on to the next gentleman.”
She thought back to the ball the night before and the argument. She had confronted Benjamin, asking why he had stopped pursuing her. He had simply responded with an ‘I’m no longer interested in you.’
The more Sarah thought about it, the angrier she got. She was the daughter of a viscount! How dare he embarrass her in front of the whole ton! She had been made a laughingstock, the girl that nobody wanted. It would be nearly impossible for her to find a husband now, no matter that she didn’t want anyone else, just Benjamin.
She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. Without a word to her mother she stomped away from the dining room table and left, her breakfast forgotten. Out in the front hall she almost barreled down a footman in her haste to reach the stairs. With every step she took, her anger grew until she was positively fuming. Once enclosed in her private chambers, she went to a writing table, pulled out some parchment and writing utensils and furiously started to scratch away.
Dear Mr. Berbrooke,
You, sir are a tasteless scoundrel! I do not appreciate you openly mocking me in front of the ton, nor do I appreciate the rumors that have begun to spread due to your thoughtless actions. You improperly broke our courtship, and now it will be entirely impossible for me to find a more suitable gentleman as a husband. I have no doubt that by now you have seen this morning’s society papers, so you know that which I speak of is true.
If you held no interest in me, it was unfair of you to begin a courtship, for now I find myself not only angry, but hurt. If you could please inform the papers that it was in fact you that ended our agreement, I would be most satisfied and I can continue on with my search for a husband. After all, you are only the fourth son of an earl. I am positive that next time I can find much better, and not engage my heart.
Sincerely,
Miss Sarah Penningston.
P.S. I hope you rot in hell.
With a nod of satisfaction she sealed the letter up with a bit of wax and refrained from addressing it to The Dirty, Rotten, No Good, Wastrel of a Scoundrel and instead wrote Mr. Benjamin Berbrooke on the front in her neat script. She went over to the door to pull the bell cord and ring for a maid. One came up a few minutes later, standing in the doorway expectantly.
“Yes, miss?” the young girl squeaked.
“Could you please see that a footman delivers this letter immediately?” Sarah handed her the folded piece of paper. “It’s of an urgent matter.”
“Right away, miss,” the maid nodded and curtsied before shuffling away.
Sarah retreated back into a room, intent on reading a book until she had a dress-fitting that afternoon. She settled down onto the window seat overlooking the garden, feeling triumphant.
Sarah let the society papers slip out of her hands where they fell on the table, tipping over her teacup. The tea went spilling all over white, linen tablecloth but she didn’t notice it.
“Sarah, look what you have done!” her mother screeched, jumping up with a napkin to blot away the mess. “You must get a hold on that clumsiness if you ever want to catch yourself a husband.”
“Nevermind about the tablecloth, Mother! Have you read these?” Sarah scooped the papers back up and waved them at her. “It is pure slander!”
“Yes, I read them. But it is of no consequence, Sarah. Mr. Berbrooke has withdrawn his suit for you, so we shall forget him and move on to the next gentleman.”
She thought back to the ball the night before and the argument. She had confronted Benjamin, asking why he had stopped pursuing her. He had simply responded with an ‘I’m no longer interested in you.’
The more Sarah thought about it, the angrier she got. She was the daughter of a viscount! How dare he embarrass her in front of the whole ton! She had been made a laughingstock, the girl that nobody wanted. It would be nearly impossible for her to find a husband now, no matter that she didn’t want anyone else, just Benjamin.
She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. Without a word to her mother she stomped away from the dining room table and left, her breakfast forgotten. Out in the front hall she almost barreled down a footman in her haste to reach the stairs. With every step she took, her anger grew until she was positively fuming. Once enclosed in her private chambers, she went to a writing table, pulled out some parchment and writing utensils and furiously started to scratch away.
Dear Mr. Berbrooke,
You, sir are a tasteless scoundrel! I do not appreciate you openly mocking me in front of the ton, nor do I appreciate the rumors that have begun to spread due to your thoughtless actions. You improperly broke our courtship, and now it will be entirely impossible for me to find a more suitable gentleman as a husband. I have no doubt that by now you have seen this morning’s society papers, so you know that which I speak of is true.
If you held no interest in me, it was unfair of you to begin a courtship, for now I find myself not only angry, but hurt. If you could please inform the papers that it was in fact you that ended our agreement, I would be most satisfied and I can continue on with my search for a husband. After all, you are only the fourth son of an earl. I am positive that next time I can find much better, and not engage my heart.
Sincerely,
Miss Sarah Penningston.
P.S. I hope you rot in hell.
With a nod of satisfaction she sealed the letter up with a bit of wax and refrained from addressing it to The Dirty, Rotten, No Good, Wastrel of a Scoundrel and instead wrote Mr. Benjamin Berbrooke on the front in her neat script. She went over to the door to pull the bell cord and ring for a maid. One came up a few minutes later, standing in the doorway expectantly.
“Yes, miss?” the young girl squeaked.
“Could you please see that a footman delivers this letter immediately?” Sarah handed her the folded piece of paper. “It’s of an urgent matter.”
“Right away, miss,” the maid nodded and curtsied before shuffling away.
Sarah retreated back into a room, intent on reading a book until she had a dress-fitting that afternoon. She settled down onto the window seat overlooking the garden, feeling triumphant.
♠ ♠ ♠
Second, final chapter to be posted shortly!