Forever Yours
3 July 1835
Dear Frederick,
It’s been much too long since I’ve been able to mail you a letter. I had some trouble once I returned to the Capitol working out how I might be able to write to you. I thought at first I may send letters to Charlie to have him forward them for me, but then, letters to him may look equally as suspicious. Instead, I’ll have to make discrete trips to the post office and slip them into the mail. You can send a reply to the same post office. I’ve inscribed the address below. Address them to R.W. Sylvester and I shall ask after them whenever I’m there.
Upon my return from school my mother invited the esteemed Lord Cunningham to join us for tea, and insisted he bring his wife and daughter along. This daughter of his, Lily Cunningham, is the young heiress I’ve mentioned before as my mother’s choice for my future bride. It appears that everyone involved, with the notable exception of myself, has decided Lily and I are to be married when the time arrives. She is still rather young, and it will be a good four or five years before our wedding day arrives, which is very fortunate for me. I am no more ready to commit myself to a young woman, lovely and benign as she may be, than I am to rule this country. But, there will come a day that I will have to balance both responsibilities, and between you and I, I am perfectly terrified at the very prospect of it. What I wouldn’t give to live my life in a small town as a bachelor of no particular importance.
Sometimes I imagine such a life to distract myself from the stresses of my reality. I imagine a small farmhouse in a remote village, not unlike the place we shared our first kiss. I imagine quiet evenings spent reading by the fire, and sunny afternoon picnics—the sort of simple pleasures so often absent in my busy life. And of course, I imagine you living alongside me—a companion with whom I may share all my days.
I imagine this fantasy, the sort we used to dream up late at night back at the academy, and then I cry to think that I will never have it, for I have too many responsibilities for which I never signed on, but nevertheless must fulfill.
It is my great hope that I may one day hear from you again, and perhaps be so fortunate as to look upon your fair face once more. Even now, your image flickers behind my eyelids as a I dream at night—the image of my most beloved. It brings me comfort in the darkest of times.
As always, dearest Frederick, please write to me when you can.
Yours,
Robert
It’s been much too long since I’ve been able to mail you a letter. I had some trouble once I returned to the Capitol working out how I might be able to write to you. I thought at first I may send letters to Charlie to have him forward them for me, but then, letters to him may look equally as suspicious. Instead, I’ll have to make discrete trips to the post office and slip them into the mail. You can send a reply to the same post office. I’ve inscribed the address below. Address them to R.W. Sylvester and I shall ask after them whenever I’m there.
Upon my return from school my mother invited the esteemed Lord Cunningham to join us for tea, and insisted he bring his wife and daughter along. This daughter of his, Lily Cunningham, is the young heiress I’ve mentioned before as my mother’s choice for my future bride. It appears that everyone involved, with the notable exception of myself, has decided Lily and I are to be married when the time arrives. She is still rather young, and it will be a good four or five years before our wedding day arrives, which is very fortunate for me. I am no more ready to commit myself to a young woman, lovely and benign as she may be, than I am to rule this country. But, there will come a day that I will have to balance both responsibilities, and between you and I, I am perfectly terrified at the very prospect of it. What I wouldn’t give to live my life in a small town as a bachelor of no particular importance.
Sometimes I imagine such a life to distract myself from the stresses of my reality. I imagine a small farmhouse in a remote village, not unlike the place we shared our first kiss. I imagine quiet evenings spent reading by the fire, and sunny afternoon picnics—the sort of simple pleasures so often absent in my busy life. And of course, I imagine you living alongside me—a companion with whom I may share all my days.
I imagine this fantasy, the sort we used to dream up late at night back at the academy, and then I cry to think that I will never have it, for I have too many responsibilities for which I never signed on, but nevertheless must fulfill.
It is my great hope that I may one day hear from you again, and perhaps be so fortunate as to look upon your fair face once more. Even now, your image flickers behind my eyelids as a I dream at night—the image of my most beloved. It brings me comfort in the darkest of times.
As always, dearest Frederick, please write to me when you can.
Yours,
Robert
♠ ♠ ♠
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