Forever Yours

11 October 1835

Dearest Frederick,

As always, I hope you are well. I won’t reiterate the many questions I have with regard to your well-being, but do know I expect answers in any reply you may send.

This past week the fair Lily Cunningham was again invited to the palace in my mother’s less than discrete attempts to have me court her. From there, events transpired which were most humiliating to me. The secluded life I live, I haven’t anyone but yourself to confide in, and although I am beginning to doubt that you read my letters, I shall detail the experience none the less.

It was Saturday afternoon that yet again my mother invited Lady Cunningham and her daughter, Lily, to join us for tea. Against my protests, I was required to make an appearance. We sat down to tea and the usual mindless chatter followed. Just as I was formulating a lie with which I may excuse myself, my mother insisted we must show our guests around the garden on such a Autumn afternoon.

“Robert, dearest,” she said, “You must lead us. Do not you spend much of your time enjoying the garden’s fresh air?”

Indeed, I do. The sly woman had me trapped! I led the lot of them out to the gardens, where the same small talk which had accompanied our meal carried on. And my mother’s plot did not end there! Evidently, she had forged an alliance with Lady Cunningham, for as our tour of the gardens was nearing completion, Lady Cunningham, as if on cue, insisted she had dropped one of her gloves along the way. My mother was quick to offer aid in finding it, and the pair of them hurried off, leaving Lily and myself completely alone.

By this time I was resigned to my fate, and I began to play along, hoping my cooperation may speed along the awkward encounter. With winter rapidly approaching, most of the garden is no longer in bloom. However, I happened to know a chrysanthemum bush which I expected would still have a few lingering blossoms. While we waited for our mothers’ return I led Ms. Cunningham to the chrysanthemums and, at a loss of what to do next, picked one of the remaining blossoms and handed it to her as a gift. She was quite pleased by this, and endeavored to tuck the blossom in her hair. This proved difficult, or else she pretended so, and she asked for my assistance.

I did not have the foresight to see through her plot, and foolishly obliged. When I had finished steadying the flower in her hair, she closed the small space left between us and stole a kiss from my lips.

I was utterly unprepared, and I do not doubt I made quite a fool of myself in my attempt to return the kiss. Unencumbered by her mother’s watchful gaze, she was not afraid to let it go on a while, which I was similarly unprepared for. I am no stranger to the art of romance—you, my dear, know this well—but in my surprised state I had all the gracelessness of a virgin. Perhaps this will work to my advantage and deter her from making such a bold move in the future.

This encounter, I will admit without shame, was one which reawakened my longing for you. It drew to mind many fond memories in which your two lips met my own. Oh, how I long for the warm sensation of your lips on my skin! I long to lay in bed beside you; I long for to feel the weight of your arms around me as we hold each other in a lover’s embrace! Alas, the only weight which bears upon me now is that of responsibility, and with each day it grows heavier.

Six months have passed and still you refuse to offer me so much as a single letter. I begin to wonder why I still write. At this point I am keeping a diary rather than maintaining a correspondence. Yet, I carry on writing nonetheless. I suppose it is because it brings me comfort. Even if you shall never read these letters, the small possibility that you may warms my heart, and the act of writing calms my nerves.

Yours affectionately,
Robert