Mistletoe, .
Dearest R.,
Your going off like that was, after all, very horrid. My aunt thinks that you were running away from me. I think that you were running away from her. Which was true? In real earnest I don’t for a moment think that either I or the Duchess had anything to do with it, and that you did go because some horrid man wrote and asked you. I know you don’t like being bound by any of the conventionalities. I hope there is such a word, and that if not, you’ll understand it just the same.
Oh, Peltry—and oh, Jack—and oh, that road back to Stamford! I am so stiff that I can’t sit upright, and everybody is cross to me, and everything is uncomfortable. What horrible things women are! There isn’t one here, not even old Lady Rumpus, who hasn’t an unmarried daughter left in the world, who isn’t jealous of me, because—because—. I must leave you to guess why they all hate me so! And I’m sure if you had given Jack to any other woman I should hate her, though you may give every horse you have to any man that you please. I wonder whether I shall have another day’s hunting before it is all over. I suppose not. It was almost by a miracle that we managed yesterday—only fancy—yesterday! It seems to be an age ago!
Pray, pray, pray write to me at once—to the Connop Greens, so that I may get a nice, soft, pleasant word directly I get among those nasty, hard, unpleasant people. They have lots of money, and plenty of furniture, and I dare say the best things to eat and drink in the world—but nothing else. There will be no Jack; and if there were, alas, alas, no one to show me the way to ride him.
I start tomorrow, and as far as I understand, shall have to make my way into Hampshire all by myself, with only such security as my maid can give me. I shall make her go in the same carriage and shall have the gratification of looking at her all the way. I suppose I ought not to say that I will shut my eyes and try to think that somebody else is there.
Goodbye dear, dear, dear R. I shall be dying for a letter from you. Yours ever, with all my heart. A.
This was not such a letter as she thought that her aunt would approve; but it was, she fancied, such as the Duchess would believe that she would write to her lover. And if it were allowed to go on its way it would make Lord Rufford feel that she was neither alarmed nor displeased by the suddenness of his departure. But it was not expected to do much good. It might produce some short, joking, half-affectionate reply, but would not draw from him that serious word which was so necessary for the success of her scheme. Therefore she had told him that she intended to prepare a serious missile. Should this pleasant little message of love miscarry, the serious missile would still be sent, and the miscarriage would occasion no harm.
But then further plans were necessary. It might be that Lord Rufford would take no notice of the serious missile—which she thought very probable. Or it might be that he would send back a serious reply, in which he would calmly explain to her that she had unfortunately mistaken his sentiments;—which she believed would be a stretch of manhood beyond his reach. But in either case she would be prepared with the course which she would follow. In the first she would begin by forcing her father to write to him a letter which she herself would dictate. In the second she would set the whole family at him as far as the family were within her reach. With her cousin Lord Mistletoe, who was only two years older than herself, she had always held pleasant relations. They had been children together, and as they had grown up the young Lord had liked his pretty cousin. Latterly they had seen each other but rarely, and therefore the feeling still remained. She would tell Lord Mistletoe her whole story—that is the story as she would please to tell it—and implore his aid. Her father should be driven to demand from Lord Rufford an execution of his alleged promises. She herself would write such a letter to the Duke as an uncle should be unable not to notice. She would move heaven and earth as to her wrongs. She thought that if her friends would stick to her, Lord Rufford would be weak as water in their hands. But it must be all done immediately—so that if everything failed she might be ready to start to Patagonia some time in April. When she looked back and remembered that it was hardly more than two months since she had been taken to Rufford Hall by Mr. Morton she could not accuse herself of having lost any time.
In London she met her mother—as to which meeting there had been some doubt—and underwent the tortures of a close examination. She had thought it prudent on this occasion to tell her mother something, but not to tell anything quite truly. “He has proposed to me,” she said.
“He has!” said Lady Augustus, holding up her hands almost in awe.
“Is there anything so wonderful in that?”
“Then it is all arranged. Does the Duke know it?”
“It is not all arranged
