By Katherine Givens
November 25, 1809
Dear Mr. Chatham,
As you open this, you are probably wondering why you are receiving a letter from your fiancé’s younger sister. Let this quick explanation ease your curiosity. Flora is currently touring the Americas while you are risking life and limp fighting against Bonaparte’s forces in Spain. She claims to not have time to scribble a quick note to you here and there. Even though we have only met on two occasions, Flora has charged me with the task of composing letters to provide a slight comfort from all the blood and gore that surrounds you. Perhaps letters from a stranger is not what you would have in mind, but I shall try my best to be some sort of companion. I apologize for Flora’s neglect.
From,
Henrietta Minsler
December 21, 1809
Ms. Minsler,
I shall not lie. I am a little disappointed Flora could not write. Do you know how long she plans to visit the Americas or when she will write? I am not ungrateful for your written words. Any distraction is welcome to keep my mind from all this death. I shall not trouble you with any details on that subject. Anyway, I do remember the two times we met. Both times were in London. On both occasions we discussed mundane things, such as the weather and the current fashions. Perhaps these letters will further our acquaintance. I wish you the merriest of Christmases. If possible, inform Flora of my love.
From,
Charles Chatham
January 17, 1810
Dear Mr. Chatham,
I am surprised you remember me! Your memory is better than mine, for I forgot that we even conversed. I wrote to Flora about your love, but I am uncertain if she will reply. She is dead set on briefly severing all ties with Britain as she tours what once belonged to our nation. My theory is that she is searching her soul and wishes to do so in private. Much like a monk in a scriptoria.
Things here in Britain are very peaceful. Most of the conversations in the salons and ballrooms revolve around the war with Napoleon. What an odious, little dictator this man must be if he has the ton so wound up–I apologize. I should not be raving about this topic for it must distress you greatly. I shall try to write of more pleasant things.
My family is planning on traveling to Derbyshire for the remainder of Christmas. I have been to Derbyshire several times, but never in the winter. The rolling hills must appear magical at this time of year, especially after a fresh blanket of snow covers the land. I wonder what the Druids thought of the brilliancy of the untamed wilderness as snowflakes sprinkled from the skies.
From,
Henrietta Minsler
February 12, 1810
Dear Ms. Minsler,
Do not trouble yourself with avoiding talk of the war. It seems to have immersed itself in every fiber of my life. Each day becomes more miserable than the last. Each day becomes bloodier. Each day I lose soldiers who have been under my command for months. I am glad to hear that my homeland is not suffering from my misfortunes. At the very least, I can say I am protecting my people.
Derbyshire is one of the most beautiful places on earth. It is a gem compared to most of God’s other creations. Tonight, before I go to sleep, I will imagine myself in such a place. A place where the warmth from a hearth permeates the room and a foggy window to watch the snow fall.
Regards,
Charles Chatham
P.S. This may be a bit of an afterthought, but how does Flora fare? Have you received word from her?
March 4, 1810
Dear Mr. Chatham,
Flora has not written a single letter to me, but avidly writes to her friends. They boast of their contact with her and carry her notes around like a prize from a hunt. Still, I write to Flora about your love for her.
Derbyshire is lovely. The landscape is just as I imagined it. I often anger my mother with the walks I take. She believes I will catch a cold. But how can I resist the crunch of snow under my feet and the cloudy skies overhead? When did you visit this, as you say, gem? I am eager to hear more of this tale.
Let me end this letter by thanking you for your services to our country. I am not saying this out of duty or obligation. I offer my sincerest gratitude, for I can only imagine what you are suffering as you assist the Spanish in their rebellion.
Stay Safe,
Henrietta Misler
March 29, 1810
Dear Henrietta,
I must agree with your mother. If you continue to walk in the winter winds, you shall catch a cold. Please stay healthy. If not for your sake, for mine. I have become so very accustomed to receiving your letters. I look forward to cracking the seal whenever a new note reaches my hands. And for your amusement, I shall tell you about my short excursion to Derbyshire.
It was three years ago. I was visiting a friend of mine, the Earl of Matlock. The fellow is like a father to me and his wife, Victoria, is a very pleasant creature. Both are far past their prime, but their passion for life is very evident. The couple acted as my guides as they showed their homeland with a twinkle in their eyes and various private smiles. They introduced me to the wilderness of the county and the small villages that surrounded their manor.
My favorite place was a small inn that was once owned by an eccentric named Mary Powell. Her grand nephew now owns the inn. We still have contact through letters. I remember the first time I met George, the current owner of the inn. I was sitting in the tavern drinking from a bottle of whiskey, minding my own business. I was eyeing a pretty girl. Her father caught my wandering eyes and threatened to blacken both. The father did not appreciate it when I told him to, “Take the stick out of his arse and loosen up.” I apologize for the crude phrasing, but that particular point of this memory gives me cause to smile. The man and I began tossing a few punches. George had to come over and threaten to beat us with that stick the father pulled out. All of us, including the father, began to chuckle at John’s wit. In the end, the father sent his daughter home and we settled our differences over a few bottles of whiskey and port. John kept us company the rest of the night. I long to return to Britain. I long to return to Derbyshire and visit the earl and Victoria. I long to see John. I long for home.
Regards,
Charles
April 16, 1810
Dear Charles,
Spring is upon us. Earth’s white blanket has been folded by Mother Nature and stored for next year. I can resume my walks, without my mother’s worry. Or yours. Your description of Derbyshire varies from what I have seen. The country is beautiful, but my social experiences are dismal. As a sheltered woman, my view was limited to country balls, social calls, and sleigh rides with possible suitors. My walks into the surrounding forestry are an escape from my gilt cage. What you have experienced seems invigorating and lively! What I would give to travel with an entertaining pair such as the Earl of Matlock and his wife! What I would give to sit in a tavern for a night or to be an opponent in a brawl! The appeal of actually living is wonderful compared to the belief that because I am a female I am a wilting flower.
Sincerely,
Henrietta
P.S. If I could, I would vanquish Napoleon Bonaparte and his army for you. If I were a genie, I would grant your wish to return to Britain. If a wish on a star meant anything, I would wish that we could meet in our homeland.
April 30, 1810
Dear Henrietta,
My God! I could not bare the thought of you in a drunken brawl! I could not bare the sight of you in a tavern with men clamoring to grope anything feminine or cursing like sailors! You have come to mean too much to me for me to learn that you are hurt or scarred. It is your right to live, but within reason. What if you were to break your neck or crack a rib from an outrageous adventure? Please, promise you shall not do anything rash. Henrietta, I believe that you are a strong woman. You are also compassionate, kind, and generous. We may have only met in person on a few occasions, but our correspondence has shed light on your true character. Live life to the fullest, but do not bring harm to yourself.
Sincerely,
Charles
May 13, 1810
Dear Charles,
Your concern is very touching. If my mother were to ask for such words to pass my lips, I would deny it to her. I wish I could conjure up the same response to your request. Unfortunately, I seem inclined to grant you anything you wish. I promise to not do anything irrational, but I will continue my explorations and adventures. It is in my blood. Perhaps I should tell you of my latest mischief. I promise that no physical harm came to my persons, but it was a close call. A local farmer recently purchased a horse. He named it Shadow, which is befitting for such a feisty creature. Shadow is a two-year-old colt with a mean streak. The farmer purchased the colt from a local horse breeder under the premises of a bet. If the farmer could break the colt, he would win the horse breeder’s prized mare. If the farmer could not, he would walk around the town in a gentlewoman’s outfit for five days.
The farmer was not having any luck breaking the colt. He tried everything within his power to train Shadow, but to no prevail. After learning of the bet from a few gossips, I decided to take a visit to Shadow. As a fellow hellion, I felt a strong connection to the creature. I thought I could somehow befriend the beast and break it myself. Under the veil of night I attempted to do just that. I visited Shadow’s pasture since the farmer did not keep him in the barn. Shadow trotted towards me when he noticed my presence at the fence. Seeing that he was calm, I perched myself atop a fencepost. This proved to be a mistake.
At first, I softly crooned to the colt to see if he would approach. He shyly walked towards me until he was only an arm’s length away. When I reached out to stroke his nose, Shadow tried to bite my hand. I pulled back. In my haste, I stumbled backwards onto the ground outside the pasture. Shadow cantered off as if he thought he was the victor. All I could do was laugh at the feisty boy, brush the dust from my clothing, and walk home. Perhaps this could constitute as a brawl.
Stay Safe,
Henrietta
P.S. Have you realized none of our past letters have discussed Flora? She wrote a letter to me, but said nothing of you. You should be pleased that she is well and good.
May 28, 1810
Dear Henrietta,
Ha! Shadow must have been God’s answer to my prayer that an innocent brawl squelch your adventurous spirit. I hope the nipping beast has taught you a lesson. Seeing that Shadow could not even succumb to your charms, I shall assume that the farmer has lost the bet.
I shall admit that I have not thought of Flora in quite some time. Another has consumed my every thought and dream. Flora’s neglect reveals that she cares little for me. A more constant presence in my life has lead to a blossoming love. At least on my part.
Sincerely,
Charles
June 17, 1810
Mr. Chatham,
How dare you come to feel for another? My sister is negligent, but you are still her fiancé! The rings have not been exchanged and you have already committed an infidelity with some Spanish doxy. I refuse to relay your grievances to her. Compose a letter to her immediately, either expressing the entire situation and begging for her forgiveness or breaking your engagement.
Signed,
Henrietta Misler
August 1, 1810
Dearest Henrietta,
Please do not fault me for my emotions. As you would say, a Spanish doxy has not won my heart. The woman I speak of is someone who has shared a correspondence for several months. The woman I speak of wrote about wishing upon a star for me, meeting me in Britain, and desiring to see the true Derbyshire. This woman loves to take long walks in the winter, hates being seen as a wilting flower, and tries to tame fresh colts. The woman I speak of is you! I love you with all my heart. I love you with every fiber of my being. I love you. Not Flora.
At your command, I have written a letter to Flora. I have broken off my engagement with her. She does not love me, nor do I love her. She deserves to find someone who will feel for her as I feel for you. Give her the chance to find this special man. You have no need to look further, for I am yours body and soul.
A few days ago, I requested a discharge from my superior. As a close friend of mine, he is willing to release me from my service. I have fought for my country, but it is time for me to fight for what I want. By the time you read this letter, my ship will have landed in Britain. I am coming for you, Henrietta.
Yours Truly,
Charles
Henrietta was stunned. She reread Charles’ letter a second and third time to make certain she was not hallucinating. When the words remained unchanged, she could only conclude that this valiant soldier was in love with her.
To be sure, Flora wrote a letter to Henrietta, which was received a few days ago, about her cancelled engagement. Her sister complained that Charles was an ungrateful man. She was willing to marry him. From her sister’s chilled words, she was treating Charles like a charity case. Flora went on to say she had no clue why Charles ended the engagement, but her concern lay with being rejected in front of the whole ton. As usual, appearances mattered more than the feelings of everyone involved. Towards the end of the letter, Flora said that she was determined to wash her hands of Charles and accept the proposal of a New Yorker. Knowing Flora, she would be married to this American and flashing him before the ton before the month was out.
A knock sounded at the door. Henrietta beckoned the intruder inside. A skittish maid slipped into the room.
“Miss. There is a man here to see you,” explained the maid, shifting from foot to foot.
“Does he have a card?” Henrietta asked.
“No,” squeaked the maid.
Henrietta folded the letter and placed it onto her table. “Does he realize I am no longer seeing visitors?”
“I told him. He still wishes to see you.”
Henrietta sighed. Although she wished to contemplate Charles’ letter, she decided it was best to entertain this mystery stranger for the next quarter of an hour. “Let him in.”
The maid disappeared. Henrietta turned in her seat to gaze at her reflection. Over the past few months, she found herself falling in love with Charles. She tried to squash these feelings out of loyalty to her sister. Never could she betray her own flesh and blood.
At least until she read Flora’s uncaring letter for her former fiancé. Flora never loved Charles. Her written words proved what Henrietta had suspected for quite some time. And now that Charles admitted his devotion to her…
The door to the room swung wide open. Henrietta nearly fell out of her seat when she recognized the man the maid had admitted. Charles.
She swung away from the mirror to look into his handsome green eyes. Without glancing at the maid, Henrietta ordered, “Leave us.”
The mousy maid scurried from the room, shutting the door behind her. Henrietta’s intent gaze slid over Charles’ form. He wore a brown coat over a white linen shirt and a gold embroidered waistcoat. A cravat covered his masculine throat. Black breeches molded against muscular thighs. His brown hair was tousled from the strong winds outside. A scar cut from his nose to his ear. Concern bubbled in Henrietta when she saw this symbol of his service for his country.
“Henrietta,” he whispered.
“Charles,” she mumbled.
Several instants passed as the two studied each other’s features. Both seemed to want to take note of what the other looked like, as if they were doomed to only look upon each other once and go for the rest of eternity with just this one shared moment.
Being the first to speak, Charles said, “Did you receive my last letter?”
“I finished reading it only moments ago.”
“I broke my engagement with Flora,” he said lamely.
“Yes. She wrote a letter to me explaining her…disappointment, but she has found a New Yorker she is determined to marry.”
“I am glad she has found solace.”
“Yes. She recovers quickly.”
Another awkward silence fell over the room. Tension laced the air. Both had much to say. Both feared expressing their emotions.
Henrietta was the first to speak. “Do you truly love me?”
Charles gave her a sheepish grin. “I traveled across war torn countries and a body of water as if the devil was at my heels to just see you. If that is not love, I do not know what is.”
She shared in his smile at the wry humor. “I suppose it does.”
He took a few steps towards her. “What about you? Do you reciprocate my love?”
Henrietta stood from her seat by the table and came to Charles’ side. Lifting a hand to his face, she lightly caressed his scar. “I do. I love you. I struggled in vain for the past few months to deny myself this.”
Grasping her hand, he turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “I chose the wrong sister last time. This time I mean to make you mine.”
Her heart was near bursting. “Then make me yours.”
“I will court you properly. In a few months time, I shall approach your father and ask for your hand.”
“Without consulting me?” asked Henrietta, hating to be treated like an object.
Charles smiled. He pulled a ring out of his coat pocket and bent down on one knee. Looking into Henrietta’s eyes, he asked, “Will you marry me?”
She could only manage to nod, tears glistening in her eyes. Charles slid a silver band decorated with ten diamonds onto her ring finger. “A diamond for every month we wrote to each other,” he noted.
Charles stood, never releasing her hands. “We shall keep our engagement secret for a while. At least until Flora is married to her American so that we could save her from any embarrassment.
Thankful for his considerate nature, Henrietta said, “That eases my guilt. Thank you.”
Not wasting another moment, Charles did what he had dreamt of for the longest time. He lowered his head and kissed her. Henrietta’s arms entwined around his neck. Charles pulled her closer, never wanting to let her go now that they were together.
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I am a college student but a writer at heart. My fiction has been published in The Copperfield Review and The Enchanted File Cabinet. My poetry has been published in Nazar Look, Literary Juice, BareBack Magazine, Enhance, and Miracle e-zine, and will be in forthcoming issues of Inclement Poetry Magazine, Blood Moon Rising Magazine, Apollo’s Lyre, and The Rusty Nail.
