You must not be thinking that this is a plea for you to remain, or even to concern yourself with my suffering. I will, as I always do, endure with grace and elegance, and look after myself. I have an excellent example of fortitude in my mother to follow. I will not disappoint her expectations, nor will I disappoint myself.

I trust you will not regret your decision.

Oh, M., I miss you.

Bon voyage, M.

Louise

The Illustrated Times, Friday, 20 December 1867

The Illustrated Times, Friday, 20 December 1867

A TALL TALE ABOUT SETTING SAIL?

Tall Tales and Wagging Tails is a book of children’s stories recently published in Dublin. You might ask what possible interest the Lounger at the Club has in such a frivolous tome. The answer is that it was written by none other than Lady M——, second daughter of the Duke of B——, though naturally her name is not on the title page. Lady M——, who was last sighted serving as bridesmaid at the Royal Wedding a year past in July, has since been determinedly rusticating in Ireland. This is her second confinement from society. Could it be for the same reason as the first? Idle speculation on my part, nothing more—or is it? You decide, Dear Reader, but I ask you, does a leopard change its spots?

I am now reliably informed that the young woman has decided to abandon her homeland altogether and will set sail for America before the end of the year, in which country she intends to settle. In a society which has no aristocratic pedigree nor any blue blood, such tarnished goods as Lady M—— will doubtless be welcomed. In the so-called Land of the Free, a young lady with a penchant for snubbing the well-established rules of good conduct and a reputation for setting a determinedly poor example will find her spiritual home. We wish Lady M—— bon voyage, and our American cousins the best of luck.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Queenstown, Ireland, Friday, 27 December 1867

THERE HAD BEEN TIME FOR only the briefest of farewells before Margaret set off in the Powerscourt travelling coach for Kingsbridge Station in Dublin in the early hours. With the horses stamping their feet in the icy predawn and Aunt Marion consulting her omnipresent list and checking off the baggage, there was time only for Breda to press a St. Christopher medal into Margaret’s hands and for Julia to fuss over the blankets and foot warmers. No time for tears, thank goodness, nor any time to contemplate the fact that she and Julia might never see each other again. Merely one last brief, fierce hug, and then they were on their way.