My decision to write was not lightly taken, but having made it and taken up my pen at last, I already know it is the right course of action.

Let me explain. Two months ago, I received a parcel from Lady Julia containing a number of American publications which she suggested, in her customary understated way, might be of interest to me. Imagine my astonishment when I discovered that my daughter had become a writer—and a popular one at that, judging by the volume and variety of articles Julia enclosed. I have read your work, Margaret, and am inordinately proud. Your dear and very distinct voice comes through so clearly on the page that I confess I was moved to tears, even when at times I was also moved to laughter. I have always known that you have a talent for storytelling, of course, and I cherish my copy of Tall Tales and Wagging Tails (which Lady Julia tells me has now been published in America!), but these pieces represent a real departure.

I will be frank and admit that I was alarmed to see your name attached to them. I feared that if the duke saw your work, he would treat it as a breach of his terms and cease your allowance, thus threatening your hard-won independence. I was in a quandary, more desperate than ever to write to you, more afraid than ever of the consequences. I owe it to Mrs. Scrymgeour for deciding me. She paid me a visit. Margaret—what loyal and true friends you have, and how ashamed I am that I have not been one of them. Mrs. Scrymgeour was much franker than Lady Julia. Through her I came to understand your life in New York more clearly. Your desire to earn your own living, to be free from any requirement to placate the duke or indeed anyone else (what she told me you refer to as your “golden handcuffs”) and your sensitive understanding of my own situation—Margaret, when Mrs. Scrymgeour left, I felt very small but quite determined to take action.

I spoke to your father the very next day. It was one of the most difficult conversations I have ever had with him, but the outcome of it is that I am free to write and your allowance is not under threat. I cannot lie and tell you that he is as proud as he ought to be of his daughter, but he did not condemn you. Mary, too, is free to write to you now and I believe has done so. She shows a great deal of independent spirit, and no more inclination than you did to marry young. The duke, I am relieved to say, has learned his lesson in that regard, and as yet has made no moves in that direction.