It has become apparent that my cousin James’s odd behaviour is because, for some reason, he fancies himself to be enamoured of me, which makes things very embarrassing. He is a very nice young man, but I do not like being regarded the way a good dog regards its master, and it renders it most difficult to converse with him. Treating him with disdain feels cruel, like kicking the loyal hound, but even smiling at him is taken as encouragement. What should I do? I am a guest in his parents’ house, his cousin. I keep hoping that he will swiftly recover from this foolish attachment, which I have done nothing to deepen, rather as one recovers from mumps. Oh dear! I am become a disease! Thank goodness you at least are immune to me.

His lordship’s smile twisted into a grimace, even as he turned the paper to read the crossed sheet.

We have tickets to see Mr Kean at the Theatre Royal a week Thursday playing Othello, but I have it from Lord Martley that Mr Kean did not appear for two performances this last week, so perhaps he is unwell. It would be a shame to have to see an understudy.

I have worn your mama’s brooch upon several occasions, and it has been remarked upon most favourably. My aunt says that it is exceedingly pretty, and I have worn it with my own mama’s pearls, and a locket that my uncle bought for me as a gift. There are some young ladies in their first Season who deck themselves out with a large assortment of jewels, but my aunt is very condemning of the mamas who permit their daughters to show such lack of taste. I am sure you will be pleased to hear that she is perfectly strict with my cousin and with me also, and we do not, like ‘pups’, get into scrapes. The worst thing that has happened is that the lace of my boot broke when I was walking the other morning, and I had to hide behind some shrubbery in order to tie off the remnants without showing my ankle in public. It was good, thick shrubbery, Charles, I promise, and I had the footman stand guard in front of it. I think the poor man must have been quite embarrassed, standing there in front of a bush.

I trust you to be looking after Papa.

Ever yours,
Henry