Dear Mrs. Harris,
We have only met once and I daresay it was not such a wondrous event that I can remember all of the details. No matter. I am writing to you at the advice of my physician who has insisted that I pen several letters to old acquaintances before my demise. I can hardly call you an acquaintance, but your husband however is another story.
Charles and I frequented the same gentlemen’s club and were in the same circle that preferred debating various topics over gambling. Some of these debates would get quite lively, particularly if we were imbibing a selection of hard liquor.
On one such occasion, your husband drank too much. He staggered out of the gentlemen’s club with my hat. He was rambling something about getting home in time for something, when he stumbled dropping my personal property into the mud. Without so much of an apology he continued on his way. It was in my opinion, poor taste.
I was not responsible for his blackened eye. He did that himself when he fell. I did, however, assist in preventing his speedy return to you as we had a few choice words before he finally departed. His difficulty getting home after I ran over his left foot with my coach should not have delayed him and is of no fault of mine. Frankly, as a man who prides himself in being a great sportsman, he should have been able to endure the pain instead of delaying himself further.
Nonetheless, I must apologize to you for making him late for your 3rd daughter’s birth. It is your 3rd girl isn’t it? Perhaps you should cease having children, as each one is less attractive than the first. I daresay your eldest isn’t the prettiest girl in the room to begin with. Charles mentioned you were trying for a boy, but clearly he isn’t delivering and what with your daughters lacking in appearances, you are digging yourself a grave. Do yourself a favor and marry the eldest to that peacock of a man on Crescent View (he is pretty enough for the both of them) and send the other two to a convent.
It is a shame he missed such a momentous occasion.
Mr. Henry Adam Wood
P.S. I rather think I did old Charles a favour running over his foot. The oxfords he was wearing were, in the nicest description I can muster, simply atrocious. They did not compliment the outfit of a supposed fashionable gentleman.
Created: Feb 23, 2014SAM-urai Document Media