Loving and Longing

Kitty writes to Margaret

My dearest Margaret... My beloved Peggy,

I regretfully write to inform you that my proposed engagement to Duke Christopher of Argyll is to be confirmed to the gentry in a sennight at his estate's ball and that our wedding will take place during the spring equinox. I wish this would not come to pass; however, my father is set that I improve my social standing, especially due to the duke's proximity to her Majesty.
You know of how much I despise this arrangement, especially since the duke cares naught for all but his looks and has the emotional range of a teaspoon. There is no doubt I will live comfortably, but I will lack any fondness I may have had. Please do not object to the banns to be read at the parish, it will only lower your standing.

I have often pondered our old plans, to find a pair of dandies who would marry us both, a beard for us all we said. A pretend performance like those in London, perhaps we would have bamboozled them all. My, how lovely it would have been, to be an acceptable couple, all the while in love in a way they could never understand. I miss scheming with you, giggling as we scouted our future husbands from Bond Street Beaus that would eye down other gentlemen.

I apologise for ruining these plans.

Aunt Agatha informed me at my family's last supper that it had been an excellent idea, she very much thought it would truly make me happy. She seemed strangely invested in our relationship, yet I am grateful she has been so accepting due to its nature. She even commented on how much of a striking pair we were!

Your soft and silky blonde hair, with my unruly mane of ginger, your creamy, warm skin, and my pale, freckled completion.
I miss your fingers through my hair, braiding it before a ball where we would pretend that there were plenty of nonesuch men that grabbed our attention.
I cared less about the men than I should have, however, none could compare to when you pushed my chemise and skirt tails up my freshly washed skin to adjust my stockings.

I had hoped that your plush touch was not intended to fancy myself for a man's gaze, only for you to confirm this moments after with a touch of your lips to mine as if something from a poem.

The way you continued to hide away with me at each ball, clasping my hands in yours so tenderly I thought perhaps I had died and been sent to heaven. Your gown as blue as a summer sky would swish harshly as you lead me in a slow, intimate waltz, holding me so close that your beating heart was audible. Your soft hands would cup my face, and you would draw me closer until our breaths mingled together. It always smelt of rose wine, your breath, and I could taste it on your lips as they captured mine.

I miss your lips, I miss your affections, I miss you.

I am not to see a soul other than my fiancée and our families before the ball where I will be presented in his colours.

So instead, I reside myself to the window in the sitting room, remembering our time together, even if all the other ladies were here. My cross-stitching was never to your level of sketching, even now with days on end of practice I have not your skills. You are truly an accomplished woman Peggy, if I were not in love with you, I am sure I would be envious. I have been attempting to draw the tree outside my window, the one you often did.

That bloody tree, that tree we would run as fast as we could towards. I chuckle remembering how you would push me against the bark and pretend you were a buck returned from polo. The shade from its dark emerald leaves hiding your boyish acts from prying eyes. That blazing tree we loved so dearly, so deeply, so madly. The leaves are starting to sprout, and yet I am wilting.

The flowers are not as bright now, but I doubt they will ever be as vivid as they once were.

They will never be as pretty as they were in your hair. It was the only time I felt I could compare to your skills when I weaved those fresh blooms into your lustrous locks. Troubles melted away when your head was in my lap, an unladylike laugh floating from your lips and into the midday air. No one paid us mind when we did such, did not understand what was truly occurring. Two lady friends, discussing a prospective gentleman. That was the performance we played for them. I confess it was difficult at times, like when the sun illuminated your face and suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the visage of a goddess. My self-control tested as I fought not to crash my lips onto yours and share in your light, the warmth of a goddess that somehow loved me.

In those moments, all the hiding appeared worth it.

Although it was tiring, I wish dearly that we may have pretended for longer, wish that we may have been married. I understand how much of a claptrap it is, and yet I desire it so strongly it hurts my heart. I believe I will never love another, be assured of this. Each day that passes my heart carries these memories; it will carry them until I draw my last breath.

At my wedding I will look for you, I will pretend it is you in a breathtaking dress, that you are lifting my veil. You will be the one speaking of your undying love and loyalty, not a man I carry no affections for nor he I. At least, that is how it will be in my mind. I will dream of you every night, as I hope you will of me.

Yours lovingly and forever,
Your Kitty