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My dearest Edith,
I hope you are well, and that the flurry of the Season is not yet overwhelming you. Have you and Aunt decided if you will be hosting a dinner or a musicale this year? I know with the newest little one, the labor of hosting a ball will likely be more than either of you should take on, but if you do decide it necessary, please keep me abreast of your plans. We have been quite busy at the mill these past few months, but I do miss you and might even be able to convince my darling John to join me for a visit. Especially as I expect I might soon have news to share that will mean I shall likely be less able to travel by the very end of the Season. I will, of course, write again once that can be confirmed - aside from my mother-in-law, you are the first I would wish to tell!
I wanted also to ask how Fanny fares? John will not admit it, but I know he is terribly grateful you offered to open your home to his sister with how brief your acquaintance is. While it would be an exaggeration to declare she and her late husband a love match precisely, she was terribly fond of him, and she had been quite beside herself after his unexpected passing. I fear some of the wagging tongues in the small society we have here in Milton had also added salt to the wound by mentioning the lack of a child from their marriage. Really, they were not married terribly long, and such things do take time, so I can hardly see how it would reflect so poorly on her to now be a widow but not a mother. It’s certainly not as if they were not, well. You understand my meaning. Fanny was always very devoted to her womanly duties with her husband and he was utterly delighted with her, we all could see it.
So yes, thank you for allowing her visit and offering a change of scenery and escape from the rudeness here. I know she will likely be missing some of the gaiety while still in mourning, but even those few visits and dinners she can attend in half mourning will allow her some small joys I hope. And heaven knows, you have always been one of my favorite people, so I cannot imagine someone remaining too melancholy under your roof.
When I mentioned to Henry that I would be writing, he bid me say hello to you and his brother, by the way. I have been pleasantly surprised by how well he has adapted to Milton and our household. He might have his own small flat, but he spends much of his dinners here and much of his days at the mill offices consulting with John and Nicholas - that is Mr. Higgins - regarding their thoughts on new regulations and options to mediate between the workers and other owners. It’s all rather fascinating if not the direction we all had expected him to use his law degree for. But it does seem to suit him well, and we are all grateful for his expertise as we move forward in these trying times. The rest of his practice continues on apace, as well, with much of his previous London business done via correspondence or so he explained to me.
Truly, he seems much happier than in past years. I had so feared I would lose my friend when I found my John, and I feel so lucky that has not proven to be the case.
I know you and the Captain had expected Henry to return to London quite sooner rather than later, and though you didn’t quite hint at such, I know you thought he might follow Fanny to Town. However, I don’t believe the feelings you hoped for will grow between them. Henry seems much changed from several years ago, and while his happiness makes me think it is for the better, I can only guess at how you and his brother worry for him. Plus trust that John and I hold him in great esteem and will be sure to keep a close eye on him.
Please give my love to my aunt and those darling children. I hope to see them soon.
Yours always,
Margaret
…
Dear Frederick,
Oh, how I miss you! It was glorious to see you those few weeks of mine and John’s honeymoon, and I am so glad he was able to meet you after all the issues with your previous visit. John sends his best wishes to you and your new daughter. I cannot wait to meet her some day in the future. For now, however, I hope she enjoys the blanket and bunny I’ve included. The cotton, of course, was from our very own mill. While cotton unfortunately still is not quite as in demand here, I know it will make for a perfect weight for this particular purpose. I hope little Constance enjoys it and thinks well of her Aunt Margaret whenever she gives the bunny a cuddle.
Henry, too, asked that I remember him to you. Unfortunately, the necessity of his work at the mill and at the practice has meant your own case will take longer to research and put forward, but please know it is hardly forgotten. All of us here hope to some day see you able at least to visit freely even if you have now settled so at home in Cadiz. Truly it is a lovely place, so I can hardly blame you for wishing to raise your children there.
Mine of course will be raised here in Milton, but I am content with that, as well.
And yes, you read that properly - you are soon to be an uncle!
I had not wanted to share that news until I was sure, but Mrs. Thornton - I know she has asked me to call her Hannah or Mother but she is just so intimidating I still find it difficult! - apparently guessed at the news long before I admitted it to her or even to John. Dixon did as well, but I expected that from her - she’s always known me better than I likely know myself after all. She is enjoying her bit of retirement, though she still pops in and out on a regular basis to “be sure that Thornton cook knows how to feed her lady properly!,” and thankfully Cook does not seem to be offended by this. I daresay if she was we would all hear about it. Or well, Mrs. Thornton would hear about it, and then John would hear about it, and then and only then would the news pass to me that there was strife within our household, and I’m sure you can imagine just how much I wish to avoid such a fuss.
Truly, John’s mother has been more than good to me considering I broke her darling son’s heart once upon a time in my own blind foolishness. And she has softened even more since I began increasing. I think she is likely to be a far more gentle grandmother than she likely was a mother. John has taken to staring at her most bemusedly when she’s not looking. I do my best not to giggle when he does. He so desperately tries to keep his composure at all times, but the ladies in his life do seem to make it hard on him of late. It is probably for the best that Henry remains in Milton, especially if the babe turns out to be a daughter. I fear John would be quite outnumbered if not!
Especially if his sister decides to return after all. That is still in question, though. Her mourning period has only just passed, and Edith seems to think there is a chance of a brewing courtship between Fanny and one of the Captain’s friends. We shall have to wait and see, I suppose.
Oh Frederick, it’s so strange how my life has turned out, isn’t it? I never imagined I’d be here with this family growing around me with members seemingly all out of place but fitting together so perfectly. I know we spoke of it when we visited, so I’ll not prattle on here, but when I dreamed of love and marriage I’d never expected a marriage as lovely as mine with John, let alone that we’d have -
Oh drat, I’ve upturned my inkwell again. The babe kicking never fails to startle me for all that it delights me. And once it’s started up its exercise, I’m hard pressed to calm it enough for me to sleep or even occasionally sit still. Would you believe it’s Henry singing of all things that will quiet it? The first time Mrs. Thornton caught him at it, I feared she’d lose her brows all together in her hair, but John laughed so brightly, she didn’t say a word about it.
She still hasn’t, though I know she must have her suspicions about our friendship with him. Oh well, we’ll deal with that issue if and only if we must.
For now, we’re all happy, and that is the most important thing, is it not?
Give my love to your wife and little Constance.
Your sister,
Margaret