A Christmas Love Letter from Mr. Wickham
I am happy to have Mr. Wickham visiting with us here at Darcyholic Diversions! He is having a contest! Whoever has the best comment will win a personalized email directly from Mr. Wickham, either to you or someone you love! So may the best comment win! BTCole (PS--Thanks to Catherine Curzon as well!)
Blidworth, 8th January, 1811
My dearest girl:
Ah, how long ago Christmas feels now, how chill the fire in the hearth, colder even than the snow that has fallen undisturbed the empty fields beyond my billet. And yet, no matter how thin the blanket, how long and hard the marching, I have my own warmth, my own fire, and it is you who has sparked it.
My life now is all military and manoeuvre, yet your smile is never far from my mind, your soft voice singing me to sleep and laughing me into gentle wakefulness.
I remember well those days, not so long ago, when we walked through the crisp frosted meadows in search of mistletoe, your dainty hand in my own, your cheeks flushed with laughter as much as with the cold. Yet I’ll wager our embraces were enough to keep you warm, to chase out the winter as it descended. Those embraces, my love, burned as hot as any summer, blazed brighter than the candles that lit our Christmas night or the plum pudding on which we dined so royally.
Those sprigs of mistletoe we gathered saw us well through those nights, and any gentleman would have been a sorry soul indeed had he not honoured the promise made by that berry and kissed your rosebud lips. God bless you, God bless us, for having the foresight to gather enough to see us through to Epiphany, for no couple could have spent a finer twelve nights than we.
I have word that I shall be in Bath once more by the close of the month and that your gentleman is not expected home until a month beyond that. I have found, not more than a short walk from where I am currently whiling away my days, a rich and splendid supply of fresh mistletoe. I shall bring us a few fresh sprigs, my love, and with you once more in my bed, our stolen nights shall be as fine and flaming as any yuletide hearth!
Wait for my signal via the lamp black seller, and you shall be in my arms once more before the month is out.
I am your slave, my love, and will count away the days.
George Wickham’s papers are transcribed at Austen Variations by Catherine Curzon,
a royal historian who writes on all matters 18th century at www.madamegilflurt.com. Her work has been featured on HistoryExtra.com, the official website of BBC History Magazine and in publications such as Explore History, All About History, History of Royals and Jane Austen’s Regency World. She has provided additional research for An Evening with Jane Austen at the V&A and spoken at venues including the Royal Pavilion in Brighton, Lichfield Guildhall and Dr Johnson’s House.
Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, writes fiction set deep in the underbelly of Georgian London.
Her books, Life in the Georgian Court, and The Crown Spire, are available now.
She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.
A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life: www.madamegilflurt.com
Mr Wickham’s Memoirs: http://austenvariations.com/author/catherine-curzon/
My dearest Mr Wickham,ReplyDelete
Thoughts of you also keep me warm at night. (Well, that and the seven cats who share my bed.)
My thoughts are always of you my darling Wickham. Your dashing smile and - if I may be so bold *girlish giggles*- your masculine physique send a lovely warmth straight to my silk slippered toes.ReplyDelete
I will count the seconds until we meet again, and dream of you and I beneath a canopy of mistletoe.
I am wondering if your missive has been dispatched to the wrong lady? I say this as my singing voice at no time could be described as soft, still less lull anyone to sleep, unless you were excessivley foxed at the time. Remember also, dear man, that even the merest touch of mistletoe affects my skin so dreadfully that we had to pretend and use holly instead.
Thus saying, I have a question for you. To whom was this missive written and where is she? I would dearly love to scratch her eyes out!
You write to me from so far away, from the land of north and cold to remind me of that Yuletide so long ago now. How I recall those embrases. With the heat and light of a summer world. You were my May king. But “summer’s lease hath all too short a date”.
Did not I cling to you as the mistletoe clings to the oak? But Mistletoe once removed from the tree begins to wither. I wrote you so many a times, but not once a response. In your absence, winter did take hold of those affections which you once held so dear.
But alas, spring did bloom again within my heart. For quite some time, my affections have long been engaged elsewhere. I can never be more lost to you than I am now.
Please find the return of your letter along with the gift of mistletoe that you bestowed upon me so long ago.
He does have a way with words. Very smooth. Loved the replies.ReplyDelete