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Dear Thomas,

We are over halfway through our separation, and I have to admit that I thought by this point I would be cured of this foolish crush.

Yet every time I close my eyes, I see your face.

I know that you must see the resemblance you have to Rudolph, and you must think that I like you solely because you remind me of him, but the truth is you are so much more beautiful because you lack the arrogance that has defined Rudolph since childhood.

I suppose that itself must sound like a lie, but for a man who’s been surrounded by the upper class since birth, it has become dreadfully easy to grow exhausted amidst inflated egos and obvious pandering.

Do you think that I have heard the truth from anyone in my life beyond my brother?

Even Felix tends to hide the truth from me, and yet he is my closest friend.

I’m sure this comes across as foolish to you, my problems as a lord nothing compared to a man of your upbringing, and yet I feel so dreadfully certain that you could commiserate with my loneliness that I am comfortable expressing it.

How silly is it that I can only tell you of my situation here in these letters, when I know I have no intention of sending them?

Nearly every invitation to the ball has been replied to, and at this point we will have dozens of guests in attendance.

The idea of handling that sort of pressure is making me quite sick, but Charles swears he will help me to the best of his ability, and Ida promises that she will play lady of the house. And yet….

I’m scared.

After my father died, I was put in charge of the day-to-day operations of the estate.

I have always had a head for this sort of work, and with my upbringing only training me further, I thought it would be a simple enough task.

I was not, however, adequately prepared for the reality of the situation: this title requires me to be social, and as I’m sure you’ve realized, I do not have what it takes.

I despise what is asked of me when it comes to engagements like the yearly ball and even what is needed when dealing with the locals.

You are bright and smart and quickly able to gain the trust of those around you, while I struggle to show the barest of emotion.

It is why Rudolph and I failed so spectacularly, why the idea of making my feelings known to you is so impossible that I have to confine those emotions to these notes.

I cannot let myself love you any more than I could have ever let myself love Rudolph.

Oh, to be born in a different time where perhaps this would not weigh on me as heavily, but for now I have duties I must attend to and cannot allow myself to be ruined by the man I wish I was.

Perhaps I should put an end to these letters, Thomas, because all they are doing is making me mad with things I can’t have.