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Appertan Hall, Middlesex, 1 September, 1841
Dear Sergeant Blackthorne,
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Cecilia Mallory. We have not met officially, and there are some who would feel that my writing to you is inappropriate due to my unmarried state. But I feel a connection to you from my father’s letters, and the disparity in our ages should put aside all gossip. You notified me of my father’s death and sent kind words of condolence. I knew the military life was what he wanted, and his death in battle could not be altogether unexpected. My mother always feared this ending, and in some ways, I’m grateful she passed out of this life first, so she did not have to suffer this terrible grief.
My brother is now the Earl of Appertan at the young age of eighteen, but I have faith that he will take his duties seriously. He has left his studies at Cambridge, and, like any young man, he is eager to prove himself as an adult.
But, Sergeant, how are you? My father’s death surely was not easy on you. His letters were filled with words in your praise, ruminations on your long talks together. You must keenly feel the loss of his friendship. Do write and tell me how you fare.
Yours in shared sympathy,
Cecilia Mallory
Bombay, India, 20 October, 1841
Dear Lady Cecilia,
You did not need to respond to my letter, but I am grateful you did. It eases me to know that your brother has assumed the earldom with dedication. If he is anything like your father, he will take good care of you. Do not worry needlessly.
I understand the grief of a father’s death. When it happened, I was separated by continents from my family, and it is easy to feel alone in your sorrow. But you are not alone. In memory of your father, I will always be interested in your welfare.
Your concern for my well-being was surprising. I assume by your words that you wish to continue this correspondence, so I will do what I can to alleviate your worries.
Your father spoke proudly of the years your entire family accompanied him to follow the drum. A woman’s life is hard here, and I admire your mother’s courage for keeping you all together as a family. My own family was not so understanding of my choices. My father thought that I, as the eldest, had a duty to remain in England. But I felt more keenly my duty to my country, and this estranged me from him. My younger brother, Allen, has always been up to the challenge of seeing to our family property. We correspond regularly and make decisions together. It is good to have a sibling, is it not?
Now please tell me more of your life at home. It comforts me to think of you doing everyday things, to know that there is more to the world than unrest and the threat of war.
Your faithful servant,
Sergeant Blackthorne
S everal letters later...
Appertan Hall, 1 March, 1842
Dear Sergeant Blackthorne,
I truly enjoyed your last letter about the holidays in India. It reminded me well of the friendships our family formed there, the gay parties. And yes, I remember the eager young ladies who came to find husbands in Civil Service, but I’d never heard the term “three-hundred-a-year-dead-or-alive-men.” So a pension to a widow was the same as a husband’s yearly salary? Love cannot be a part of every marriage, of course. After what I have told you of my life so far, you surely know that I am practical by nature.
Your gossip makes me laugh, and I must admit, I have been doing little of that these days, confined at home in mourning. I have not spoken much of my brother, and your words from several letters ago about your closeness to your own brother gave my heart a pang. I envy you, Sergeant. I’m trying to help my brother, but he is having difficulty dealing with our steward. Oliver is still so young yet, and I alone seem to understand that. I have come to appreciate my father even more, knowing that he controlled these estates from India.
Soon I will be out of mourning, and I know there will be men who wish to court me. I cannot believe I am writing of this to you, my father’s friend, but I find it easier to put my thoughts into words rather than speak them, even though I know my dearest friend, Hannah Webster, would understand. She is happy for a man’s notice, whereas I wish I could remain anonymous. You must know I have a generous dowry, and I cannot help believing that this matters more than what kind of woman I am. My parents’ marriage was not what it looked like from the outside, and I would never allow myself to be this unhappy. Oh, please do not think their sad marital state was my dear papa’s fault—it was not. I’m not even certain what I’m trying to say in this letter or if I have advice to ask of you. Thoughts of marriage trouble me, and I sometimes wonder if I should marry at all.
Now see the silly things I am saying? Surely that is due to the influence of my guardian, Lord Hanbury, a cousin to my mother. He and his wife are happiest in the country, and their growing anxiety about chaperoning a debutante in London is surely irritating my nerves.
Your sincere friend,
Cecilia
Bombay, India, 15 May, 1842
My dear Lady Cecilia,
I am humbled that you wish to confide in me. Know that I would be honored to assist the daughter of my commander and friend. I am concerned to hear that your brother is having difficulty adjusting to his new role. Maturity will help, of course. If your steward is the same as the one employed by your father, then yes, young Lord Appertan is in good hands. But if, as time goes on, things do not improve, please confide this in me. For the sake of your father, and my friendship with you, I would help your brother however I could.
As for marriage, although I am not married myself, allow me to say it is not to be entered into lightly. But I sense from your letters you are not a flighty young lady, given to making rash judgments. I, too, have sad history in my family, which is probably the reason I have not married. And, of course, I am but a noncommissioned officer, which is hardly the life for a young lady. I am a career military man, Lady Cecilia, and I plan to remain in India, where my country needs me. You have your own difficulties, of course, and it is never easy to be the daughter of an earl, to be expected to marry within your station. You will meet young men, and you will make the right choice if you listen to your head as much as your heart. Marry on your own terms, not simply to satisfy another. Then you will be happy.
Your faithful servant,
Sergeant Blackthorne
Bombay, India, 30 August, 1842
My dear Lady Cecilia,
Do not think me presumptuous, but after corresponding regularly for over a year, the absence of a letter from you leaves me puzzled and apprehensive, especially after you shared your concerns about your future. Please write when you are able. Surely you are in the midst of your reintroduction to Society.
Your faithful servant,
Sergeant Blackthorne
Appertan Hall, 19 October, 1842
Dear Sergeant Blackthorne,
Please forgive my lack of correspondence. You have written to me faithfully, and I have allowed my own concerns to override my behavior as your friend. I have sad news to report. No sooner did I emerge from mourning, than did my dearest friend Hannah tragically drown. I have been comforting her younger sister, Penelope, as well as her parents, even though my own brother requires more and more of my attention. I am feeling constrained by my guardian, who will not grant me access to my own inheritance until I turn twenty-five.
Unless I marry. Sergeant, you will surely think my next words mad, but please listen to my reasoning. Would you consider marrying me? Neither of us has anyone we are promised to, and every young man of my acquaintance is so shallow and immature compared to you. I know you plan to remain in the Dragoon Guards for life, and I would be perfectly content with that. We could marry by proxy, as has sometimes happened when military men are stationed out of the country. I will remain here, helping my brother with the Appertan estates, while you remain in India. If this favor is beyond your ability to grant, I understand, and know that I will continue to be your faithful correspondent—
Cecilia