My beloved Parsons,
I hope that you have settled back into your normal routine of work at the law office and that this brief letter finds you in good spirits and good health. Agnes and I must tell you again how we thoroughly enjoyed your stay with us and I know beyond all doubt that the feeling is mutual. While memories are wonderful, it is the experience themselves which are so beautiful. Why I must tell you that I am still smiling as I write you, reflecting on such splendid moments we had together.
However, I must apologise again for getting into such a quarrel with our neighbour, that Mr. Flockton. I say, but only between friends, that old Flockton is a bit of a twit and is no better than a dustman in my opinion. As you so clearly witnessed, his mum is, well, a rabble-rouser herself and babbles incessantly like a drunken Irishman. The whole lot of them are all mouth and no trousers. I do believe that the next time he causes such a ruckus, I shall simply summons the Bobbies and have them deal with that old bloke. I hate that it has come to this, but my patience has worn quite thin as of late due to his repulsive, repugnant hounds for they do nothing expect collect fleas and howl at all hours of the night. I am thoroughly sorry, forgive me yet again. I needn’t trouble you again with such trivial matters that are not of your concern.
On to something more joyous, shall we? How I would give a pouch full of quid to see once more that expression on your face when I showed you our new estate! Edmund has done an excellent job improving the gardens and the hedges and shall continue on until it is just how we dreamt it should be. The variety of flowers and shrubs he planted are so beautiful. If he continues working as he has, I may feel obligated to award him with a holiday or at least a few more shillings. What more shall I say of Abigail? I told you afore that her cooking is superb, did I not? I do not know of anyone that makes a more splendid Yorkshire pudding, nor a more delicious roast beef in all of England. Of course we mustn’t forget the fabulous breakfast we feasted on the last morning of your stay. That black pudding was some of the best that I have tasted. Her ability in the kitchen is delightful. I must be careful, old chap. If I keep eating like this, I may begin to think myself a king or at least a prince. Not to boast too much, but the Almighty has given me a magnificent lot in life, wouldn’t you agree?
I wish to tell you again not to worry about the chair that Elizabeth broke. While it was my grandma’s favourite chair, we are thankful that your lovely wife was not injured when it broke under her weight. What a crash it was! By the way, has she ever considered dropping a stone or two? I did notice, along with the maids in the kitchen, how she flitted amongst the pastries like a hummingbird does in the spring. Please understand that I say this with an abundance of respect and admiration for the two of you, and mean no harm in my comments. It’s just that as an esteemed friend, I am concerned for her health. I don’t think I need to remind you how her mum passed. It was quite tragic as you well know.
My good man, it was indeed a pleasure to enjoy one another’s company for a fortnight. Maybe next time you can better me in a game of bowls or croquet, though I doubt that will be possible. I suppose the French have a better chance of winning the next war than that. Now you shouldn’t be tetchy as I am only jesting as friends often do. Not to cut it short, but I must finish this letter and move on to other necessary work. As you noticed, I had hired extra maids for your stay, and now I must decided which ones to keep. Oh the tedious decisions that the posh must make to survive! Until we meet again, cheerio old chap. May the God of heaven protect you with the favour of the king of England.
Your esteemed and precious friend,
Rowland Lovelace, III
*Author’s note: This is a fictional letter from a ficitonal person. Rowland Lovelace III is a pompous, arrogant British aristocrat, who is writing a letter to his friend Parsons. His first letter was written September 1. If you have not read that one, you should. Written by James C. Marse. Copyright © 2011.