Dearest Darling Bonnie,
I daresay I had the loveliest time dancing with you at Weatherford this past evening. My heart surely skipped ten score beats when I glimpsed you across the crowded ballroom, dressed as you were like the most enchanting lady of an evening I’ve seen in all my adult years.
At first, my dear, my hopes were dashed when, making my way through the crowds, I saw you hand-in-hand with that dreadful Lord Pennybody. The man can barely stand on his own two feet, seeing as his heft could rival that of a boulder! What, dearest Bonnie, could you have seen in such a man?
Crushed, I averted my eyes and instead settled my focus on the hard touch of a gin-filled glass against my lips. Oh, what sorrow I felt! To have the briefest promise of such beauty, and then to have it taken so suddenly away! Drinks chased drinks as I attempted to quell the brooding dread, and when I was at last too much an inebriate to follow my own rationales, I took a walk outside in the famously expansive Weatherford gardens. The night was still and the sky shining with the lights of millions of tiny jewels, the beauty of which would never compare to yours!
Oh, the woe!
Such sorrow!
I must admit, the consideration crossed my mind that I might simply retire home, but then I caught the briefest sound coming from behind one of the hedges. Scruples being drowned as they were in spirits, I stumbled over to the greenery and pushed — quietly as I could — through to see the other side.
Thinking you were still inside, spinning the twirling like a ballerina with the celestial body of Lord Pennybody, imagine my surprise when I saw you there, kneeling before Lordy Pennybody in the grass! I wondered why on earth he would make you kneel (to make you pick something up, I assume, seeing as his bending over would result in his rolling away!), and even in my drunken state I was abashed to discover that the night’s party had taken his modesty! His trousers were sitting at his ankles!
Incapacitated I was, my shock was so great!
Lord Pennybody, the abhorrent creature, didn’t even offer to help you up, even as you gripped his sides, struggling back and forth, back and forth to regain your footing and arise. The beastly man!
In his hand, glinting in the silvery light, I spotted an assortment of coins, which he then tossed down upon you, laughing like a maniac!
You being a woman in want of a husband, obviously a state of wealth eludes you, but to so forthrightly throw at you such pitiful currency! What kind of man would do such a thing?
I tore myself away, intending to regain my composure before proceeding to swiftly defend your honor, but when I returned moments later, my jacket removed and my forearms bared, the two of you had vanished.
I set about searching through the sea of smiling faces for yours, figuring that after suffering such humiliation, yours would surely be one not smiling. But, to my astonishment, there you were, making boisterous conversation with Sir Alvin Tummock, heir to the royal throne. What resilience! I thought. And, as if had before, my heart paused for the nearness of you.
I simply had to speak to you, dear girl, and all this without yet knowing your name! The crowds started up again with a waltz the energy of which had never been matched before, and I dodged dancing couples, skirting the crinoline of dresses and twisting out of the way of flinging coattails. My eyes, dear Bonnie, never left your stunning visage, even as I nearly sent aged Lady Fitterly to the ballroom floor. I professed my apologies but continued on.
The memory of Lord Pennybody, his pale flesh gleaming in the night light, spurred me on, to rescue you from another bout of humiliation. At last, reaching you, I awaited your acknowledgment, my hands fidgeting like anxious children on Christmas morn. The seconds passed like hours, and when Sir Alvin inquired, “May I help you, good sir?” I could not suppress my smile.
“Might I have one dance?” I asked you.
Your grin, brighter than the torches on the wall or the stars glowing through the great windows, made me lightheaded, even more than my brief cholera scare years ago!
As Sir Alvin disappeared into the crowd, I reached for your hand, and how soft your skin felt! You asked my name, and when I told you, you gave me yours. Bonnie. So much like “beautiful”! Upon hearing your voice, I suddenly found myself unable to speak. You were like an angel, dear girl, and I imagined you descending from the heavens to grace us with your beauty. Oh, had I been able to express these thoughts with you!
What bliss those moments with you were, and what laughter marked the moment you quoted me a specific number of pounds and shillings for an array of rather raucous activities! What jesting energy you have!
Shakespeare said that parting is such sweet sorrow, and so it was when I laughed at your bawdy humors and you tore away to disappear, once more, into the throng of dancers who, might I daresay, will never consider you as I shall.
Eternally yours,
Sir Preston Buttleby
