Whiskers and Lace

Hello Dearheart:

Only threw him into the canal?  Shameful, I would have wished your paper tiger had at least made a meal of the gentleman’s – I use the term loosely- breaches.

Why is it Cheska, toms feel the right to maul every female unfortunate enough to cross their path?  However, we as ladies must always allow such misconduct with a smile!

Excuse me Dearheart, I had to step away from the letter for a moment.  You know how quickly my fur bristles just hearing such stories. I am tremendously happy to read you defended yourself-regardless of your father’s reproach.  Another reaction for another day, if I could take that man under my paw…!

Cheska, I chuckled at your description of perfect match, but why do I feel sad thinking of you resigning yourself to an overly perfumed room filled with petty felines, who offer nothing outside of their own selfish needs. I worry your brightness will be caged and muted.

You deserve better.

Even if you do become part of a harem, I wish it were with a gentleman who could fully appreciate your amazing worth.

Bah! I am sorry again, Dearheart.  Here I am spewing my ideals again, and forcing you to read them.  How you have put up with me so long, I will never know.  You know I only want your happiness-wherever you find it.

How are the new chants coming along?  While your paper tiger sprang to life out of fright, I may only assume you have been practicing such a spell prior to that evening.

It is times like these I wish we were both back at Ramsey House huddled under your blanket, you reading the tarot while I held the lantern, I do miss those days – along with turning Milly Melbourne’s hair blue.

How funny you mentioned the rain.  The weather has been abysmal, foggy, wet and gray.  The colors themselves all refuse to return to the city until the sun reappears- depressing really.  As is the next bit of my news.

It has not rained- literary- but a deluge has hit.  Mother is on a rampage.  It seems I have finally exhausted her patience and she has worn down Father.  The crazy cat is forcing me to participate this season!

Me! Of all cats! You would think, raised by two people who have bucked society as much as they have I would not be subjected to such humiliation.

No offense to you, dear Cheska.  You know how I feel regarding seasons and marriage in general.

Alas, Mother insisted and not even a temper tantrum, and locking myself in my quarters for three days, stopped her from following through with her plans.

Since you left last month, I have been pinched, and prodded like a pin cushion. Stuffed into corsets, had my fur pulled into impossible shapes and forced to stand in ridiculously warm rooms whilst my mother tries to barter me to the highest bidder.

Why had I not been born a tom!  Had I been, then I would not have to suffer this, would have been left to my science and none be bothered by my bachelorhood.

Then again, had I been born a tom, we would have never met.  Ignore the previous paragraph.

Regardless, all the social commitments and late nights have wreaked havoc on my experiments and has caused me to delay my findings to Dr. Nicolas.  I really must send him my latest results -if I can escape Mother for a few moments that is.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention!  During Lady Allesbury’s ball last night, I witnessed the strangest sight.

There I was, standing next to mother with my usual “ Bride for Sale” sign, when I noticed a gentleman standing by the refreshment table.  At first, I thought he was a servant, but then I noticed the impeccable cut of his clothing and the air of power surrounding him.

That in of itself was not remarkable-toms all think they are divine gifts to the world, however, everyone’s response to him, was exceedingly bizarre.  It was almost as if he was a magnet and everyone around him held the same charge, because while all seem to be mesmerized by him, whispering and darting their eyes, none would approach him.  As for the gentleman, he seemed not to care a wit for the lack of conversation.  Instead, he had the most mysterious smile, full of arrogance, pride and ridicule.

I found myself wanting to know who he was; he had been the one interesting thing I had seen during my two weeks of torture.  But won’t you know when I turned to ask Mother the name of the gentleman-he disappeared.

Enough of me, tell me how are the balls going?  Anything else of interest happen?  Have you been able to locate Madam Szymanksa? Did you have to speak to the horrid Count Brasso again?

Love Always,

Amelia

P.S.

Send me the name of your novel.  I will see if I can procure a copy and forward it to you.  There is nothing worst than an unfinished tale!

P.S.S

Do you like the stationary?  It is a new experiment I am working on, similar to chromolithography, but without the need of stones and the like.  I hope you like it.