Apart from Elinor

Saturday, 06 January 1810

Elinor announced her betrothal with Daniel. I left to the gardens as I was disappointed upon the truth. 

“You all right? I was sure if 'twas the Marquess’ ball—or my betrothal with your friend—or Uncle Gilbe—” she seems concerned.

“Yea, ‘twas your uncle.” I interrupted as I gave her a letter from Gilbert after returning to Penworth—after recovering from illness:

    25 October 1809

My Dearest Colin, 

I ne'er felt love between a dramatist and his dear muse since Peggy died. Shall I call you Psyche, for your beauty? Or shall I call you Ganymede, handsomest amongst the mortals? Proserpine was taken for my dear Peggy, as she’s the dreaded one.

My love, we are meant for an eternal marriage ‘till death. I’ve spoiled you gifts before my patrons adored you. I had tempted for such lust of thy beauty.

Please dost not send this to my niece nor anyone in my brother's family. I gave you my lock of hair. 

Your dearest lover, 

Mr Gilbert O'Vile

Nought would happen if I refused the invitation—I should’ve listened to Mother’s warnings. Elinor advised to avoid him—yet ‘twas too late. I ne’er wanted to disappoint Gilbert nor Elinor, yet he has plans for me.

The Winter Play

Wednesday, 17 January 1810

Two days after the rehearsal, Gilbert left a letter for me. I must be awoken early as three o’ clock, for the play in the Theatre Royal.

17 January 1810

My Dearest Love, 

I might say that the society adore you upon thy beauty. What shall I say my love, shall I introduce you to the Prince of Wales and his friend Brummell? Or host a dinner with the Marquess and Marchioness along with thy mother? Or both?

As much I was infatuated with you, I shall spoil you rotten like a dear child.

Your dearest lover, 

Mr Gilbert O'Vile

After performing the play, Gilbert accompanied me to the Prince of Wales and his friend Beau Brummell. Alas, 'twas fortunate to see Brummell! He was a splendid man with extravagant taste—yet a bountiful rake! Mother ne’er trust a rake, only if the rake was a man.

I turned twenty, still too young for a lad to handle a marriage. I need Mother and Father’s consent for marriage. I am a year apart for the grand tour, but ‘tis a risk as I ne’er wanted to cause such scandal.

We headed to the Marquess de Guerre’s house in Bath for an extravagant dinner. As Mother was present for the dinner, I sat between her and Gilbert. She was unpleased upon his presence, yet seems reluctant as she heard gossips of Gilbert.

Upon returning Gilbert’s townhouse, I was fortunate Gilbert spoiled me such gifts. He handed me a memento mori ring—owned by his late father. 

Watercolour caricature of Gilbert O’Vile with beard, 1810

Such Horrid Dream

Saturday, 20 January 1810

‘Twas a horrid dream where my hands and legs were restraint with ropes. My mouth was shut with a white cloth—unable to speak a word, yet I met with ‘nother dream.

It seems I’ve witnessed events before a murder in Alkrington Hall from a hundred years. It seems Sir Edward O’Vile secretly added a strange spice onto his father-in-law’s supper from his memento mori ring—lied his servants, “‘Twas a good spice.” Alas, Sir Edward was tried poisoning him for wealth! 

I shifted to another dream as I witnessed Edward hiding a dagger. The Marquess demanded his son-in-law his will, yet the unfortunate Marquess met such unfortunate demise as Edward pierced him.

I woke up from a horrid dream—realised Gilbert’s ring was meant for Sir Edward—mourning Lady Grace Hopkins, wife of an ancestor, Patrick. ‘Twas passed to his wife Amelia—after his death, his son late Sir Howard O’Vile, his youngest son Gilbert, and a young lad—his dear lover.