Dear mother,

Finally, after weeks of loneliness, our house has opened its doors again. Father organized a small soirée for a few friends this past weekend. He said it was because of my birthday, but I see he feels lonely without you. When you were here, you would always invite friends and people to dine and converse with us. Now that you’re in Marseilles with grandmamma, no one does this. Well, until last weekend! It was a wonderful feast.

Mrs. Jaspers came with her nephew, who is around my age, a handsome fellow called Lawrence. Harriet came, of course, with her parents and Ms. Keyes alone. Our neighbors, the Belmonds, were also there with their two young daughters, Beth and Christabel. Mr. Smith, Father’s friend, was also present, with his new wife, whose name escapes me now. And then, of course, Lord and Lady Cholmondeley graced us with their presence, but only for dinner. They had a night at the theatre planned afterward. Father was extremely pleased that they decided to come. He said it is good for business. I do not understand how, but I shall.

Mrs. Hawley prepared for us the most delectable plates, mother. I could not stop devouring the duck confit! I only ceased when Ms. Keyes chastised me and bid me to act “as a young lady ought to” without bringing “shame upon my family”! I could care less. And of course, Father allowed me to drink some wine, too, as is our custom these last few years on my birthday. Father himself drank a lot, more than usual. I do not know if it is because he misses you, but I suspect so.

After dinner and after the Cholmondeleys had left, we gathered in the withdrawing room, and Beth played some wonderful piano for us. Harriet and I danced and danced. We even convinced Lawrence to sing and dance, even though he initially seemed terribly shy.

All in all, I had great fun, but I still miss you, mother. The day of my birth should be one we celebrate together. You had me, mother.

We shall next year, I am certain.

Your birthday girl,

Little bear.