My Dear Madrid,
Go, lovely rose,
Tell her that wastes her time and me
That now she resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
I am so glad that you did send this letter when you did, for the simple fact that if it had been a moment earlier or a moment later I would never have received it. Of course, most of that has much to do with the postal service that did deliver it, so thank your lucky stars that it came as it came. For I have quite a tale to tell, and all the time in the world to tell it, but that I will explain in time. First I must discuss the proceedings that accompany your letter.
Tell her that ’s young
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That, hadst thou sprung
In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.
From which you spoke of a certain clashing of steel my mind immediately turns to something I heard in the news the morning after, a fight had broken out in that part of town. I know of a boy dead from it, but that is all I had heard. Of your news of being kidnapped I must say that I am somewhat surprised that such a fate befell you, but rather suspected something of the nature. Madrid would never get a cold and stand me up, disappearing from regular life. I knew that something was amiss. And thus this letter explains it. First off, I cannot believe that you had the bravery to escape from your predicament, in such gloomy circumstances. I commend you. But one thing about your reply truly worries me. You said that you are returning back to the school, the school to which you undoubtedly mailed this very letter. But I am sure if you are to return there, you shall not find me. Bringing me to the second thing I must discuss pertaining to your letter.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired:
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush to be admired.
It is of a small coincidence that you had been gone from school not three days before the end of quarter. We took our exams, and I passed them all outstandingly. I was sure now sure that I would be able to start examining colleges that I might have wanted to attend in the next year (as I was sure that my exemplary scholastic achievements had spoken for themselves to my parents future plans for me). But as a time comes in everyone’s lives to be, I was very much wrong. Not had it been a day into my return home before mother and father entered into the parlor (as I had went home briefly for quarter break, as you weren’t around) bringing with them the most peculiar sight. A man. At first I thought that maybe he was an administrator to one of the colleges that I was considering, you know, a surprise from the parents. But again, I was wrong. The official air that he carried about him only was due to his Lordship. For he was Lord Waller. Edmund Waller. I’m sure you know of him, he is about 20 years my senior, a rough man of sorts, one who, as I mentioned, would be the perfect administrator for a stuffy university. But here is where the catch begins: My parents (without want of my consent) had arranged a marriage between us. Believe me, I was surprised as any, especially of their motives. But now it is as clear as day, for I can see they had always rather I be a lady than a scholar. And what could I do? What could I say but go along with the plans. I kept on thinking what you would do. But my parents still thought I was their perfect little girl. I had no way of saying no, so what could I do? And hence my problem begins, as I am currently staying at the Chambord Chateau in France, as the wedding is to commence there in a fortnight string of time. As good a bridesmaid you would be if you could make it, a much better rescuer you could become if you were to somehow liberate me from my unkind fate. I have no idea how, but I perceive that you are creative, if you can evade cruel kidnappers, I am sure that you can do anything. I shall send this letter to Delphian, in hope that you will receive it when you return. Please do not leave me hanging. Time is of the essence.
Then die, that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee,
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair.