Love Letters For A Lady (Preview)

Chapter One

Lady Henrietta Lockley was tired. Tired of battling for her point to be made, tired of defending her ideals of altruism and tired of having the same fight with her father, Lord Thomas Lockley, over things it would appear, he would never understand. She had tried in every way she could think of, to show him her reasoning and yet, he just could not be moved.

It was not as though she was expecting his input, or for him to put himself in a position where he was pressured to help those lesser fortunate than himself, for she only desired that he at least considered a different view. But her father’s stance was solid and his arrogance frustrated her deeply. 

Her own, younger generation could see that change was needed and what benefits accessible education for all classes could bring. Yet, her father was determined in his thinking. Upper-classes needed to remain separate in all things, including the people not born into wealth or class. As far as he was concerned, he felt no obligation to help them at all.

Hetty was not fool enough to think that she could compare her own struggles as a woman to those in the working class, and yet, the limitations of any progress she could make in this world was still always present in her mind. Knowing the impact those limitations had on her as a woman of wealth, only made her ideals of helping others even more pertinent. 

If she, as an upper-class woman had less rights than the upper-class men, how much more so, were the lower class penalised? Whilst men could become lawyers and vote and were treated distinctly differently, women were seen as dainty, breakable creatures who had no serious thoughts. But at least people of wealth had easy access to an education, to books and literature. They were taught by governesses or sent to expensive schools, none of which was ever available or offered to anyone who could not afford it. 

It was outdated thinking that drove a wedge between society and frankly, Hetty desired change with such a passion, she was willing to go against her father to get it. She was only one woman, though. She could hardly change the world alone, but she was determined to at least make some form of start. Surely, given the privilege she had been born into, she had the opportunity to do it no matter how foolish her father felt she was.

Hetty refused to acknowledge her father’s view, that change was impossible and that people did not want it. Perhaps his generation did not want it, for they were afraid of change, but she would not accept that it was not possible for her to move forward in her plan. She had been determined to do some good with her position and her wealth, even as her mother had done before her, but at the beginning, had not really known what it was she could do to make that possible.

It was only a month ago, as she walked around the library in their own home, that the idea came to her suddenly. Gently fingering the spines of the books as she thought deeply about her problem, it became clear to her that one main issue was accessibility. 

How could anyone learn to read if they had no access to a book? Whether self-taught or assisted by another, their journey would be easier if they had a library at their finger-tips, as she herself had had. It was this stroke of inspiration that had started her mind working. A library. A library for the community to choose books at their leisure and read them in their own homes. 

As the idea grew, so did her determination. In fact, she had only returned from London just yesterday, having spent time with her dear friend Lottie. Staying at her town house, Hetty had used her time wisely, visiting book stores and even a printing press to see how the industry was currently faring. 

She had not discovered anything she did not already know, for whilst the rich and wealthy aristocrats could easily afford to expand their libraries in their grand homes, books were still far too expensive for the common man or woman to purchase.

Those yearning to educate themselves or enjoy a book could simply not afford it, for they had other priorities, such as feeding children or keeping a roof over their families heads. Hetty felt it simply was not good enough. If more of her class put their hands into their pockets, surely, something could be done to help the working-classes plight? 

Yet, well aware of her father’s views, Hetty knew she had a battle on her hands, for she had to wonder how many more aristocratic snobs were out there with views just like his? He was unlikely to be the only man who felt he owed nothing to the working class and that the separation of classes had been put in place for a reason. Or that the system had worked so far and they did not deserve his charity. 

At dinner last night, the same argument had emerged after she had returned from London. Hetty was tired, and in hindsight, ought to have left the battle for a time she was more suited to clearer thinking, but her father had asked what she had done whilst in town, so the conversation had already begun to weave naturally into her idea.

‘Oh, Hetty,’ he had near growled as their plates were being cleared. ‘I have told you already. This charity mission you are on is quite ridiculous. For heaven’s sake, why do you not go and do what all the other ladies are doing? Go to the balls and meet up for afternoon tea.’

‘Why, papa? Is that all the ladies are good for? We are not to speak freely or have opinions of our own, for we cannot think in the way of a man, is that not correct?’

‘You are changing the subject, Hetty.’

‘Oh, you wish to talk of my charity mission, as you call it.’

‘Well, there is no other phrase for it.’

‘How about equality?’ Hetty had glared across the table.

‘That is quite enough, young lady!’

Hetty had sighed, for the exhaustion had quite overwhelmed her and the rising anger she felt at her father, only added to her growing frustration of his condescension and lack of understanding. The sensible thing was to retire, before she said something she may regret. He was still her father after all, and disrespecting his authority not only displayed poor manners, but would hardly help her case in future discussions.

Standing, she had excused herself from the table, but before she left the dining room, she had turned once again to him, for in her stubbornness, she could not resist making one final point. 

‘It was only good fortune that you were born into upper-class, papa, that you are sat here now in your grand manor whilst the baker or the coalman has to work so hard with their lot. Perhaps if you had been born into a different class, you would understand the notion of equality a little better.’

‘And yet, I was not,’ he had replied smugly. ‘So, my views remain the same.’

Slowly, Hetty had shook her head and glared at him in near disbelief of his arrogance. It was almost impossible for her to understand his viewpoint, for like some huge boulder, he was immovable, and yet, she knew that his heart was not stone, for he loved her as he had loved her mother. 

Turning, she had left the room with a sense of despondency before, in her mental and physical exhaustion, slowly climbing the stairs to her bedchamber and retiring for the night.

This morning, Hetty had woken feeling rested and refreshed with a determination that her father’s attitude would not hinder her resolve. Of course, if her mother were still here, they may have been able to convince him together, for Hetty’s ideals had been born from watching her mother’s own philanthropic work. 

It had not escaped her notice, even from a younger age, how much joy her mother exuded when she had been given the opportunity to, not only use her own wealth to ease another’s situation, but to move an ideology forward for better opportunities for those lesser privileged than herself. 

Pushing forward with her altruism, her kind heart had brought joy to so many others, but in a strange twist of irony, it was that same heart that eventually caused her demise, until it simply stopped beating altogether. 

It had been nearly nine months since the funeral and yet, when Hetty walked into some of the rooms in their grand manor, she was certain her mother’s presence was there with her. Or perhaps it was just her internal wish that she was still there. 

Since her mother’s passing, it was only herself and her father left in their huge home. Of course, there were always maids and servants about. 

Gleeson the head butler who took care of all the necessities of the house, Milly the cook and her daughter, Clara who assisted her in the kitchens. Her own maid, Penny who was a few years older than she and had been bitterly upset when her mother had passed, and more servants both inside and out, who took care of the rest of the house and the gardens and stables.

Yet, when the dinner table was set, it was only set for two and recently, it seemed that all she and her father did was butt heads and see things completely differently. 

At least if her mother had still been alive, she would have someone to collude and console with. Someone who would understand her mission and support her in her endeavours. Of course, she missed her mother for much deeper reasons. Her love and compassion and the attention she had always given Hetty, had left a huge hole that no distraction could fill.

Hetty was well aware that, like herself, her father was also still hurting, though as a proud man he would never show it explicitly. Yet, she had found him sometimes, gazing wistfully out into the garden where her mother had spent many of her days, for along with her ideals, she had found contentment in her passion for beautiful blooms. 

It had crossed her mind to address his grief, but she was simply too afraid of his reaction. Perhaps a part of her did not want to see her father’s pain, for in it, she would be reminded of her own, and besides, feelings were not talked about in the household. It was best, she had concluded, for him to work through this pain alone, for that was the way of him.

It would take some time for both of them to heal, but Hetty had decided that, to honour her mother’s memory, she must continue with her work. Which is why, whilst speaking to Lottie when she had been visiting London, Hetty had decided to start a circulating library for their community. It would give everybody from any walk of life, the opportunity to read and borrow books for a small fee, therefore making education and enjoyment accessible to all. 

When Lottie had asked her how she would go about it, Hetty had been honest, telling her she had absolutely no idea. There was little point asking her father for his advice, for she had no doubt he would smother the idea before it had any chance of growth. No, it was plainly obvious, she would have to work through this without his help. 

After much discussion with Lottie, they had both concluded that with Hetty’s lack of understanding and experience, what she really needed was a librarian. A person who, not only had a good knowledge of education and books, but also of how a library actually worked. It was another lesson she had learned well and digested from her mother – if you can source help, use it. Never try to change the world alone.  

It had also been Lottie’s suggestion to advertise in the London newspapers, for as she had stated, they reached many people both privately and in public reading rooms. Hetty would have more of a chance of getting a number of replies if her advertisement had a greater reach. 

With that in mind, after eating breakfast alone as her father had left earlier that morning, she sat down at her writing desk and spent several hours formulating an advertisement that she hoped, would catch the attention of the person she was searching for.

It was not just a case of searching for a librarian, for this project needed more than someone who could simply curate and organise the order of books. Hetty needed passion, she needed a person with the same determination as she possessed to ensure that this project not only made it off the ground, but soared. For maybe then, her father would see the good she could do, and perhaps, his mind could be changed. 

That would be a secondary bonus, of course, for her main concern was the community that surrounded them. If her father never changed his mind it would matter little if the people of their parish were able to access books that could previously, have never been within their reach.

Chapter Two

John Greenly nearly jumped out of his shoes when the heavy thumping sound reverberated around the silence of the reading room in the British Museum. Spinning his head automatically to see where the noise had originated from, he noted an older gentleman looking at him meekly from a row of shelves a small distance away. 

Apologetically, he raised his hand, and slowly bent to retrieve the large reference book that now lay at his feet. But John was already on the move. He had noted that the book was nearly half the size of the frail old gentleman, and he doubted he had the ability to pick it up from the floor. 

Once at the man’s side, John bent and retrieved the book with ease, and turned towards him, smiling. 

‘I am terribly sorry, young man. I did not realise the weight of it,’ the older gentleman whispered.

‘Do not worry, sir. It happens all of the time,’ John nodded kindly, placing it on a nearby table for the gentleman to peruse.

Of course, it did not happen all of the time, for if John had to suffer that kind of scare on a daily basis his nerves would be ruined, but he had to console the older man in some way. It was just fortunate that it had not been one of the rarer and older books, for that kind of fall may have damaged it gravely.

Pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, John returned to the shelf he had been studying in his attempt to find the book that had been ordered, for he would need to send it by lunchtime if it were to reach its destination by the desired request. 

He ought to know where the specific book was by now, given that he had worked at the reading room for over four years, but it appeared, on closer inspection, the numbers did not seem to run in sequence, which meant the book had not been returned to its proper place. 

It was those small details that annoyed John at times, for he did not think it too much to ask that, after reading a book, it be returned to where it whence had been found. And yet, this was exactly the sort of thing his mother pointed out as to why he had not yet found a wife. 

Whilst his mother saw his perfectionism as a defect, John could not imagine his life without order. Which was fitting really, given his place of employ. And not finding a wife had had little to do with his perfectionism and more to do with being stuck in a reading room for most of his day, giving him limited time for much else. For if he was not working here, he was studying to further educate his scholarly need for knowledge or meeting likeminded people where great discussions could be had on politics, philosophy and art.

John had been thinking that it was time for a change for some while now, yet no such opportunity had presented itself so far. He had wanted to work here not only to further his education and expand his own knowledge, but to help more people in their own search for answers. To be available to assist those who wished to educate themselves. However, that desire had not quite come to fruition. 

The people who visited the reading room did not appear to need any help in their search, nor did they require John’s assistance, and after offering his services to many visitors over a period of time, he had eventually given up after nearly all of them had thanked him for his suggestion, but kindly refused.

Whilst his father had passed away in the war, leaving a widow and two children to fend for themselves, John had been fortunate in his own circumstances. There would have been no way of funding an education on his mother’s wages for whilst she was a skilled seamstress, the money barely paid the bills at the time. 

Learning of the families plight, his uncle, Graham Greenly, had stepped in and assisted the family. Once he had heard of his brother’s death, and having no children of his own, he had kindly taken on some responsibility to support his sister-in-law. It was only due to his uncle Graham’s financial support, that John had been able to obtain an education at all.

There was a little money left to them after his death, but with his uncle’s demise, the financial assistance was no longer available and John had sourced work as soon as he had finished his studies. It had been a few years ago that Jenny, his younger sister, had managed to secure work as a maid in the house of a local lord, and whilst his mother’s fingers were not as agile as they used to be, she still took on smaller jobs that kept her busy. 

 John had been fortunate in receiving his uncle’s financial support, but no such funding had been offered for Jenny. His sister could only read and write because of his tuition, and he was certain, that had been one of the many reasons she had been able to secure employment. This is where John’s frustrations arose, for the system was flawed. It was evident that there was a need for the working class to advance in their education, and though it would never make them lords or aristocrats, it would forward their opportunities in both enjoyment and employment. 

Yet, the continuing separation of the classes remained very obvious. It also appeared clearly evident that many in the upper classes were quite satisfied that the lower classes remained beneath them, that in some way, an education would give them power. Perhaps they felt threatened at that prospect, but in John’s view, the ability to read and write ought to be a basic skill that every person had, no matter what their background.

Having finished his scholarly training, he had been eager to advance the idea, for someone had to begin and surely he could not be the only person in the whole of London who had this train of thought. His desire for change had led him to where he now was, the reading rooms at the British Museum, where he not only had the ability to continue his own learning, but gave him the opportunity to be able to help others. 

Yet, he had been sorely disappointed, for whilst he had imagined, being in a place of learning, he would be certain to meet people of like minds, it appeared his passion was not shared amongst the other employees or the board of governors. Having attempted to forward a plan some time ago, that reading and writing classes be organised and made available to any who wished to attend, his idea had been closed down rather quickly. It was at that point that John realised he was in the minority with his thoughts and desires. 

The lack of vision had not deterred him and he was always thinking of ways in which he could persuade others. In conversations with other scholars and educated people that he met for discussions, he would subtly slip his ideals into the fray in hope that something may move a person’s mind to change. 

It was the reason that he became quite excited when, taking his break at the museum that morning, a rather unusual advertisement in the newspaper caught his eye. His mother did not buy the newspaper. It was a luxury that could not be afforded, but more so, it would only be he, that would benefit from it and therefore, it was not a necessity. It mattered little, however, as the paper was delivered to the museum every day and in that way, he was able to keep up with the regular goings on in society. 

Having just finished a very interesting article on the shipments being brought in from around the world, and the expansion of the import and export industry in London, John had been browsing further, when words near jumped off the page and caught his attention. It was a near quarter page advertisement that could hardly be missed, but he knew the contents were aimed at a very select group of people. A group of people he realised, as he read the words, that he would most definitely fit in to.

 

Wanted: A librarian to run a library in the local community. A lady of wealth and status is in need of a passionate and forward thinking individual to help make books more accessible to all. This very important project will be located in Wheatley, Oxford and the successful individual will have the full responsibility of curating, organising and running the project. The position requires a fervent individual who feels strongly about the necessity of education and understands the importance of forward learning. If you feel you meet these requirements, please inquire to the address below.

 

John could hardly believe his luck, for here right before him, was a patron of wealth who had a like mind and appeared willing not only to provide a place of learning, but would fund it as well. Grabbing a pen, John took a scrap of paper and noted the words in the advertisement that he felt jumped out at him, the words the advertiser had used specifically in their attempt to attract the perfect individual. The address was that of the newspaper, and noting it down, he swiftly tucked the paper into his pocket.

This was exactly what he had been looking for, and perhaps, it would be an opportunity for him to present his ideas to whomever had posted the advert. By the sounds of it, it was probably an old dowager who had money to spare and wanted to attend to some form of charitable work for her community. Something to perhaps, occupy her time and distract her from long days, but that may be to his advantage, for in her older age, she may be more open to his ideas.

The day appeared to drag, as in his thoughts, he attempted to formulate his inquiry. The person was evidently well-educated, as most aristocrats were, so he would need to use words that would catch her attention, but also show in his writing, the passion he felt for the project.

On his arrival home, he could barely contain his excitement so much so, that his mother questioned him at dinner as to what had gotten him so worked up.

‘You are sitting there as though there are ants in your trousers, John. What on earth is the matter with you?’

‘I am simply excited, that is all. You know my desires, mother. That I wish for the system to move forward for the working and lower classes…’

‘It will never happen.’ Jenny interrupted him. ‘You have no idea what these people are like, John. You are stuck in that library all day, whereas, I have to work for these people. They do not care about us. They only care if there is no dust on their dressers or if their tea is hot. There I am working my fingers to the bone, and the ladies that visit the house are discussing how much they will spend on a dress for a ball. It is an entirely different world and they will never meet.’

‘I understand your cynicism, Jenny, but they are not all the same. We have had this conversation before. You cannot generalise simply because things appear a certain way.’

‘Like I said, it is easy for you to say, stuck up there with a bunch of snobbish book worms. You do not live in the real world.’

‘Then let me tell you of what I discovered today and I may change your mind. There was an advertisement in the paper. A woman of wealth wants to start a library for her community, so anyone of any class can learn to read and write.’

‘That means little. She is probably some old woman who has too much time on her hands. They do not know what to do with themselves half of the time and they have more money than sense. That is not change, John. That is boredom.’

‘Does it really matter from where the reasons come, Jenny? All change has to originate from somewhere, and I will grasp at any slither of change that I can.’

‘Then you are a not as smart as I thought you were,’ Jenny sighed, dabbing a crust of bread into the gravy on her plate.

‘For goodness sake, Jenny. Let your brother speak. I am sitting here with bated breath wondering what on earth he is talking about.’ His mother turned her attention from Jenny and looked at him pointedly. ‘Do carry on, John. Tell me what has got you so excited?’

‘He has just told you,’ Jenny retorted.

‘Jenny!’ His mother glared at her.

‘Fine,’ Jenny huffed. ‘I will clear the plates and mind my own business.’

Again, his mother looked at him expectantly and finally, whilst Jenny huffed a little and took the plates into the kitchen, clattering the crockery as she went, John had the opportunity to explain the situation fully. 

‘Well, how far away is Wheatley?’ His mother frowned once he had finished.

‘It is not far from Oxford, mother. A little over forty miles away.’

‘Forty miles!’ She glared at him. ‘And what are we supposed to do when you go? How are we to cope without your wages?’

‘I have thought of that, but let us not get ahead of ourselves. I have not even had the chance to write an application yet. I may not get the position. If I do, I will be certain to send funds home, I promise. I will not leave you to struggle mother.’

‘And when will we see you? It is so far away.’

‘I can travel back for weekends, I am sure. Perhaps one weekend a month, but again, you are talking as though I am already packed.’

‘That is because I know, John, once this dowager realises your passion and the potential of having you working for her, she will snap you up.’

After dinner, John retired to his room, for he was eager to begin his submission. The words near attempted to burst out of him before he had even seated himself at his desk and he already had an idea of what he desired to pen. Taking the scrap of paper that he had written on in the library, he wrote several rough drafts to rid his mind of all the ideas that he wished to express. Only using that process, could he write succinctly and in an organised way, what he truly wanted to say.

It was not a desperation as in panic, that he experienced in the moment, but a desperation for the person who had written the advert to see how truly passionate he was at the idea of the project, and how fully committed he would be, to bringing her idea to fruition. He could not allow another to steal this position from him, for the idea of staying where he was, in a place where no progress seemed to be made and where no ideas appeared to be heard, near caused him distress.

This would be an opportunity to spread his wings, but more than that, a chance to do what he had always wanted to do from the very beginning. To be able to help people and move a system that no longer worked, forward. 

He had never travelled to Wheatley, in fact he had hardly heard of it. Of course, everyone knew of Oxford and of the education that was available there, but he imagined, Wheatley may be a place where the community would be rife with uneducated people. A blank canvas on which he could produce such progressive results. The idea only infused him with a deeper desire to make this position his and as he wrote his application, he poured his soul into the words.

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“Love Letters For A Lady” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Lady Henrietta Lockton is an heiress on a mission. Despite her non supportive father, and after losing her mother, she has only one goal; to help the less fortunate with their education. When the idea of a community library springs to her mind, she knows she needs some help with this vision. Little did she know that hiring Mr. John Greenly would make her realise it’s not only books that she wants to devote her life to. Inevitably, their clandestine romance timidly begins, but with John’s working-class background, it is doomed to be kept a secret. Alas, it proves to also be short-lived, as Lord Lockton discovers his daughter’s enchantment and forbids her to ever see John again. Will Hetty sacrifice all her wealth for her love for John? Or will Lord Lockton’s discovery of this frowned upon affection put an end to Henrietta’s hopes and dreams?

John Greenly, disappointed by his job at the British Museum, decides to answer an advert for a librarian. What he never expected was that his new employer would be a beautiful young Lady who shares his passion for all to have access to education. As his feelings for her grow, he is well aware of how his class status poses as an impediment. In a hopeless and courageous attempt to overcome it, John takes the first step and is delighted to discover Henrietta’s reciprocation. However, their social distance becomes insurmountable when their ruse is brought to daylight and John comes across a decision he must make. Will he humbly bow out and lose the only woman he has ever loved? Or will he stand up to Lord Lockton and fight, even in uncertainty, for what he feels for his beloved Hetty?

In a contrasting story of privilege and struggle, two quite different people discover that class status cannot come between them and their blossoming feelings. With a passion for the same goals, Lady Lockton and John Greenly fight together against an unfair system and find warmth and strength in each other’s ideals. Will that strength prove to be enough when their love is put to the test of social expectations? Or will societal norms turn their flourishing emotions into ashes?

“Love Letters For A Lady” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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