You may now, my dear Bell, revive your coterie, with the addition of
some friends who love you very sincerely.
Emily (still Emily Montague) is with a relation in Berkshire,
settling some affairs previous to her marriage with my brother, to
which we flatter ourselves there will be no further objections.
I assure you, I begin to be a little jealous of this Emily of yours;
she rivals me extremely with my mother, and indeed with every body
else.
We all come to town next week, when you will make us very unhappy if
you do not become one of our family in Pall Mall, and return with us
for a few months to the country.
My brother is at his little estate, six miles from hence, where he
is making some alterations, for the reception of Emily; he is fitting
up her apartment in a style equally simple and elegant, which, however,
you must not tell her, because she is to be surprized: her dressing
room, and a little adjoining closet of books, will be enchanting; yet
the expence of all he has done is a mere trifle.
I am the only person in the secret; and have been with him this
morning to see it: there is a gay, smiling air in the whole apartment,
which pleases me infinitely; you will suppose he does not forget jars
of flowers, because you know how much they are Emily's taste: he has
forgot no ornament which he knew was agreable to her.
Happily for his fortune, her pleasures are not of the expensive
kind; he would ruin himself if they were.
He has bespoke a very handsome post chaise, which is also a secret
to Emily, who insists on not having one.
Their income will be about five hundred pounds a year: it is not
much; yet, with their dispositions, I think it will make them happy.
My brother will write to Mr. Fitzgerald next post: say every thing
affectionate for us all to him and Captain Fermor.
Adieu! Yours,
Lucy Temple.