Donald Cameron of Lochiel to Lady Margaret

Rome, 28 August 1867

Dear Margaret,

What times we live in! I know you are not much interested in politics, but the passing of the Second Reform Act is such a momentous event, I felt I must mention it. The number of people who can vote in the next election will be more than doubled—and, yes, I know that they are all men, for Mr. Mill’s amendment to include the female sex failed dismally, but still it represents significant progress. At the risk of sounding like the rather staid gentleman you once assumed me to be, I find myself increasingly drawn to the idea of taking a more active role in politics, and am contemplating standing as a member of Parliament. At the grand old age of thirty-two, I have a hankering to end my sojourn on the Continent and return home to settle down.

My home is the Achnacarry Estate in Invernesshire, near the little village of Spean Bridge, and just north of the town of Fort William. The land is rugged, with some fine woods, and the castle itself sits low on the terrain, not far from Loch Arkaig, where I am thinking of building a new pier to allow a steamer to berth. The lands were forfeited after the ’45 was lost at Culloden, for my family fought for the Young Pretender. It was my grandfather and my namesake who had them restored, and who laid the foundations of the “New Achnacarry.” Alas, he was profligate, and when he died he left my father with a half-finished home and a mountain of debts. My father completed the house but continued the tradition of spending beyond his means, which is why I have had to make my own way in life. But I have prospered, enough to turn my mind to improving the estate and making a home of it. The castle is in the Scots baronial style. I think you would like it, Margaret. I know that I would very much like to show it to you one day.

With regard to your latest letter, I am delighted to learn that Lady Julia has been so forthcoming with the charitable funds for your children’s book. As to your decision to write to your father—we promised always to be honest with each other, did we not? While I admire the sentiment that lies behind the approach, I confess that I think you are acting prematurely. I assumed that you were content at Powerscourt. I know that Lewis Wingfield’s visit gave you pause for thought, but Mervyn considers his brother to be a somewhat erratic and unreliable character. Is he the reason you are suddenly impatient for change? What would be the harm in waiting until October, for example, when you come of age? Writing directly to the duke, and not through the intermediary of your mother, also seems unnecessarily risky.

I will say no more on this for the present. Do not take this mild censure amiss, I beg of you. Please believe that I have, above all, your interests at heart. You say that you are indifferent to your father, but I fear you will discover, in his rejection or his silence, that you are mistaken. I know how deeply hurt you have been by his actions in the past. I only wish to spare you being hurt further.

With very best wishes always,

Donald