Dearest Kate,
James is back, and I am utterly distracted. Our esteemed prime minister, His Grace, the Duke of Wellington, may be the greatest general in the history of England, but I doubt he has ever had to deal with uprooting a household of children on a moment’s notice. I expect I will have a few things to say on the subject when next I see him.
For that is what I must do. His Grace wishes James and me to travel north to Leeds—I will explain it all another time, or perhaps James will write to Thomas and you can learn of it from that. I cannot take the children, for though they are much recovered they are not yet in their usual robust health (always excepting Arthur), and such a long trip would risk a relapse, or perhaps some more-serious infection. And I cannot simply leave them here with Nurse, not with mysterious prowlers and peculiarly nonmagical messes in the gazebo and so on (and especially not without someone to keep Arthur from charging off to discover whatever he can, regardless of possible peril).
Dearest Kate—I know that you are already dealing with Georgy, and that Thomas will dislike it excessively, but could I prevail on you to take in my four rapscallions (and Nurse, of course) for a few weeks? If you cannot manage, I shall have to write to Aunt Elizabeth, which will take some time, and James is eager to be gone. Please let me know as soon as you can.
Your distracted and importunate,
Cecy