Fraser/Rannoch Valentines 1818

photo: Raphael Coffey

Happy Valentine’s weekend! As a Valentine’s treat, here are some snippets of letters between the characters. They’re from Valentine’s Day 1818, before The Mayfair Affair (to skip ahead to Valentine’s Day 1819 would spoil about the next three books).  Malcolm is responding to Suzanne’s letter that I posted last year.

What’s your favorite romantic line from the series?

Hope you all have a wonderful Valentine’s Day!
Tracy

Harry Davenport to Cordelia Davenport

One of the areas in which I’ve never doubted myself is my ability to put pen to paper. At least when it comes to translating the words of others. Or writing my own commentary on them. Or drafting field notes, in or out of code. But when it comes to you I’ve never been very good at putting things into words, on paper or in person. Suffice it to say, only you could make me take seriously a day I have so long sneered at. Happy Valentine’s Day, Cordy, with all my heart.

Lady Frances Dacre-Hammond to an undisclosed correspondent

I can’t remember when I last wrote to anyone on St. Valentine’s Day. Or acknowledged the holiday at all come to think of it. I’ve received some rather dull overblown verses on 14 February through the years, but actually writing myself? I rather feel I should fight against this traitorous impulse. And yet I feel the most absurd compulsion to pick up my pen and write Happy Valentine’s Day, darling. You see what you’ve brought me to?

Bertrand Laclos to Rupert Caruthers

It’s only a day after all. I know that’s why you’d say. And a day we never could acknowledge very much. And what does a day matter now we’re together most days. And yet— When I got the news from France my first thought was “But it’s Valentine’s Day.” Rather absurd, given what we’ve been through, but it’s not Valentine’s Day so much as Valentine’s Day with you. Which of course shouldn’t stand against helping those in need, which I also know you’d say. Which is one of the many reasons I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day, beloved. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Aline Blackwell to Geoffrey Blackwell

I never used to understand why Judith got so excited about Valentine’s Day, long before she was old enough to have a Valentine of her own. All the fuss about trinkets and ruffles and quoting (often bad) poetry. I still don’t carry about all of that. But I do quite like spending Valentine’s Day with you. No different in a way than any other day of the year, and yet— Happy Valentine’s Day, Geoff.
 
Lord Carfax to Lady Carfax

How many years is it? And how many 14 Februarys have I spent in meetings or buried in my study or been gone for entirely? You understand, of course, Amelia. You always understand. No man could have a better wife.

Simon Tanner to David Worsley

The problem with being a writer is that one expected to come up with clever things on occasions that involve the written word. Particularly hard on an occasion that drips in sentimentality. An occasion I’d once have been inclined to mock but now find I have no desire toYou mean the world to me, David. I hope tonight you’ll give me the chance to show you just how much.

Malcolm Rannoch to Suzanne Rannoch

Tears welling up in one’s eyes while in the midst of discussing political strategy has a most interesting affect on a group of M.P.s gathered at Brooks’s. I wish you could have seen it. You’re letter meant an incalculable amount to me, sweetheart. I’ll be home soon. Happy Valentine’s Day.

 

A Fraser/Rannoch Valentine

photo: Lesley Grant

Happy Valentine’s weekend! Mélanie and I spent the afternoon making Valentines and Valentine’s cookies with my sister (photo above). Yesterday we took Valentines and cookies to my co-workers at Merola. She’s really getting into the holiday this year – fun seeing it through her eyes.

Last year I posted a Valentine letter from Charles/Malcolm to Mélanie/Suzanne. This year I thought I would post one from Mel/Suzette to Charles/Malcolm. It’s written the Valentine’s Dan after The Berkeley Square Affair, just a few weeks before The Mayfair Affair.

Hope everyone’s Valentine’s Day is filled with treats and delights!

Tracy

14 February 1818

Berkeley Square

Darling,

I’m still not sure if I’ll send this. Dangerous to put feelings to paper in our line of work. Dear God it feels good to be able to say that to you and to know you’ll understand just what I mean. I’m so sorry you’ve been through all of this. But there are moments I fight off one of those waves of panic I’ve learned to live with since our marriage, draw a breath, and feel the tension rush from my lungs because the truth is between us.

I used to laugh at Valentine’s Day. The first year we were married. I was shocked that you remembered it. I knew by then that you took our marriage far more seriously than I had thought going into it, but I didn’t think you were the sort for sentiment. I hadn’t yet quite grasped the gulf between what you’ll say and what you feel. Or that perhaps you understood just how much it means to me sometimes to be fussed over. I don’t think I ever told you how much I grew to anticipate Valentine’s Day. The rose on my breakfast tray. The jewel box under my pillow. The morning I woke to you playing a new piece Schubert had sent you in the sitting room.

The day could never but remind me that I was a fraud though. If anyone had told me we’d ever celebrate it with the truth in the open between us, I’d have laughed in their faces. There were times when I thought you saw the real me, but those lovely, romantic gifts and gestures belonged to someone else. The woman who was half a creation of my acting ability, half of the generous filter through which you’ve always viewed me.

So this year is different. I don’t have a role to hide behind. Hard, with the masks stripped away, to know what to say. So perhaps I should fall back upon the truth. What a novel idea.

I love you, Charles, with all my heart.

Happy Valentine’s Day,
Mélanie