2nd March 1919

My love,

All this seemingly endless waiting is killing me too. I don't know how you could endure more than two years of that – because of me! – and not go insane. But we know we are doing the right thing, by finally not running away like foolish teenagers but rather building up a serious and sensible project for our foreseeable future and planning to announce that to both our families.

I wish we could spend more time together, and alone. Each time I'm in the motor with Mama, or Granny, or Papa, I don't do much talking with them. I'm too busy looking at you, at the back of your head, and imagining all those things I would tell you if it were just the two of us in that car. And when Mary or Edith are in the car too, then I let you imagine the looks they give me, and even sometimes the nudges!

How do they behave towards you? Have you only been alone in the car with one or the two of them since we came back? I hope that they've not been unfair to you, that they've behaved correctly and not said anything bad or harsh or hurtful to you. Anyway, I know that even if they did, you wouldn't tell me.

Every now and then, Mary is slipping in hints at how the coming London Season will be fabulous ("the first one since the end of the war, Sybil!" "the first in five years!" or "can you believe the last Season was yours! Poor darling, you've only had one season yet, you'll see how great it is to enjoy it without all the stress and pressure of being presented!"). Honestly! she can do much more subtle.

Edith is only advising me to think it over again in depth, and I repeatedly tell her that it's precisely what I've done for months without her nor anyone else knowing it, but I did it nonetheless. I don't think she is that much shocked by the so-called class gap. She didn't say anything about that, anyway. I think she is just surprised her baby sister is ready for a life so different from the one we've always known. I don't think she has anything against you; all in all, I'd even think she likes you, maybe for having taught her how to drive.

Come to think of that, it's rather ironic that it's because you taught her this that she was able to find us that night and bring me home from the Swan Inn… Sometimes life likes to play tricks. But don't regret it, we finally agreed that running away with no serious plan was much more foolish than truly romantic, didn't we?

Talking about plans, did you hear from your mother? How did she take the news?

I too miss you so much. Seeing you from time to time, stealing snippets of hours or couples of minutes here and there in the garage is far from enough. I'll try to come up with a reason for a trip to Ripon for which I would oh so conveniently need a car ride.

Except that each and every time my sisters hear about me needing the car (and the chauffeur!) to go somewhere, they find an excuse to be coming on the trip. Remember that time when Mary supposedly needed to go to Thirsk for an appointment with a new seamstress? Well, I wasn't particularly eager to visit this former fellow VAD in the hospital either, so I'm afraid the three of us just lost some hours that day. Though basically, it was a good plan, had Mary not imposed on the two of us!

I'm ranting here, I know. I'm sorry, I should be trying to cheer you up, as your last letter showed you certainly needed some of that as much as I do. I promise I'll try to make my next letter cheerful, to make up for today's rather frustrated one, alright?

Until then, remember we've never been closer to our future than right now…

I'm dreaming of you,

S