The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, Volumes One and Two: Written by HerselfWilson, Harriette
General
The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, Volumes One and Two: Written by Herself
Wilson, Harriette
Courtesans -- Great Britain -- Biography; Wilson, Harriette, 1786-1846
He abused his uncle, Lord Charles Somerset, for his malice in having
written to His Grace of Beaufort on the subject of our connection, in
a way to alarm him excessively. Worcester, in consequence, received
very severe letters both from his father and mother, insisting on his
immediately leaving me unprovided for and without the smallest ceremony.
These harsh unfeeling letters excited in Worcester a spirit of defiance,
such as mild remonstrance never could have produced. He repeated his
solemn assurances to me that no power on earth, not even my inconstancy,
could destroy his everlasting attachment, or induce him, however it must
destroy his repose, to leave me. He deeply regretted his not being of
age, that he might immediately make me his wife, and then naught could
separate us save death. He reminded me that the period of his becoming
of age was not very far distant, and in the meantime if they pressed him
our marriage was not impossible. He begged his most affectionate regards
to his sisters, Fanny and Sophia, and implored me, unless I would for
ever destroy his happiness on earth to promise to become his wife, and
remain with him for ever, &c.
I immediately answered Lord Worcester, begging him not to irritate his
parents unnecessarily. I did not touch on the subject of our marriage;
but desired him to rest satisfied with my faith, and that I would never
willingly cause him a moment's pain, while I had reason to believe in
his affection.
In conclusion, I informed him that he might expect me at Brighton
without fail, in three days from the date of my letter.
* * * * *
Amelia was now living very near my house in town, and, as I really
wanted to see the handsome young Campbell, I availed myself of her
invitation to a small party before I left town. I ventured to return
home from her house at about eleven o'clock at night, alone, because
the distance was very trifling; but the moment I had left my sister's
door I observed a tall, dark, and somewhat, as I thought, wild-looking
young man following me. I felt unusually alarmed, and trusting to the
lightness of my heels I began to run as fast as I possibly could. The
man kept up to me, by running also. I had not felt so frightened for
some years, and dared not look back till, absolutely breathless and
ready to sink on the steps, I knocked loudly at my own door.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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