Dear Drusilla …
I am writing to you in desperation, having exhausted all other Avenues. My problem is so dreadful, I scarcely know how to write it! My son, who is generally the sweetest, dearest boy imaginable, has fallen into the toils of a Creature – dare I say, a Hussy? – from a Gaming House!
Oh, make no mistake! She and that Scheming Aunt of hers (who, I vow and declare, was always the most hen-witted woman imaginable) have my Darling Boy so tight in their clutches that he no longer listens to his Dear Mama.
In desperation, I turned to my nephew, who is prodigious wealthy, but also dreadfully disagreeable. He Approached the Creature but, to my Horror, she refused his offer of money to unhand my boy, and had the effrontery to demand a higher amount! I believe she intends to raise her price as my Dear Child approaches his majority.
My nephew tried to convince me that she is Respectable, and I agreed to attend a party at Vauxhall so that I could meet her. Imagine my alarm when she appeared wearing an outmoded gown of cherry stripes, a head-dress a full foot tall and powdered – yes, powdered! – hair. She had with her a Vulgar Widow and a very Familiar Irishman with whom she flirted quite Outrageously, ignoring my Poor Boy, who looked most distressed. Worse than all that, she looks to be at least Thirty! I am not one to repeat gossip, but I have it from several reliable Sources that she is also the mistress of a Rake of some renown.
My nephew flies into a towering rage whenever I mention the name of this designing Faro’s Daughter and he too is haunting the Gaming Establishment in hopes, I expect, of prising my Beloved Child away from her.
As you can see, Miss Morville, I am in dire need of your assistance.