Henry had been twenty-one years old in the spring of 1798, and in his second-to-last year at Oxford. Every April there was a two-week break between Hilary Term and Easter Term. Henry couldn’t make it home and back in two weeks. But his best friend, Harrington Astley, was from Cheltenham, a mere half-day’s ride from Oxford, and that year Harrington had invited Henry and a handful of their friends for a visit.
It was a topping good time. They were left to their own devices, and they rode to the hounds every single day, enjoyed an excellent meal each evening, then stayed up late into the night, drinking Lord Cheltenham’s best brandy and playing cards until the sun rose. Sleep until midafternoon, rise, and repeat.
They dined with Harrington’s family each evening, and those suppers included t
