Dearest Booke,
I write to you now in the almost-dark of an upstairs room at an inn at the edge of the market town of Stroud. Stroud itself is lively and fun. Bath is much nicer, of course, but Stroud is impressive for its size, its views, and its very steep streets.
But Stroud was not my destination. As I passed through it, I only looked out the window and wondered whether there were shops where I could sell my handkerchiefs and slippers—and there were! It has not occurred to me until then to branch out beyond Bath with my fine needlework, but in fact it would be quite doable! I could bring the items here myself, or I could hire someone to do it for me. I have so many ideas…
But let me get back to the most important thing I have to tell you. Because I have met Mr. Jonathan Barrow, the m
