My Dearest Lady Astrid, I find myself most distraught by your message of yester evening; could it have indeed been your intent to click “send”? This recent missive has my heart racing two fold, in anticipation of your intimate embrace of a certainty as well in fear of reprisal at the hands of your exceptionally violent, ill tempered husband (the man our dear Queen referred to as “The Bloodiest of Britain’s Great Berserkers!). You may recall that in addition to being your somewhat hot-headed, fiercely possessive, and rabidly vengeful husband, the Brigadier is also my commanding officer!
Emailing me here in care of the Royal Fusileers is wildly dangerous as I am sure your husband, should he learn of our meetings, our rencontres romantiques may we say,
would hesitate not an instant to spend the coppers of my life’s blood here and now upon these dry desert sands. It was yourself, dear lady, with your ever present sharp cruel wit who mockingly observed that my bold and manly courage faded to mere vapors beyond you chamber doors, so while in theory I would face a thousand deaths with saber in hand, endure any manner of hardship and depravation for but a single kiss from your lovely lips, this is not a good time.
Fervently I wish to continue our conversation which you know I value so reverently, but please my Lady (dare I say, … my Heart) we must be discrete for both our sakes – your womanly good reputation and my very life depend on it, to that end contact me exclusively my love at Foofie.LeFrett@secretsweethearts.com this, I beg of you.