The smell of parchment and ink, the scratching of a quill pen, the quiet popping of a small fire in the grate. A small fluffy Pomeranian in his lap, snoring softly.
The letter was full of “my dear friend” and “with all due respect”, but the upshot of the correspondence was a complaint to a craftsman in London about the poor workmanship of a recently purchased carriage. Wheels, after all, should be perfectly round and not elliptical, however slight.
The response, although not yet written, will certainly be full of “not responsible for wear and tear”.
This could take months.
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