Bit by bit she reveals herself in Tom’s random diaries.  As in the printing of a photograph the lights and darks come sparsely out, and unawares the delicate outline, so by a word here, a phrase elsewhere, we realise the presence of a sweet-natured, sound-minded girl, and more than that, of a girl with character.  After a spell of Brompton lodgings Tom took her to Kegworth in Leicestershire, where he was to have the neighbourhood and countenance of his patron of the moment, Moira, the Regent’s jackal, a solemn, empty-headed lord.  Donington Hall and Bessy appear together in a letter to Mary Godfrey.

    “...  I took Bessy yesterday to Lord Moira’s, and she was not
    half so much struck with its grandeur as I expected.  She said,
    in coming out, ‘I like Mr. Rogers’s house ten times better.’”

Tom feels it necessary to explain such remarkable taste.  “She loves everything by association, and she was very happy in Rogers’s house.”  I don’t know whether Tom’s simplicity or Bessy’s is the more remarkable in all this.  Tom’s, I think.

“Lady Loudoun and Lord Moira called upon us on their way to town and brought pine apples, etc.”  One sees them at it; and the very next letter he writes is dated “Donington Park.”  Tom fairly lets himself go over it.

“...  I think it would have pleased you to see my wife in one of Lord Moira’s carriages, with his servant riding after her, and Lady Loudoun’s crimson travelling-cloak round her to keep her comfortable.  It is a glorious triumph of good conduct on both sides, and makes my heart happier and prouder than all the best worldly connections could possibly have done.  The dear girl and I sometimes look at each other with astonishment in our splendid room here, and she says she is quite sure it must be all a dream.”

Marble halls, in fact; but let us see how it acted upon Bessy.  Shortly after:  “...  I am just returned from a most delightful little tour with Rogers, poor Bessy being too ill and too fatigued with the ceremonies of the week to accompany us.”  That was to be the way of it for the rest of their lives together.  She would never go to the great houses if she could by any means avoid it, but bore him no grudge for going without her, and was always open-armed for his return.

Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne, was their next harbourage; and here is a Wheatley picture of them on their way to a dinner-party.

“We dined out to-day at the Ackroyds’, neighbours of ours ... we found, in the middle of our walk, that we were near half an hour too early, so we set to practising country-dances in the middle of a retired green lane till the time was expired.”

Then he takes her to the Ashbourne ball, and for once leaves himself out of the letter.