I dunno, Jackie. You may be more of a hopeless romantic than I am. I suspect that all that high-flown wordy stuff was like Victorian decorations: much frou-frou to hide something which can't stand alone. I imagine something like the following going through the minds of the writers whilst they were composing these epistles:
HE: Well honey, I've run around so much and had the clap so often I can't get any decent woman to marry me, and I need an heir, so you'll do. I know you're a bit long in the tooth and decidedly plain, but you'll do, and I dare say you won't be as prissy about a good toss in the hay as those upper-class twats. You won't cost me anything in the way of settlements, and look what I'll save by cutting down on the sporting gels.
SHE: Ugh, you fat disgusting swine! If it weren't that I can't bear drudging away any longer as governess to these little cannibals and their filthy parents, I wouldn't touch you with a bargepole. But anything to have place of my own and not have to slave away all the time with the servants sniggering at me behind my back. What a woman has to put up with in this world!
