From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 138)

I don’t like money. I like what you can do with money, but I don’t like the way it changes people.

I grew up thinking I would be always dependent on my father, and so determined to study languages (at which I am magnificently proficient). I only had the vaguest idea of earning a living through doing something with them. At the time I had no idea what exactly, but everyone else I knew was such a dunderhead at foreign dialects, I was sure I could find a position somewhere. Of course, my father, being of the nobility, would have been horrified at me working like a common person. This, I think, was the part that appealed most to me.

I’ve never had any wish to call another man master (nor have I ever had a wish for anybody else to refer to me as such). I’m happy to be guided in the ways of knowledge or skills, but I’ve never needed anyone to lead me around by the nose (a common occurrence among young males of the aristocracy, who tend not to have indulged their brains too much in the vulgar habit of thought).

But then, as I was on the cusp of my academic career, I was informed that my mother, who I thought had ploughed all her money into our family estate, had left her dowry exclusively to me upon her death. Suddenly, I was a young man of means, and everyone wanted to be my friend. I’d gone from being the youngest, and therefore least interesting, scion of a noble house to a man of importance, all because I had money - and oodles of it.

For those who lack it, money doubtless seems like the answer to all one’s prayers, but as someone who went from none to quite a lot, I witnessed at a young age the effect of avarice on the people around me. It makes absolutely no difference to my intelligence, nor to my character, as to how much money I have in the bank, and yet it makes all the difference in the world of polite society. Invitations and advances alike positively showered down on me when my good fortune became known.

Money gave me freedom, and I am grateful to my mother for that, but it also gave me many false friends. Fortunately, already being a student of human nature, I saw through them all. In fact, the only positive thing I can say about my father is that he despised me just as much as when I had money as when I didn’t.

Instead of gathering new ‘friends’ to my bosom, and living an idle life, I set out to work for the crown. The King, of course, made my wealth look like a pittance, and I rather liked that. With my money I paid people who earned their keep in a fair trade for skills, knowledgable advice and eventually property, of which I have built up a rather nice portfolio.

As I’ve worked for King and Country, so I’ve also worked hard at building my resources. I never wish to be dependent on another person, as I was on my father. I think of my money as working capital. It’s out there doing things, not sitting in a bank mouldering. And, of course, when I’m home, I don’t stint on anything that pleases me.

Yet, for all the wealth I have obtained, it cannot gain me my heart’s desire. In almost all ways I am a successful gentleman, handsome, intelligent and with little out of my reach. I have never known poverty, but as someone who knows wealth, I can sincerely say that it’s rare that money improves a person. In general, it does entirely the opposite, and in the ways of true love and heart’s desire, money is utterly useless.