#Little Bird|Lady Elisabeth of Glenariff

[brooklynislandgirl]

@lokitheliesmith   {{xx}}

Whispers of the Crown's guests had reached across the sea and trickled in through the stone and glass of his home long before the household prepared for the Great Travel that yearly occurred strictly out of spite. Tradition and title dictated his presence at court, presumably to find a bride. Year after year he'd managed to escape the onerous burden, keeping to his private vow never to marry an English protestant. Year after year he dreaded the time when he would have to announce to the world that he had a sister of marriageable age. He'd delayed as long as possible and this Season was surely to be the end of him. Especially the way her face takes on colour as she reads over that scandal sheet with a sigh. She catches his gaze over its edge and lays it in her lap before smiling at him like the sun itself. "Think of how exciting it is! Foreign prince and princess, brother and sister. I am utterly certain we'll make fast friends!" "Oh, do imagine, Bets. All of three countries vying for their affections, throwing themselves at the feet of our Guests like dogs in the hunt." His sour mood crushes her like some frail wildflower beneath a marching boot. But she's never left the manor grounds, she has no idea how bloodthirsty and treacherous the Ton can be during a season. And maybe more than that, he fears what might be said about her. No one can look upon his sister and not see traces of the Orient in her, distant though it might be. She murmurs an apology before shrinking into herself and the guilt strikes him wholly on the chin. He sighs and swings himself over to sit beside her. "I'll be sure to host something in their honour, if one or the other deigns visit. Will that make you smile?"

~*~

The Right Honourable The Earl of Glenariff and his sister, Lady Elizabeth.

At home, Lord Andrew at his most formal, sometimes simply Glenariff.

He bows deeply to the queen, and only slightly less so for the Prince.

They are almost of a height together, and both of them tower over his sister even before she curtsies. That excitement she radiates practically reverberates through him, though faith and mercy, she says not a word. Acquits herself with perfect dignity.

"Your Majesty," he intones, before turning slightly to the Queen's guest. "Your highness. My sister and I would be beyond all honour if you were to accept an invitation to host you and Your Highness' sister."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@lokitheliesmith {{from here courtesy of the legacy editor}}

Her brother nods in polite reverence, an assent to her wishes, but does not actually sit until the Princess herself does. He takes his place beside her and for a moment one sibling's knee brushes the other. Another sign that he's taken with their foreign noble; Andrew was always excruciatingly aware of everything. She will be such a púca about when they are safely entrenched back in the privacy of their dwellings. Perhaps tweak his patience enough to make him threaten to consign her to the sea. "I presume not to dictate a man's business, but I thank you most humbly." He looks to his hands a moment. "Is is so rare we have new company." She slants a tiny glance at the Princess, for all the world wishing she could tell the great lady that her sibling tends to keep to himself and doesn't court many a friend on this side of the sea. Spring greenery clashes against emerald as the women's gazes seem to find one another. And those very branches might have gone up in flames as modesty sparks fire in her cheeks as the Princess extends the Prince's complimentary discourse. She has no way of knowing if it is true, but she also has no reason to doubt the woman. "M-my great honour, your Highness," she replies and its all she can do not to be beside herself. The tea is a merciful lifeline. "If you permit me know some of your tastes. I would hate to suggest something that might fall far from your favour." And have the Princess feel she is unworthy. A glance is spared toward her brother who seems to be watching the ladies as he would horseflesh at the markets, seeking compatible spirit and temperament. Not flattering and not exactly true but near enough. "I could not think to speak on such things, your Highness. Things are far different back home." Andrew pats her hand. Head bowed, attention focused on his glove, she nods. "Yes, my lady. The harp as well, if you prefer. I should be quite happy to play for you. Is there any certain piece you enjoy, or perhaps another interest that you favour?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

Andrew's chin rises as he follows the flow of the Princess' hand. He takes a sip of the tea and sets it down before rising to his feet, careful to tuck his hands behind his back as he goes to inspect the instrument. The instrument reminds him of gargoyles~ in some aspects grotesque, but beautiful, and probably a nightmare if given to an English hand. Almost immediately he wonders what it might sound like, and how it might be accompanied by uillean pipes and a bodhran.

He can feel his sister's gaze on his back as surely as a touch. He hates that he is so soft with her. "Perhaps we could arrange a day to while the hours away with music. Evenings in the country are usually superb for such things." Hope all but blossoms in his sister's gaze as she turns it from him to the Princess, and once more he feels on the back foot about the situation. There is value in making a connection with visiting royals. Both widening their social circle and in making the right introductions if she ends up being a moon in the Princess' orbit. He does not know the Prince well but is inclined to believe the man has no interest. Which makes him almost the perfect overseer of his sister's reputation. "In light of this request, Your Highness, how can I countenance refusing you? We shall make all the necessary arrangements for your entertainments." Elisabeth demurely lowers her head but the smile that curves her lips is almost impossible to miss, as is the way she mouths the words 'thank you'.

"Ah, it is a key-harp, or key-violin, played with a bow. In the hands of a skilled player it gives a lively accompaniment to a dance, but I have not seen them in the hands of musicians at all since leaving Copenhagen. I gather it is an instrument idiosyncratic to our northern shores. It is there, in the chest on the end-table there, if you care to see it."

She gestured briefly towards the box in question, longer than a violin case but smaller than the adjacent piano.

"That is a generous offer, and one I shall fully consider. I do so love the theatre." Her eye flashed between the two of them, her wish and his denial.

"Oh, but I have not seen the Tempest since I was a girl, and then not in full, in English. You absolutely must accompany me, dear Elizabeth, I shall forego all other plays for it if I must." It was not much far from the truth, though perhaps she played it a touch more enthusiastically than she would have otherwise. "My Lord, you will not begrudge me one afternoon of your sister's time, will you?"

[brooklynislandgirl]

Andrew can't help but be pleased with the Princess' modest praise, and even with bowed head a slight smile can be seen on her face, though Her Highness cannot know the pride behind it. The almost I-told-you-so that lingers in it for a pastime that had stricken their father as wholly unnecessary, even archaic. "May I ask what is that? Your nyckelharpa? But yes, I would like that very much." Andrew takes both their tea, adding a spoon of honey for hers and his own remains black. He smiles fondly at her when once more the Princess pronounces her season to be a success, though neither of them truly believe so. She herself feels like cattle driven to market, and how can she find a loving husband when the competition is high? If she is lucky, she will be passed over. If her brother's luck holds, he'll slip the marriage noose himself despite matrons and maidens scheming for a title. "Ah, I know there will be a run on Othello, and of course King Lear. I should like to take in The Tempest..." "...But I fear she will not, as Your Highness has said, have the time," Andrew smoothly interrupts. He doesn't think the play appropriate for his sister's delicate nature. "If you and your brother are apt to see it, we may lend you our box."

"The harp? Another skill to set you apart from the woman of mere fashion." She nods approvingly, taking the teapot and delicately serving three cups into the fine china. "Worry not, I shall not trouble you to perform on command. I have neglected my instruments of late; I was once a passable player of the violin and the nyckelharpa. Perhaps we shall bestir ourselves to a duet someday soon, once I have loosened my rusted fingers?"

She is acutely aware that sister yet clings to brother, and though she understands the position in which her callers find themselves, there is nothing she feels she can do to put the younger at greater ease.

"Since we are on the form of a reverse Grand Tour, coming to fair England from the continent and it's islands, I mean to experience as much of life and culture as I may. Reykjavik is a pretty town, perhaps, but no comparison to Paris or London. If you will advise me which performances shall be popular, I may indulge any lesser interests without encroaching upon your time. I have no doubt you shall have a queue of suitors before too long, in any case; you shall have no time to spend with a shelved woman such as I."