#a countess below stairs

[jamietukpahwriting]

But Anna had now had enough. Disengaging her wrist, holding with both hands on to her basket, she drew breath. “Very well. You have, of course, ruined this dinner party in which I wished to wait perfectly at table so as to help with the giving of more responsibility to women. So I will tell you, first, that I think you are mad, and second, that I am not going to marry Sergei because that is not how I love him and in any case I do not wish to have children who will have breast blisters—only, I must say chest blisters, I think, because this is a country of hypocrisy and coldness where breasts are not respectable. And also Sergei has proposed to the Baroness Rakov, although I have told him it is not necessary because we ar enow rich and will of course share everything, but he says she is tranquille and will keep away from him the other women. And last, if I had not been assured,” she said, glaring at Sid and James, “That you were already in the Kush where you absolutely belong because it is full of stones and ice, I would never have come back,” she finished—and burst into tears. “Don’t, Anna! Ah, don’t, my darling,” said Rupert. He pushed back his chair, removed, with ineffable tenderness, her basket of rolls and, quite impervious to the assembled company, gathered her into his arms. “Only, you see, I saw you in the garden with the prince. You were hanging from his arms like…” He broke off, even now racked by the memory.  “A dishcloth?” suggested Anna. “What?” Anna, her career [as a maid] abandoned, was now ready to converse. “In La Fille Mal Gardee which is a most beautiful ballet, she hangs exactly in this way from the shoulder of the hero, very soft and… limp, you know, like a cloth and at the same time she does little battements with her feet. It is in act three and very moving; you will like it very much.” “Shall I, my love?” said Rupert, dabbing gently at her eyes and nose.

—A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson

[litandlifequotes]

When you're sad, my Little Star, go out of doors. It's always better underneath the open sky.

A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson

[astreiants]

“(...) And last, if I had not been assured,” she said, glaring at Sid and James, “that you were already in the Kush where you absolutely belong because it is full of stones and ice, I would never have come back,” she finished — and burst into tears.

“Don’t, Anna! Ah, don’t, my darling,” said Rupert. He pushed back his chair, removed, with ineffable tenderness, her basket of rolls and, quite impervious to the assembled company, gathered her into his arms.

The Secret Countess Eva Ibbotson

[rayless-reblogs]

For the bookworm ask, 6 and/or 35?

6: Favorite romance novel(s)?

Off the top of my head (and you can maybe see this coming), I would say The Blue Castle is up there. You cannot beat the premise of Valancy's and Barney's marriage (plot-wise), and it's beautiful watching Valancy open up and discover she can enjoy her life. Barney is disreputable but fun and introspective and charming, a very good blend. I've read a lot of romance novels from this era, and their heroes are often extremely domineering, but by and large you don't see that from him.

Another one I really love is A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson (also published as The Secret Countess). Ibbotson has a genius for writing heroines who are impossibly good and beautiful, but who still somehow feel real and endearing and relatable. Her heroine Anna would be weak and wispy and useless in another writer's hands, but she's sweet and bold and humble and never boring about it. Along with the romance and some gorgeous language, there's an unobtrusive humor that runs through all of it. I definitely need to re-read it sometime.

35: Least favorite trope in your most favorite book genre.

If we're going with fantasy, one of my least favorite tropes is the Fair Folk/fey/sidhe/snooty elves trope. I know that sounds silly, seeing as I have fey OCs (and posted one today), but for the most part they turn me off and have ever since I was little. I think it's because they're such snobs.

This isn't to say I don't give books with elves a chance. I can handle elves, at least. But fey for some reason bother me even more. On the other hand, if you call your fey goblins, I might be more amenable -- The Hollow Kingdom is about goblins and it was one of my favorite books when I was younger.

I'm also not a fan of King Arthur inspired books for whatever reason.

Thank you!

[beautifulscreaminglady]

I am most impressed, I think, with the absolute evil of the villain in A Countess Below Stairs. Because in the hands of a different writer, the villain might come off as cartoonish or overexaggerated but the way the nastiness slowly oozes out of the villain over the course of the book and other characters gradually get exposed to more of the villain and watch in very English horror ... It's brilliant.

[dotsayers]

i forgot rupert was in the rfc. even when i'm doing a comfort reread i cannot escape james bigglesworth

[petaltexturedskies]

Eva Ibbotson, A Countess Below Stairs

[bannanasrus]

Safe and Warm

I love safe vore and am on a slight kick for it at the time of writing this so here is another Theodora and Leopold story!

contains M/F soft safe vore cuddling and a whole lotta fluff

Theodora climbed up the stairs to her and her husband's room she was cold, and she had had to leave quickly in the middle of the night, she would have to be quiet too her husband was asleep. she quickly got changed and after pulling on an old dressing gown which was meant to be warm she clambered into bed careful not to wake her husband by jumping in too quickly.

Theodora curled up under the covers shivering slightly trying to get over to her husband without waking him. it was the middle of winter and heavens was it cold. They had had a thick fall of snow that week and it was lying thick in the village streets.

Her husband the man she was currently trying to not wake as he had had a very busy few days had gotten back from transacting some delicate business had felt obviously the need to wind down had gone on a walk through the village, when he had gotten hit by a snowball. this one was an accident and the child had profusely apologised Leopold had accepted the apology and continued on his way.

However when a second snowball had also hit him, this one was intentional and had been thrown by the village troublemaker. instead of responding with anger, Leopold had laughed scooped up snow and returned the fire. the fight soon ended up involving a significantly large portion of the village children and had even included some of the adults including the vicar and blacksmith. The two teams as ended up being both attempting to get Leopold to play for them since he was the strongest snowballer there. However Leopold was immune to such attempts reveling in the chaos and in general having fun acting like a giddy child laughing tripping over himself and hurling snowballs with abandon. To the point that one of them hit the Dowager Countess Agnes Maria Anne Ida Giles the Dowager Countess of Ayleton. Embarrassed Leopold had nearly fallen to his knees in apologies as the Dowager Countess merely smiled picked up snow rolled it into a ball and flung it with precision accuracy that it hit Leopold square in the face.

Laughter came from the decidedly unwelcome soucre of the mouth of Cassandra Delia Whalebright, a local scourge it was silenced promptly by another snowball flung by the elderly Grand Dame.

"My apologies" said the Great lady "I thought that I was flinging at a fence post to practice my aim you know".

all of the village children had then wanted the Dowager countess on their team.

Leopold had laughed skipped and had been greatly undignified the entire time they'd been out. She wondered sometimes how someone so perfect existed he looked so beautiful lying beside her deep in sleep after an exhausting day. he didn't even bother to get into his sleepwear after bathing he had just crashed into bed naked.

Again she wondered if he even felt the cold, he generated so much heat naturally he always gave the best hugs. She on the other hand found it hard to keep heat in her when she was out and about she had multiple layers, but in bed well she had only the covers and her nightgown between her and the world, ok that was a little dramatic the warming pans had been in the bed before they had gone to bed, and there was a smouldering fire in the room, but still! she was a naturaly cold lady.

No wonder she'd ended up with a man who seemed to be affected by nothing in regards to temperatures below freezing, he could probably go out with nothing on at all and be fine, she smirked she'd love to see the look on Cassandra's face then oh yes!

Perhaps she wondered was his heat producing tendency a reason for his huge appetite?

She heard him breathe deeply and roll over “Theodora” he mumbled in his sleep “So wonderful” he reached his arms out and pulled her tight against him “So delicious”

Theodora tried not to laugh I wonder what makes you think I’m so special she thought. She kissed him gently on the forehead and curled against him.

Leopold woke gently feeling his wife's kiss on his forehead. He groaned quietly and sleepily.

"Hello sleeping beauty" whispered his Dora kissing him beneath his jaw "Sorry I woke you"

"Don't worry 'mbout it" he whispered groggily "Are you ok, why are you here in my bed so" he stopped "this is our bed" he said slowly

"It is darling" said Theodora

"Ok, what are you doing in so late" he asked confused

"I had some duties to attend to" she said

"I wanted to fall asleep with you in my arms or in my belly tonight" he said pouting

"You can still have that" she said lightly tapping his nose she shivered from the cold and cuddled in closer.

"Are you cold beloved?" he asked

"Yeah, I always find it hard to get heat into me" she said

He cuddled her close nuzzling his face into her neck "Well take some of my heat please"

"I think I know a way that we can both be made happy" she said smiling

"Are you sure, you don't have to do it just because I said it" he said shyly

"Of course I want to you to eat me" she said "I feel so safe when I'm inside you"

"Even though I sometimes Digest you? Melt you down and make you one with me"

"If I'm honest I think that's what I love most about the times when you digest me. but even if I didn't love it I still know that nothing will ever harm me when I'm inside you, you are my greatest protector."

He stared at her his eyes filled with wonderment "How" he said aloud "Did I ever get so lucky, I must be the luckiest gluttonous spirit to exist, to have you as my wife, to have you in my arms and in my belly each night...." he stared at her his beautiful wife his Dora

"Darling" she said

"I won't digest you" he replied as though responding to a conversation that to that point she had been a member of but not parlé to.

"I never said you had to" she said quickly she found herself being gently brought to a sitting position her Husband, her Leo, her darling holding her tightly licking his lips

"You are ok with me eating you, holding you, in my gut tonight"

"Of course I am, I always am" she replied quickly undressing so that her husband didn't have to deal with clothes wrecking her flavour. though he may have pouted normally (He liked getting to take her clothes off as much as she enjoyed taking his off) he merely cuddled her as she shivered against his body, though the heat radiated off of him she really wanted to be inside him and so began the process of clambering down his throat herself. surprised Leo let her, occasionally pushing her further when she got a bit stuck.

She emerged gratefully into the warmth of his belly above her Leopold patted his engorged gut and let out a belch of satisfaction "Ourrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp" he rubbed his stomach loving how her shape her form was now wholly held inside him. he really enjoyed that

All mine he thought only mildly possessively, not that Theodora would mind one should hasten to add after all she is happy to be Leopold's favourite meal and his wife. He is hers as well, both her Pred and her husband. any other meal that she would like to feed him, is merely passing through her darling's digestive system.

Now she felt safe above all else and warm too. Leopold would let her out in the morning as soon as both of them awoke, and if he decided to keep her in there a little longer, she didn't mind at all. it would keep him lounging in bed and give them quiet time together where they could just be in each other's company. Safe and Warm and together

I hope yous enjoyed this little story I really enjoyed writing it, this was meant to be quite fluffy hence the cuddly nature and the lack of very overt sexual content implied or otherwise. though granted vore is a kink so regardless of how clean you make it, its still a bit spicy.

I suppose this also counts as a Christmas Special since it's wintery so I guess that's fun too!

I really love the intimacy safe vore provides especially endo, which is what I believe this counts as just to have someone in the core of your being, or being in the core of someone else's being is just so tender and I love it and I really wanna see it being used more often.

More Vore Fluff!

Also I just adore writing with these guys Theodora and Leopold are just so much fun to write with and I wanna do more with them, I wanna do more with all my characters in fact. If you guys have any ideas for stories with any of my characters I've written about send me the ideas in!!

Love yas xx

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Cheering Up A Depressed Andy

(Slight) Andy X FemReader

Ratings: T+

Warnings: Drinking, insults, mentions of death, slight spoilers

Word Count: 1.7k

(A/N:) I am obsessed with Undead Unluck right now and I had to write a self indulgent Andy fic! I do ship him and Fuuko really hard but Andy is too perfect not to crush on. So while I have a ship I still want to enjoy some reader inserts with this handsome and unhinged dude! So this happened as I was so excited about a little of Andy's past getting animated! I had a little too much fun with the dialog too but I hope you all enjoy it! Until next time happy reading!

~Countess

Being a bounty hunter had it's perks though it was one of the toughest jobs offered in the growing country you live in. You had met your fair share of folks and about took out as many as well. The types of people you hunted, weren't like the upstanding citizens in normal towns you passed through. So they really weren't missed and kept their would be victims safe another day. You had just gotten finished with a particularly large bounty, so after collecting your reward you made the decision that you deserved a much needed break. Heading over to the next town, you carved yourself a place for the next two weeks or more.

After a week into your relaxation a stranger blew into town you never met before. He was a quiet character and it seemed like trouble drew to him like flies to a carcass. He was aloof and refused to speak much. Questions were answered with simple answers and he never gave more information than necessary. Even renting a room in the tavern/inn you were occupying had become awkward as he refused to answer the majority of the owner's questions. Only made worse when he was a coin short of the payment to stay. Without a word you dug into the pockets of your well worn pants before flipping it to the owner with amazing accuracy. He pocketed the man's payment quickly and the stranger turned around taking in your feminine form as you downed the rest of your glass and tipped your hat. Standing from the chair you made your way up the stairs, ignoring the jeers from the men below, your curiosity piquing the more you stayed close to the gray haired man.

A few more days passed by and still the gray haired stranger occupied the same space as you. He kept his distance, though he acted indifferent you could tell he watched his surroundings with an attentive gaze. The card in his forehead was a mystery that was driving you crazy. And even though the numerous tavern girls seemed to flock to him, he had no interest. The only thing he seemed to enjoy was the brawls that would break out, the majority of the time it was men starting arguments with him. The fights didn't last long and he always came out on top. He didn't joke. He didn't laugh. He rarely said a word. And despite yourself you found yourself sitting closer and closer to him every night. He was a mystery and you could feel the sad loneliness rolling off of him in waves. You should have ended your reprieve then and there. Left town and went back to what you were good at. But something deep inside nagged at you. You couldn't leave this man alone and part of you dreaded that you were going to pay a steep price for your curiosity.

The next night after finishing your meal, you went to the bar ordering two drinks and paying for them. The heavy glasses not the only weight as your heavy heart pounded in your chest. The enigma of the man sitting in his normal spot, pushing around the scraps on his plate. He didn't even jump or look up as you thudded the glass before him. After a few seconds, you cleared your throat, loudly. You didn't take kindly to being ignored, especially when you were doing a good deed. Those were rare and if this man had any sense he would be grateful.

He looked up, blue eyes dull and full of caution. It made you suck in a breath as he looked handsome far away, but up close he was stunning.

"Drink," you asked and he grunted in reply. Knocking the chair at his side back with your boot, you parked yourself right next to him throwing your slender legs up and crossing your ankles on the table top. Knocking your glass against his hard, you took a loud long guzzle. You sighed before gazing at him, waiting for the same.

"Not very ladylike are you," he asked simply.

You shrugged, "Not particularly. Can't afford to be in my line of work. Are you going to drink that or not? I paid for it and I won't let it go to waste."

He chuckled, though the mirth didn't make it to his eyes. He finally picked up the glass giving it a healthy swig.

"Good boy," you cooed and he glared.

"You buy drinks for men often?"

"Nope," you picked at your nails. "Even sad puppy dog eyed men get ignored by me. So you should feel very special. You tugged on my dried up heartstrings."

"They're not that dry then," he scoffed.

"Keep talking and that beer will disappear."

"Yeah," he took another drink. "Down my throat anyway."

You glared harder taking your feet off the table to lean in closer, "I may just shove that glass down your throat too while I'm at it."

He bared his teeth, "I'd like to see you try."

You shot upwards, snarling at him before quicker than a flash, he hooked his foot on your chair leg tugging it forward. The sturdy wood hit the back of your knees, crashing you back down into the seat. You sat stunned for a moment, unused to people gaining the upper hand on you.

"Simmer down I was joking," he rolled his eyes. "Whatever you do for a living sure did take your sense of humor."

"And here I thought the sad washed up sap no longer had one," you retorted quickly.

"I may be lost in thought but I can keep up with the best of them," his gaze darted back to you. "Just remember that."

A few tense moments passed by and the patrons that had watched the exchange between you both, started to relax. Even the owner had been tense as he didn't want his establishment wrecked by a fight between the two of you. With your glass empty, you stood to go get another one, when his hand wrapped around your wrist. Pouring the rest of the liquid that remained in his glass into yours. You sat there stunned at the kindness.

"I've had enough," he shrugged.

Your finger circled around the smudged rim as you now didn't know how to act around him. Many people didn't treat you nicely and if they did they always wanted something or take advantage of you.

"Got a name," you finally asked the curiosity not leaving you alone.

"No."

"Where you from?"

"Don't know."

"Well you're just a well of knowledge. Good chat," you rolled your eyes. "Guess I'll just call you bigmouth."

"Please. Don't."

"What," you grinned deviously, "do you prefer idiot? Maybe moron? Boring?"

"I get it," he waved a large hand.

You pouted thinking that would have gotten a rise out of him.

"Just call me Vic," he replied confused where he pulled that name from his mind.

"I think I rather call you bigmouth," you stated.

"Don't care."

Crossing your arms while slumping in the seat, you were starting to get annoyed for the lack of progress. The longer you spoke to Vic, the more your curiosity grew instead of shrinking.

"Soooo wanna share why you got such a long face over here," you asked.

"I rather not," he seemed to shrink further into his shell.

"Fine. I'll tell you something about myself first and then you have to at least give me something."

Vic shook his head but waved for you to continue. He remained quiet letting you have a moment of victory as you wouldn't let up until you got some bit of information from him.

"I'm a bounty hunter," you showed him the badge that normally hung between your breasts under your shirt. "Been all over this country and taken out many criminals. Been needing a break so I've been staying here."

Vic nodded, "I've been travelling myself. Taking out my own class of criminals with my team."

"Where is your team," you asked and immediately regretted it as he stiffened.

He looked away, emotion clogging up his throat a little bit, "They're dead. They were killed thanks to a barmaid who saved herself. I was the only one who survived."

That was one of the main reasons you refused to recruit on your missions. You didn't want to lose anyone and it was hard for you to get along with others very often."

"Sorry to hear that."

He shrugged again, "So I rather travel alone. It hurts less."

"That's the main reason I travel alone. Nobody to mourn and if I get turned into bird food. Then nobody is around to mourn me either."

"That's a sad existence," he replied.

"You chose the same existence as me," you pointed out, laughing into your mug.

He chuckled and this time the amusement made it's way to his eyes, "I guess I did. But it doesn't mean I don't make friends along the way."

"Are you calling me a friend there Vic?"

"We're drinking together aren't we," he pointed to the two mugs.

"I think I'm doing the majority of the drinking here," you said matter-of-factly.

Without another word Vic gave the owner the sign for two more drinks. He nodded getting to work filling two more glasses.

"My hero," you cooed kissing his cheek quickly. Vic sat there stunned for a few moments. You grinned smugly as you felt like you got some revenge for the seat ordeal he just pulled moments ago. Despite never trusting easily, you found yourself comfortable around Vic. He still had so many things left to uncover and you knew as soon as your time was up in town, you both would go your separate ways. But for this night and the last moments you and him would enjoy each other's company. Vic watched you closely and despite telling himself not to get close, he couldn't keep that promise to himself. You were too fascinating to him and he felt himself falling. Needing to know more, needing to get closer. He knew that it would end and that would be that, but for these quiet and blissful moments he would allow himself a chance to enjoy something good and fun. Until he was finally able to find his purpose or he found the death he craved. He hoped to find more people like you through his long journey, but this was your chance and you both wouldn't squander it.

[freddiegene]

Strong female leads and a bit of Russian history on Natasha Romanoff’s TBR pile 📚

Books recommended:

Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas

Circe by Madeline Miller

A Countess below Stairs by Eva Ibboston

Notes of a Russian Sniper by Vassili Zaitsev

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

[primordialsoundmeditation]

“When you're sad, my Little Star, go out of doors. It's always better underneath the open sky.”

― Eva Ibbotson

(Book: A Countess Below Stairs https://amzn.to/47N0RKZ)

[Art: Starry Night by Alex Ruiz]

#ad #motivation #literature #englishliterature #booklovers

English Literature

[jamietukpahwriting]

It begins slowly, this well-loved, well-remembered waltz. The prelude is gentle, the phrases soft and pleading, the dancers have time to smile in each other’s arms, to catch their breath. But not for long. Soon the familiar phrases try out their plumes, begin to preen, to gather themselves up until reality is swept away in an intoxicating, irresistible swirl of sound.   To this waltz, born in a distant, snowbound country out of longing for just such a flower-scented summer night as this, Rupert and Anna danced. They were under no illusions. The glittering chandeliers, the gold mirrors with their draped acanthus leaves, the plangent violins, might be the stuff of romance but this was no romance. It was a moment in a lifeboat before it sank beneath the waves; a walk across the sunlit courtyard toward the firing squad. This waltz was all they had. So they danced and neither of them spoke. As the music began and his arms closed around her, he had felt her shiver. Then the melody caught her and she moved with him, so light, so completely one with him that he could guide her with a finger. Yet as he held her he had no thought of thistledown or snowflake. Here, beneath his hands, was tempered steel, was flame… He checked, reversed, and she followed him perfectly. It seemed to him that she could fold her very bones to lie against his own. And tightening his arms, drinking in the smell of green soap, of cleanliness personified, which emanated from this changeling countess, he allowed his mind, soaring with the music, to encompass their imagined life together. He had not wanted Mersham—had returned to it reluctantly as to a burden he must face. In the few weeks she had been there, Anna had changed all this. Her feeling for his home was unerring, as inborn as perfect pitch in music. Bending to arrange a bowl of roses, standing rapt, with her feather duster, before the Titian in the morning room, bringing in the mare at daybreak, each time she seemed to be making him a gift of his inheritance. Like those dark Madonnas on the icons whose patient hands curve up toward their infants’ heads, Anna’s every gesture said: “Behold!” Anna, in his arms, was without thoughts, without dreams. Rupert had imagined her folding her bones to shape them against his. She had done more. She had folded her very soul, given it into his keeping—and danced.

—A Countess Below Stairs by Eva Ibbotson

[townsenddecades]

1308 – Day 4 – Praaven Castle

Robert has been Sir Silas’ page for a year now, and at this point, he has managed to settle in. He even likes some of the work and lessons. Even the fighting is more fun than he anticipated. Working on the farm has given him strength enough, if not exactly finesse.

Which does not mean that he doesn’t feel stupid when the men-at-arms shake their heads at his difficulty with reading and writing or lack of expertise in etiquette. Part of him wants to fail, just to spite them, but his mother is hoping for so much for him. He can’t bear to disappoint her.

One day, towards the end of the year, Sir Silas tells him that he will be accompanying him to meet the Lady of the castle. He stares at him in bewilderment.

“But you said it would be uncourteous to the Countess to take me there!”

“So I did, and so I believed. But Lady Petersmarch has asked me to take you along.”

“She wants to see me?”

Sir Silas lifts a brow. “Do I need to repeat myself, lad? Make yourself ready.”

And so he does, fear and confusion quickly turning into annoyance at the feelings. He has no desire to be belittled by some high-and-mighty noble lady, as he has been by so many of the servants who know, of course, that he is the bastard of their former employer. He follows Sir Silas up the tall stone stairs to the entrance of the castle and comes upon one of the loveliest women he has ever laid eyes on. He had seen the Countess before, but never this close.

She is dressed in a silk gown of darkest blue – blue and gold being the Dudley family’s colours – and a long veil that covers most of her strawberry-blond hair. Her big, amber eyes seek him out immediately, or at least that is his impression before he bows deeply, as Sir Silas has instructed him.

“My lady.”

“You may rise, young page. So, Sir Silas, this is the boy that's been serving you?”

“It is, my lady. Robert Townsend.”

“You do look remarkably alike to my late husband, Robert. But I’m sure enough people have told you that already. You come from one of the farms outside the city, is that so?”

He struggles to keep his composure but manages to nod. “Yes, my lady. We live near Tovar.”

“We?”

“My parents, my siblings and I.”

“Ah. Well, I hope you’ve settled in well. Now then, Sir Silas, about your report.”

Unbeknownst to the all of them, they are being watched. Three curious heads peak over the railing of an upstairs gallery, the high, echoing walls making it easy to catch what is being said below. Two of the children have the same red-gold hair as the Countess, while the eldest’s hair is pitch black.

Ralph Dudley Jr., eleventh Earl of Petersmarch, turns to his siblings and motions them to follow him into a nearby bedroom, so their conversation won’t be overheard.

“So that’s our brother”, Elizabeth says.

“He’s not our brother, stupid”, Clement interjects immediately. “He’s just father’s bastard.”

Elizabeth raises a brow, in a manner very similar to her mother. “I believe a sibling is customarily someone with whom one shares at least one parent, brother.”

“Yes, but bastards don’t count.”

Ralph clears his throat. “He is a bastard that is currently training to be a knight, though, so we can’t exactly ignore that he’s here. Although mother has done a good job of doing so in the past year. I wonder what’s changed.”

“Doesn’t Your Lordship have all the information he could ever want?”, Clement teases, but his elder brother only rolls his eyes.

“I’ll take the reins soon enough, you’ll see.”

“We should introduce herself, now that he’s here”, Elizabeth puts in, to end the quarrel before it can start. She doesn’t have time for her brothers’ useless squabbles. “I at least am curious to meet him. A peasant brother, can you imagine!”

“Yes, let’s”, Ralph agrees. “Who knows, maybe he’ll prove useful to have around.”

So down the stairs they go. They don’t sneak – Ralph doesn’t feel he has to sneak, he is the Earl and this is his castle, after all – and peer around the corner. Their mother and Sir Silas have moved on into the banquet room to have their discussion, but their half-brother is standing near the door, trying to be subtle in gawking at the rich interior. Ralph assumes he has never been in a place like this. He has grown up in some peasant hut, after all, and the guard hall is rather sparse.

“Pssst”, he hisses, and motions the boy over when that catches his attention. Robert looks towards the Countess and Sir Silas briefly, sees that they are deep in conversation, and sneaks over into the side room the three noble children retreat into.

And then they stare at each other, before the peasant boy bows stiffly.

“Lord Petersmarch, I presume?”

“You presume correctly”, Ralph answers, with just as much dignity. “And these are my sister Lady Elizabeth and my brother Clement.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you”, Elizabeth says kindly. Clement just nods, though more in greeting than to echo his sister’s sentiment. “We were so curious to meet you! It seemed strange to have another child of our father’s living so close yet never to interact with them.”

“We would have sooner, but our duties have kept us away”, Ralph, who doesn’t want to admit that he has bowed to his mother’s wishes on the matter, adds a little pompously. “But we couldn’t let the opportunity pass by now that you’re here.”

“Is it true that you grew up on a farm?”, Elizabeth asks immediately, not especially tactfully, but she is only nine years old.

Robert stiffens, but nods. “It is. I’ve lived there with my parents until Sir Silas kindly took me on as his page.”

“With you parents?”, Ralph asks, with his emphasise on the s.

“My mother and her husband. The man that raised me.”

Clement scoffs, but Elizabeth smiles kindly. “I’m sure it would be hard not to see your mother’s husband as a father. I’m sure it must be nice to…to still have one. I at least miss our father a lot.”

They talk some more, but it remains awkward, and gets more so when the Countess and Sir Silas walk into their hideout, having obviously noticed that Robert has gone missing. Both look disapproving, so Ralph quickly puffs out his chest and looks square at them.

“We were curious to talk to Sir Silas’ protegee, Mother, and it didn’t seem like he was involved in your conversation, so we didn’t think it would do any harm to steal him away.”

“Did you, now?” She studies all of them. “As an Earl you should know that it isn’t right to interrupt other peoples talks by ferreting away participants, Ralph. And any good page stays until he is dismissed.”

Robert swallows with an effort. “I beg your pardon, Lady Petersmarch, Sir Silas. I fear I wasn’t certain whether a summons from my liege overrides my duty to my knight.”

Sir Silas chuckles, and quickly hides it in a cough when the Countess shoots him a disapproving glance. She then turns to Robert. “A valid point, I confess. Still, stealing away is never a sign of a good conscience, is it?”

He just lowers his head at that, although, it must be said, mostly to hide his face.

“But it was interesting to get to know him, Mother”, Lady Elizabeth interjects.

“I’m sure it was, my dear. And I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities, seeing as he’ll stay on here for the time being.”

Robert doesn’t know whether to take this as an invitation or a challenge. 

Prev: 1308, Day 3 <--> Next: 1308, Day 4, Part 2

[libraryofaurelie]

library.

aurelie archives' biggest inspiration... not really.

Every day, I pass by my old elementary school.

Compared to the rest of my life, I’d only have been there for a blink of an eye. 

After an uneventful Halloween of watching little kids running around gathering candy,

I passed by that elementary school. 

At the core of it was its expansive library. Walking by it now, 

I notice that it’s not big at all.

It’s much smaller than the libraries 

You’d see in New York and such. 

But back then, it was perpetual and filled with wonder. 

Sunlight streamed in through the great windows as I descended the staircase. 

I wish I visited more. 

I’d read every book in that library if it meant staying there longer.

I’d never realized that I’d be yearning for it,

That short lived childlike wonder.

So I would spend all my days

In that small, massive library

No Shakespeare or Jane Austen

No murder or bloodshed

I’d read books about purple mirrors leading to fairy tales

Countesses below stairs and girls who drank the moon

I thought everyone in fifth grade was childish 

I thought I was mature and I was proud of that fact.

But deprived of that library,

I’d turn out to be the opposite.

Clinging onto something long gone,

Grasping for a minute in that blissful wonderland.

That library has cursed me,

For it settled my fate when I’d visited too late.

The unspent time buried in books when I was little

Ensured I’d be buried in books when I die.

-n

ironic, i can't seem to read much of anything recently.

© credits to library of aurelie, all rights reserved.

[rayless-reblogs]

20 Book Challenge

I saw this challenge on a post by @theresebelivett. The idea is you pick 20 of your books to take with you to a desert island, but you can only pick one book per author and series. Here are two further guidelines I set myself: They have to be books I actually own, as if I really am gathering them up under my arms and heading to the island; and I'm defining "book" as a single volume -- so if I just so happen to have 100 novellas squashed between two covers, it still counts as one book.

We'll go alphabetically by author.

Charlotte Bronte: Jane Eyre. An old standby, a classic, I can jump into it at any point.

Daphne du Maurier: Rebecca. Have only read it once, but loved it and I suspect I'll get more from it each time.

Clare B Dunkle: The Hollow Kingdom. If I can only take one book from this excellent and unusual goblin series that captivated me in the mid-2000s, it'd better be the first one.

William Goldman: The Princess Bride. This book had an outsize influence on my own writing. I can quote a lot of it, but I wouldn't want to be without it.

Shannon Hale: Book of a Thousand Days. I love the warmth and humility of its heroine Dashti. Plus, Shannon Hale very kindly wrote a personal response to a fan letter I sent her years and years ago, so her work always has a special place in my heart.

Georgette Heyer: Cotillion. I don't actually own my favorite Georgette novel, but the funny, awkward, and ultimately romantic Cotillion is definitely not a pitiful second-stringer.

Eva Ibbotson: A Countess Below Stairs. Countess was my introduction to Eva's adult romances, and she is the past master of warm, hardworking heroines who should really be annoying because they're way too good to be true, but somehow you just end up falling in love with them.

Norton Juster: The Phantom Tollbooth. I first read this when I was like eight, and even for an adult, its quirky humor and zingy wordplay hold up, no problem.

Gaston Leroux: The Phantom of the Opera. Can't leave without Erik, nope, the French potboiler has got to come. Perhaps I will spend my time on the island writing the inevitable crossover fanfic, The Phantom of the Tollbooth.

CS Lewis: Till We Have Faces. Faces is my current answer for what my favorite book is, so I'm taking that, though it feels criminal to leave The Silver Chair behind.

LM Montgomery: The Blue Castle. As much as I love Anne and Emily, it came down to Blue Castle and A Tangled Web, and I'm a sucker for Valancy's romantic journey.

E Nesbit: Five Children and It. Probably the most classic Edwardian children's fantasy, though still a hard choice to make. Nesbit is another author who had a huge influence on me as a writer.

Robert C O'Brien: Mrs Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. A childhood book I'm really sentimental about. I should re-read it.

Meredith Ann Pierce: The Darkangel. The first in the archaic lunar vampire trilogy. This will always be frustrating, only having the first in the series, but if I can only read the first, maybe I'll forget about how angry the third novel left me.

Sherwood Smith: Crown Duel. At one time, this swords-and-manners fantasy duet was one of my absolute favorite fandoms, and clever me has both books in one volume, so I don't have to choose.

Anne Elisabeth Stengl: Starflower. My favorite of the Tales of Goldstone Wood series. We'll have to test whether I can actually get sick of Eanrin.

JRR Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings. I've never actually read it through as an adult and, look at that, I have a three-in-one volume. Cheating!

Vivian Vande Velde: Spellbound. I've read much of VVV's YA fantasy and liked a lot of it, but none more so than The Conjurer Princess and its fast-paced tale of revenge. The Spellbound edition includes the prequel and a bonus short story, so I'm good to go.

PG Wodehouse: The World of Mr Mulliner. There are some hilarious novels I'm leaving behind here, including all the Bertie Wooster stuff. But there are some absurdly fun Mulliner stories and this edition is like three hundred pages. That'll keep me happy for a long while on my island.

Jack Zipes (editor): Spells of Enchantment. This is an enormous compilation of western fairy tales. I've owned it since 2004 or so, and I've still never finished it. Now, on my island, I'll no longer have the excuse.

Tagging anyone else who feels like doing this!

[beautifulscreaminglady]

this sultry Anna on a French cover for The Secret Countess makes me laugh