#deb grantham

[gravitasmalfunction]

'You will not mind a little risk, will you, Lucius?' 'Me sword's at your service, Deb!' 'Oh no! It has nothing to do with swords -- at least I do hope it has not! I just want you to kidnap Ravenscar for me.' He burst out laughing. 'Is that all? Whisht, it's a mere nothing! And what will I be doing with him when I've kidnapped him?' 'I want you to put him in the cellar,' said Miss Grantham remorselessly. 'What cellar?' enquired Kennet. 'This one, of course. It has a very stout lock on the door, and it is not at all damp -- not that that signifies, and in any event he will be tied up.'

Faro's Daughter, Georgette Heyer

[hello-delicious-tea]

Stealing from @nimblermortal

rules: choose 4 of your favourite characters from 4 pieces of media as options and let your tumblr pals decide which one most suits your vibe

As I was untagged, so I will not tag. I do want to see people’s favorite characters though! So you should do it if you’ve a mind to.

[poppaeasabina]

For the ask meme: to live and die amongst you all?

to live and die amongst you all is a fic in the Tilbury universe, in which @rain-sleet-snow and I add Temeraire Dragons to every Heyer novel we can.

This particular fic is a joint production. The beginning of one of my scenes, in which I do immense violence to the timeline of Faro's Daughter...

--

It was past dawn when the last of the revellers departed the gaming house in St-James Square, seen on their way by the uncompromising presence of Mr Wantage. One of the sluggardly few, whose presence had preserved them from concerns about the curfew, was Colonel Fabre, who took his leave of Miss Grantham with unhurried punctiliousness, raising her gloved hand to his lips.

“If you should require an escort this morning,” he said, keeping her hand trapped in his, “I am entirely at your service.”

“This morning?” said Miss Grantham, widening her dark eyes ingenuously, “Why, sir, this morning I have no intention of stirring from the house.”

“You will not attend the execution, though? And when the gentleman was such a close friend?”

“Sir,” said Deb, “He was no friend of mine, but of my father’s, and I am sorry that he should come to such an end, and more sorry that he should have taken advantage of my aunt’s hospitality to do so!”

[lothiriel84]

Cards on the Table (pt. 2)

A series of post-canon vignettes, each from a different character's point of view. [Part 2/2]

A Faro’s Daughter one-shot collection. Deborah Grantham/Max Ravenscar, with a side of Phoebe Laxton/Adrian Mablethorpe.  

[go back to part 1]

6. Lady Mablethorpe

Augusta Laxton surely was the most insufferable woman on earth, Lady Mablethorpe decided as her son finally bundled his affronted mother-in-law into her carriage. Not that she blamed Phoebe, of course – with a mother like that, anyone would sooner take to their bed than receive any visitors, and there was the poor girl’s condition to be considered. If there was one thing Lady Mablethorpe was not willing to tolerate, it was risking the health of her future grandchild – and prospective heir to Mablethorpe, as she cherished the hope – for the sake of such a selfish creature’s greediness and insensitivity.

“I thought she would never leave,” murmured Arabella at her side, heaving a not-precisely-ladylike sigh of relief. As she couldn’t help but agree on the sentiment, if not her niece’s manners, Lady Mablethorpe simply nodded her assent, and turned her attention to her cup of tea.

“I for one am glad to see Adrian standing up for his wife,” Deborah Ravenscar declared, not unreasonably, and if her ladyship hadn’t heard it with her own ears, she would have called anyone a fool who dared to suggest that her nephew was in fact capable of anything as undignified as a snigger. Marriage was doing Max a world of good, she had to admit, and for all that she still congratulated herself on being spared such a dubious connection, she privately had to acknowledge that, gaming house or not, Lady Bellingham’s niece displayed more respectability and sense than many a duke’s daughter.

“I’m terribly sorry you had to bear witness to such a scene,” Adrian apologised presently, and all but collapsed into the nearest chair. “Lady Laxton is – well, you’ve seen. Truth be told, we’re planning to remove to Mablethorpe as soon as Phoebe is well enough to face the trip.”

“I agree that is probably the wisest course of action,” Max considered thoughtfully, relieving his wife of her empty teacup. The new Mrs Ravenscar offered him a quick, warm smile for his troubles, and let him fuss with her shawl with a look of barely concealed amusement.

“Adrian, dear, do you think Phoebe would be willing to receive me, if only for a few moments? I would very much like to offer her my congratulations in person.”

“Oh, I’m sure she won’t mind seeing you, Deb,” was the prompt reply. “She’s ever so fond of you, and with good reason, as you well know.”

If her ladyship had to suppress a wince at this overly familiar form of address between the pair, she was too well-bred to let it show. And as her nephew appeared more than willing to tolerate such liberties from both parties, it was hardly her place to intervene.

“Give our cousin my love,” Arabella prompted sweetly, even as Max stood offering his arm and escorted his wife out of the room in a most attentive manner. Well, this is beyond everything, she thought to herself, and it took her a full minute to finally register the peculiar way her niece-in-law’s dress – sporting a much more conservative cut than she was normally wont to wear – hugged her figure.

“Max, you impossible creature!” she gasped as her nephew resumed his previous place on the settee. “Are you to tell us we ought to congratulate you as well?”

Had the sudden smile gracing his customarily severe countenance not been indication enough, the air of contrived innocence assumed by her niece would have been her answer. It was plain that Arabella was in on her brother’s secret, just as Adrian had been kept in the dark until that very moment.

“You mean – oh Max, and you never said anything! When are we to expect...?”

“Late summer, we believe.”

As her ladyship’s grandchild wasn’t due until early autumn, she was forced to hold back an irrational twinge of resentment – which promptly turned into a gleam of excitement as the full possibilities started to dawn upon her. So absorbed was she in the contemplation of a much desirable closer alliance between their two families that she all but missed her son’s heartfelt congratulations, and was only brought back to the present day by the sardonic look in her nephew’s eye.

“I fear it is incumbent upon me to warn you, ma’am, that I am determined to see any son or daughter of mine married out of choice rather than duty, or any relation’s wishes.”

“Don’t be absurd, Max,” she chided him, deeply irritated that her secret hopes should be so openly addressed, and just as callously dismissed.

“No child of mine will be induced into matrimony by anything but the deepest of loves,” Adrian declared with an air of affronted dignity, eliciting a startled giggle from his young cousin – who was well enough informed of the circumstances accompanying the sudden transferral of his affections from one lady to another, her aunt reflected gloomily.

Still, Lady Mablethorpe consoled herself reflecting that nothing prevented one of her future grandchildren from falling in love with one among her nephew’s offspring, and she would be there to help things along if she had any say in the matter.

7. Christopher Grantham

“Mr Grantham, what a pleasant surprise! Have you come to visit your sister?”

The gentleman in question shut his eyes briefly, and valiantly set out to ignore the small pang of longing in his chest. Arabella Ravenscar was as lovely a vision as ever in her walking dress and bonnet, and he was faced with the sudden impulse to run up the stairs and gather her in his arms. Only the painful memories of the lady’s inconstancy in her affections stopped him from acting on such an impulse, and he remembered himself in time to bow deeply as she passed him by.

“Indeed I am, Miss Ravenscar,” he replied politely, quickly averting his gaze. “Permit me to wish you a very good day.”

When he was finally admitted to his sister’s presence, Kit Grantham was still so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t immediately notice the hustle and bustle of servants, as if they were in the middle of packing their mistress’ belongings for an imminent journey.

“Are you going out of town?” he ventured to enquire at length, and was met with a tinkle of laughter from his dearest sister.

“I’m sure I explained it all to you in my last letter, Kit,” she shook her head, apparently amused. “Max and I agreed that Chamfreys would be a great deal more comfortable for my confinement.”

That finally prompted his gaze to drop to her stomach, and he couldn’t refrain from widening his eyes at the sight he was met with. His sister was – huge, there were no two ways about it, and for the first time in his life he actually stopped to consider such an uncomfortable topic as childbearing, and how it might affect any and all females of his acquaintance.

“And are you – I mean to say, is everything – oh, don’t make me say it, Deb, I beg of you.”

His sister took pity on him, and offered him a sympathetic smile. “We are both as well as can be expected, and I’m positive your nephew or niece is eager to meet you, when the time comes.”

“I’m sure I have no idea how ladies are so willing to put themselves through any of this,” he blurted out, immediately blushing at his own forwardness. “Oh, forget I said anything, I’m all out of sorts this morning.”

Deb considered him for a long moment. “Did you by any chance happen to run into my dear sister as she was preparing to go out for her walk in the park?”

He let out a rueful sigh, twisting his gloves in his hands. “I was so sure of her, Deb, I still cannot conceive how she had it in herself to deceive me so.”

“Oh, Kit, I know for a fact she didn’t mean to, but she’s so very young, and more than a little spoilt besides. I hope with time to have more of a good influence on her, and I’m so very sorry you had to suffer because of this – but let me be blunt and assure you that the two of you would not have suited in the slightest, and it is much wiser to take the time to get better acquainted with your prospective partner for life before setting your heart irrevocably on them.”

Kit Grantham turned a mildly reproachful gaze on his elder sister. “Deb, by your own admission you and Ravenscar had only been acquainted for two weeks before he proposed, and you weren’t even in town for one of those same weeks.”

Deborah laughed. “That’s true, but I would hardly call ours an ordinary courtship, and you said yourself that we must have been both out of our senses to even consider marriage after I had him locked in our cellar.”

“Utterly and completely mad,” he nodded with conviction, though deep down he was quite in awe of how noticeably happy his sister had been since becoming Mrs Ravenscar. Perhaps there was still hope for him after his disappointment, after all.

Once he’d kissed his sister goodbye and presented her with his most sincere wishes for a smooth confinement, he left the house in Grosvenor Square with a spring in his step, and the first glimmer of hope that he might, one day, procure the same kind of happiness for himself.

8. Miss Ravenscar

“Arabella, my dear, how can you forget your manners so?” her mother complained weakly after her as she rushed up the stairs, and all but barged into her brother’s study unannounced.

“Good day to you, Belle,” Max greeted her with intolerable composure, gathering the documents spread in front of him into a neat pile. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

“Max, how could you be so unbearably reticent in that note of yours? You must tell me everything, at once!”

“Why, I thought I had been perfectly clear,” he demurred, yet she could clearly see the corners of his lips trembling into the beginnings of a smile. “Both mother and child are perfectly well, and they are currently resting – or at least, they were doing so when I left them, not half an hour ago.”

“Max!” she glared at him in frustration. “Am I the aunt to a little boy, or a girl?”

“Always so impatient,” he shook his head, and stood up. “You are aware, I’m sure, that the proper thing for us to do is to go downstairs, and share the announcement with your affectionate mother.”

“You know very well you don’t care a fig for propriety, and as for Mama, I’m positive she will survive. It’s not as if she’s the child’s grandmother – not really, anyway.”

“And thank heavens for that,” she heard him murmur under his breath, and gave him a hard pinch in retaliation. “Now, if you think you can behave yourself for longer than two minutes at a time, it would be my pleasure to introduce you to the new addition to our family party.”

Mollified by the prospect, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and offered him a most demure smile. “I will be on my best behaviour, I promise.”

In short order, she was introduced into her sister-in-law’s bedchamber, greeted her with a kiss on her exceptionally pale cheek, and couldn’t refrain from taking hold of both of her hands and questioning her at length about her ordeal.

“Do not fret yourself so, my dear,” Deborah reassured her warmly, patting her on the arm. “It is not so very bad, and you will see for yourself how the blessing that comes of is well worth the pain.”

Arabella cast an extremely dubious glance at her pallid complexion and the look of utter exhaustion about her countenance. Still, Deborah’s eyes were sparkling with barely restrained joy, and she could hardly miss the brightness of her smile when the nurse strode in with her charge in her arms.

“My dearest sister, I would like you to meet your new nephew, Adrian,” Max announced, with no small amount of pride in his voice. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the delicate features of the sleeping infant’s face, his miniature hands curled in small fists around a corner of his blanket.

“He’s so tiny,” she breathed out in wonderment, extending a finger to trace the contours of one diminutive fist. “Did you say his name is – Adrian? Does our cousin know?”

“Not at present, though it will be our pleasure to inform him as soon as he visits, like he promised,” her brother smiled, his eyes searching for Deborah’s. “He is after all the reason why we met in the first place, and I cannot think of a better way to honour his – most unwitting – role in bringing us together.”

“Oh, but you must prepare yourselves, Mama will be most disappointed that you didn’t choose our late father’s name for the child,” Arabella said ruefully. “I wish I could talk her out of it, I really do, but you know her, Max.”

“I do,” Max nodded with a great deal of forbearance, and took hold of his infant son with such an air of practiced ease that had his sister most surprised. “Now, we shall go downstairs and introduce the little one to Olivia, thus sparing my darling wife the trial of being faced with my stepmother’s complaints until she’s well on her way to recovery.”

“That’s most considerate of you, dear husband,” Deborah laughed, her gaze lingering on the child with such undisguised tenderness that Arabella found herself wondering what it would be like, one day, to hold her own son or daughter in her arms.

9. Phoebe Mablethorpe (née Laxton)

Young Lady Mablethorpe quietly studied her husband as he leaned over the bassinet with an expression of pure rapture on his handsome face. He looked ever so pleased with their newborn daughter, and yet, she couldn’t seem to put her mother’s rather uncomplimentary speech out of her mind.

“Oh, Adrian,” she whispered timidly, walking up to his side. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do my duty and provide you with an heir. I promise it will be a son next time.”

The sudden, horrified look on her husband’s face gave her pause, and she didn’t even think to resist when he gathered her in his arms quite abruptly.

“Phoebe, how can you speak so! I find I have no words to express how much I love our little Deb, and I wouldn’t want to trade her for anything in the world, do you hear me?”

“I do,” she nodded meekly, hiding her face into his waistcoat. “It’s just, Mama says that – ”

His arms tightened around her, and she felt him press a fierce kiss on top of her head. “Dearest, I hate to speak ill of your mother, you know I do, but the truth is, you ought not listen to a word she says when it comes to such matters.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologised at once, nestling further into his embrace. “And I do love our daughter so, I hate to think she will be looked down by our families until I can bear you a son.”

Adrian chuckled, and placed a gentle finger under her chin. “Well, my mother for one is positively delighted with her granddaughter, if only because she’s already forming some serious designs for her to marry into the Ravenscar fortune. And you know how pleased our cousins are that we named her after Deborah.”

“I will never allow my daughter to be forced into matrimony against her will,” Phoebe declared with unshakable conviction, all but suppressing a shudder at the horrific memories of her parents explaining in no uncertain terms how it was her precise duty to accept, and even encourage, Sir James Filey’s suit. “Oh, Adrian, I don’t know what would have become of me, if you and Deborah hadn’t come to my rescue at Vauxhall Gardens.”

Her husband kissed her very tenderly, his fingers coming to rest at her cheek. “You don’t need to worry about that anymore. And I thank my lucky star that I found the most delightful companion for my life that night.”

Her heart swelling with joy, she found she had no room left to tie herself in knots over the past. And if their daughter chose to break the moment by making her presence known quite forcefully, that was surely her prerogative; as a new mother, she found she could hardly begrudge her child anything, let alone this.

10. Lucius Kennet

Strolling into the house in Berkley Square after an urgent summoning from Lady Bellingham, Mr Kennet was more than a little surprised to be welcomed by her ladyship rather than one of the servants.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Lucius,” Lady Bellingham proclaimed in a most agitated manner, clutching at her vinaigrette. “My poor nerves are in such a state, I swear I don’t know what to do with myself. Oh, to think that I should live to see the day – but I daresay I won’t, I can feel my spasms coming already.”

“Calm yourself, ma’am,” he urged her, not particularly moved by such a declaration. “And start from the beginning, if you please.”

“Foolish, headstrong girl! She says she shall never see him again, and he’s such a proud creature he will undoubtedly divorce her – we shall all be ruined, and there’s that poor child to be considered, it doesn’t even bear thinking!”

“I’m willing to bet any sum of your choosing that it won’t come to that, ma’am,” he replied with a considerable deal of amusement, earning a reproachful look from the respectable matron.

“I wish you would take this seriously, Lucius. You know very well how Deb is – she refuses to be reasoned with, and now she’s locked herself in one of the rooms upstairs, and she declares she won’t leave even if her husband comes here on his knees all the way from Grosvenor Square and begs for her forgiveness.”

Mr Kennet looked out of the window just in time to spot a carriage bearing the Ravenscar crest stopping in front of the house, and grinned in anticipation of a most diverting scene. “As to that, we shall have to wait and see,” he winked at her ladyship, and went to answer the door himself.

Ravenscar looked momentarily startled at his presence, but was quick to regain his composure, and barely deigned him with a contemptuous glance as he pushed past him and went straight for Lady Bellingham.

“I need to see my wife most urgently, ma’am,” the man gritted out between his teeth, his hat half crushed in his grip. “I beg you to give me leave to seek her out for myself.”

“And what makes you believe she’s here, hmm?” Lucius drawled from the entrance, his arms crossed in open defiance of Ravenscar’s wishes. If he knew his gentleman, he had more than half an idea of where all this was going, and he was determined to have his fun in the meantime.

“I would advise you to stay out of this, Kennet, or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Gentlemen, if you please,” cried out Lady Bellingham, reaching with trembling fingers for her smelling salts. “My niece is indeed upstairs, Sir, and I would lead you to her myself if I thought that would answer. I’m afraid nothing will serve while she’s in one of her tantrums, and I do declare she will be the death of me one day, but what can one do?”

As her ladyship looked perilously close to drop in a dead faint, Mr Kennet stepped forward to help her to the nearest chaise. The two gentlemen exchanged a tense look across the room, until Lucius eventually relented and nodded in the direction of the stairs.

“I’ll take care of the lady, you go upstairs and set our darling Deb to rights,” he smirked, feeling quite sure that, had Ravenscar not had way more pressing matters to attend, he would have happily knocked half the teeth out of his mouth.

It was nigh on half an hour later when Lady Bellingham came back fully to her senses, helped along by a glass of good Burgundy, and promptly resumed her gloomy predictions about the future.

“Think of the scandal, Lucius! I dismissed the servants as soon as I figured what Deb was up to, but I fear by then it was too late. And it can’t be helped anyway, if they’re set to have a breach, which looks more and more inevitable, and – oh, Lucius, they’re fully capable of murdering one another when they’re both in a rage, and where will that leave us?”

“If you have a little more patience, ma’am, you will see for yourself how everything will turn out for the best,” he hastened to reassure her, and indeed, he was soon proven right by the abrupt reappearance of Mr and Mrs Ravenscar, both of them looking oddly flushed, and more than a little sheepish besides.

“Not one word,” Deborah warned him as he took in their rumpled appearances, from his hastily rearranged cravat to the way her curls tumbled freely around her shoulders.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grinned, and poured himself a glass of wine. “I shall drink to your future happiness, my darling.”

Deborah blushed most endearingly, and turned her attention to the afflicted matron. “Dearest Aunt Lizzie, we’re very sorry for causing you such an unreasonable amount of trouble. With your permission, we shall be on our way presently.”

“Oh, go away, you impossible creature,” her aunt waved her off feebly. “Both of you.”

Ravenscar looked as embarrassed as he ever was, which was in itself most diverting. “My apologies, ma’am,” he bowed, somewhat uncomfortably, and offered his arm to his wife.

“Faith, if young Master Adrian doesn’t get a new playfellow within the next twelvemonth, then I’m not Lucius Kennet,” he laughed under his breath, and tossed off his wine.

[lackadaisycal-art]

New Year's Eve redraw! The original is about 2 years old

[the-knights-who-say-book]

REVIEW: Faro’s Daughter by Georgette Heyer

Rating: ★★★★★

Blurb: Deborah Grantham, a gambler's daughter, uses her beauty and cleverness to keep her aunt’s gaming club in business. With the club on the brink of financial ruin, Deb desperately needs to find a way to restore herself and her aunt to respectability. But she detests both her marriage prospects: an old, rich lord whose immoral reputation disgusts her, or the young, puppyish, noble Adrian Mablethorpe.

Max Ravenscar, vastly wealthy, clever, and imperturbable, has no intention of letting his young cousin Adrian squander his prospects by marrying a gambling-club wench. But to Ravenscar's surprise, Deb turns out to be remarkably handsome, witty, and—he can scarcely believe it—well-bred. Disarmed, he expects her to be reasonable and accept the bribe he offers to give up her young suitor.

But Deb is far more stubborn that he anticipated. Though she never intended to marry Adrian in the first place, being bought off is an insult so scathing it leads to a volley of passionate reprisals, escalating between them to a level of flair and fury that can only have one conclusion. Have they finally met their matches?

Review: “Two idiots love fighting each other so much that they might just have to get married about it” continues to be the best genre. People who know what they're talking about would probably say this isn't really like Pride and Prejudice at all, and they're probably be right, but I, a dumbass, will tell you that this has big Pride and Prejudice vibes.

The entire premise of the book is so good. Forget accidental miscommunication for drama, let's all focus on PURPOSEFUL miscommunication for drama in 2020! The fact that Deb is so stubborn that she lets Ravenscar continue believing things she could clear up in two seconds flat just because she hates him that much is just so relatable and lovable, while everyone around her is just going "Deb why. This is literally making your life harder why don't you just clear up the misunderstanding." and Deb's like “RAVENSCAR. MUST. SUFFER.” meanwhile Ravenscar, bless his heart, despite being extremely smart, manages to misunderstand even more things that Deb refuses to clear up. FANTASTIC.

And lest you think Deb is the only stubborn one in this power couple, Ravenscar is straight up so contrary that he yells at a man for trying to help him escape a kidnapping. ALSO FANTASTIC.

In conclusion: historical fiction of straight couples might be valid, actually.

[garamonder]

Changing of the Seasons - Part 2 (Downton Abbey)

Before the London Season begins, there are things to consider.

Featuring Sybil and Tom. Set after 1.06, prior to Sybil’s London Season. Written as a companion piece to a previous story.

“Are you nervous, then?” Branson asked, glancing up from the front of the Renault. The day was young still, yet there seemed a thousand little tasks to do preparatory to embarking for London for the Season. The Yorkshire countryside ambled past as they sped into town for Sybil to pick up the writing paper which Mama had ordered from Paris.

“I am,” Sybil admitted. “What if I accidentally turn my back on the Queen?”

“S'pose they'll have to behead you,” said Branson.

Sybil grimaced at him from the backseat. “Granny might prefer that to humiliation of the Crawley name.”

“D'you actually have to talk to them?”

Sybil shook her head. “Edith says there's not time. I curtsey at each royal and go. It happens in a flash, they won't remember me apart from the other hundreds of debutantes. Not unless we meet at a ball later in the Season.”

“Takes the pressure off then, doesn't it? If you make a mistake they won't remember you anyway.”

“They might remember the mistake.”

“Then make one, so they'll remember you.”

Sybil could not completely hide a smile. “You're impossible.”

Looking out at the familiar Yorkshire roads, which would soon be replaced by city streets and old mansions, she asked him: “Have you studied your map?”

“Are you afraid I'll get lost on the way to the palace, or hoping so?”

Sybil laughed. “I want Papa to be glad he brought you.”

In the aftermath of the count at Ripon, Lord Grantham had seriously considered whether to take Branson along to act as chauffeur in London or leave him behind in Yorkshire. London was regarded as a reward for service and it had taken his daughter's spirited entreaties on Branson's behalf, and several  promises of good behavior, before Robert had conceded. It helped that Branson was a more qualified mechanic than any chauffeur the lord could hire on short notice. The threat of a decommissioned motor, and of embarrassing reliance on the kindness of neighbors, reigned supreme above the other arguments.

So while the Crawleys made a detour to Paris to make an appearance at Worth's Branson would go ahead to London, taking advantage of their absence to familiarize himself with the streets.

“I know a cabbie in London,” said Branson. “Not only have I studied my map, I've studied his. You'll be first to the anterooms at Buckingham Palace.”

Mary and Edith had both regaled their younger sister with horrific accounts of the interminable logjam which all but the earliest of debutantes endured on their way to be presented to the king and queen. It was nigh on five hours of sitting in the back of an automobile, praying for the mercy of London weather upon the long succession of cars while crowds of onlookers angled for close looks at the new debs. Some went so far as to stand upon the car's ledges to get a proper gander inside. Sybil had wondered aloud how Branson would respond to that and he'd answered with typical cheek: “Irishly.”

Poor Edith, whose fortunes never seemed to vary, had suffered an early London heat wave in her layers of finery for four-and-a-half hours while Taylor glared ineffectually at onlookers peering in at the debutante and her sponsor. Even Mary had had such a vexing time of it that by the time she reached the photographer's at last that evening, following the presentation, her patience was so taxed that rendered in her gorgeous gown she'd appeared an ice queen of legend.

“That will be a relief,” said Sybil earnestly. “The ostrich feathers will be drooping enough by midnight without sitting in the car for hours on end.”

“Have your frock sorted?”

“Gown,” Sybil corrected, half-laughing, “and very nearly. Worth's sent sketches, I just need to choose what I like. Mama narrowed down the choices but said I may have the final pick.” She drew the portfolio of sketches out now, almost musingly, to consider them as she had been doing over the last several days.

Branson pulled to a stop and braked before the stationery shop. “No trousers in the running this time?”

Sybil grinned. “No, but for the care Mama and Granny are taking you'd think they believe me likely to try.”

The trousers seemed such a small rebellion now, but she was still fond of that frock and had mounted a joking campaign to start a new trend for ladies' trousers during the Season. Granny had taken her entirely too seriously and subsequently made her opinion known when ordering the entirety of Sybil's wardrobe.

When it was only the two of them, Sybil never waited for Branson to open the door for her when exiting. He didn't seem to mind. Before climbing out, Sybil wordlessly handed him the drawings sent from Paris. It didn't occur to her how strange it might appear to a casual peer, handing Parisian dress sketches to her chauffeur for his opinion.

Branson took the portfolio and flipped through the pages. “Just the first few are the options for the presentation,” Sybil said, feeling oddly anxious as he looked them over. “The others are for the wardrobe the rest of the Season.”

His expression was carefully neutral as he examined the choices. Had it been thoughtless to solicit his opinion? What did he care about balls and debutantes?

Then: “Well, you know which one I like,” he said with a slightly crooked smile.

“Really? Which one?”

“Which do you like?” he pressed.

In truth, though they were all quite different, they were starting to look somewhat the same to Sybil, after studying them so much. “I like the striped circus elephant costume with the ten-foot nose.”

“And you think the royals won't remember you.”

“The green one, I suppose,” Sybil sighed.

“I'd call it emerald,” said Branson as he handed the portfolio book back, “but that's my favorite too, if I'm any Irishman at all.”

Emerald. Sybil flipped the portfolio again to consider the drawing with fresh eyes. Granny had been advocating for the blush pink, which was the most fashionable color in London that year, and reason enough for Sybil to consider choosing something else. The green—emerald, rather—was pretty, and her mother would be pleased to think Sybil would stand out (as much as was proper.) Now that there was at least some personal connection to attach, the dress seemed elevated above its peers.

“What's your favorite color, milady?” asked Branson, glancing back at her. “You could request that.”

Her favorite color was the dimming of the sky before sunset, but she wasn't sure how to ask for it. “Is there such a color as gloaming?”

For some reason this made him smile at her, a slow kind of smile that made her cheeks heat up unaccountably. Feeling suddenly awkward, she laid the portfolio on the seat and left the car, looking back with an embarrassed little smile as Branson exited the Renault to wait for her return.

Later that night, once Sybil had retrieved her writing paper and returned home to change, Mama asked over the gentle clink of china at supper: “Did you give any thought to your presentation gown, darling?”

“The emerald one, I think,” she said. Her mother looked pleased.

. .

.

written in a fit of nostalgia! Anyone here still? lol.

[thephantomcasebook]

Emancipation - Part II (Spring 1938)

Part I

By a week of unrelenting attention, Sybbie couldn’t take it anymore. How could Mama be so disappointing? How could anyone think this was what she wanted out of life? To talk non-stop of dresses, to hear what Mrs. Tiddy-Winkle across the ballroom did with Mr. So-and-so when Mr. Tiddy-Winkle went to visit his niece in her changing room. Or what Consuelo Vanderbilt’s granddaughter was wearing and how she didn’t carry the same prestige as her grandmamma, or how Sybbie just did it so much better than any other American Heiress’s granddaughters. With all her soul she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, “Who the hell cares?!” to the whole party. She liked fashion, she liked looking pretty, she loved shopping with her aunts. But she couldn’t imagine her life becoming this, living life like her Granny or Mama. If there was anything that she had learned from the times chasing George across America and hearing him talk, she knew what was out there.

 It was adventure, mystery, and life. There was such life out there, beyond the ball and tea rooms. The world wasn’t Downton. There was more, such grand promise out there. It was something that no one seemed to understand in her life, no one but George who had lived through the many great truths that everyone else in her life didn’t even know had questions.

And by the Easter season of her eighteenth birthday Sybbie wanted so much more. She didn’t want to be a sleek and cold fashionesta like her mama. To write about fantasy worlds of a young heroine like her Aunt Edith. Or live for garden, house, and society parties like her Aunt Rose. She didn’t even want to be some feminist trailblazer like her mother. No, Sybbie simply wanted to see what was out there, to look upon something with her own eyes and know there was more to life than what these people considered it to be. To stand on the brink of danger, to see the sunset over some provincial coastline and see it rise over the desolation of a deep and ancient desert. She wanted to take and earn which could not be given by a loving family in a fairy tale castle. She wanted something of her own, her own experiences out in the world.

On the day of the presentations, on the day of the girl’s ball, it was really the only day of peace. Every other society hack in the city had gone back to their homes to get dressed and settled for the ball tonight. While in the Crawley London house it was an emotional affair. Lady Grantham couldn’t stop kissing Sybbie, hugging her, holding her hand. When she walked out in her white gown, Cora cried, saying that her baby was just too beautiful for words. Lady Grantham had presented every one of her daughters. And now, Sybbie would be last of her children. Edith had Marigold out of wedlock, and her father was not a Lord. Rose would someday present Rachel. There were no other Ladies left in the Crawley family to be presented. But Mary, even as the ice queen of British Society, looked emotional upon saying that the Crawley’s had saved their best for last.

When Lady Grantham, in her blue gown, presented her Granddaughter to the King, Robert never looked prouder. 

The King stammered about the jockeying that was the talk of London of “wedding such a pretty thing.” And that surely old Robert would be up to his neck in negotiations for her hand. He then bantered playfully with Lady Grantham of if she’d be able to wrangle him an invite to “The Deb Ball of the Century” that would be happening tonight at the Crawley London house. To this, Sybbie smirked a smirk that made her grandparents uneasy. Her reply to the King was that he wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.

At the gathering afterward, Robert hugged and kissed his girl, not caring who saw him. Both proud grandparents took a picture with her. But both knew their girl long enough, and had known her mother even longer, to know that look in her eye. There was something suspicious about the way the girl, who had been dragging her feet all week, was now the model Lady to all the Courtiers that gathered around her. Lady Gosford, begrudgingly, complimented that the beauty could’ve passed for the perfect princess that afternoon. It only made Robert and Cora uneasy, because …

They knew Sybbie Branson was anything but a princess.

That night, the Crawley family prepared themselves for the avalanche of guests. Not since Lady Mary’s ball had the Grantham’s had the hottest ticket in town. Mary and Anna helped Sybbie get ready, and the girl was positively glowing in her evening gown. They had never seen a more beautiful sight and together with Marigold they’d part a crowd like the Red Sea. It would be unfair to all the boys who’d see them descend those stairs, fore they wouldn’t even know what to do with themselves in sight of such female perfection.

The debutante ball was in full swing, filled with the most fashionable people, a Lady Mary approved guest list. The King, Queen, the Princesses, and all their retinue came to see the sport, the hunt for Lady Sybil Branson’s hand. The food was perfect, the champagne the right balance of bubbly, and the conversation stimulating. It might have been Lady Grantham’s finest hour as a hostess. But then the music started and the young men lined up to scratch their name on Sybbie’s dance card …

But only the card showed up.

There was no panic, no shock, and no scramble. There were just eyes squeezed shut in feelings of stupidity from Lord and Lady Grantham, as well as Lady Mary. They didn’t flinch when Anna and Marigold came downstairs and privately informed all of the family in the kitchen that Ms. Sybbie had fled into the night with her gown, pearls, jewels, and a suitcase filled with her things. Tom found that the tickets to the French Riviera that Mary and he had gotten for her where gone too. On what was supposed to be the most important night of any debutante’s life was the night the genius engineer, fled for adventure in the great wide somewhere. In the process she had humiliated the House of Grantham, most of London Society, and a King of England who had reserved the right for the first dance.

For a month the angry family had hatched plans to find the girl and drag her back. Tom and Mary would go to Marseille and give the girl a good talking too. But Tom wasn’t wholly keen on punishing his daughter, or even disciplining her. He had no leg to stand on when he was going to dump slop on top of a British General’s head as a young man, and her mother had ran off with the family’s chauffeur. As the weeks past they all worried, till Edith pointed out that Sybbie, like her mother, was someone who threatened to run away all the time. But they all knew what Sybbie’s equivalent to running away actually was. Edith would stake her life on a letter confirming what they already knew. And it was no surprise to those who knew and loved Sybbie best when a crumbled, sun stained, and sandy note arrived for Lady Grantham with one sentence.

She’s With Me.

-George

Full Story Here

[judieasley57]

The Dashing Debutante

Alissa Baxter

Belgrave House, Sep 2010

270 pages, Kindle, paperback

Historical Romance (formulaic)

Purchased

✭✭✭✭

The cover is suitable for the formulaic historical romance inside. And the story is indeed formulaic. The gorgeous, bluestocking, diamond-of-the-first-water debutante (Alexandra) catches the handsome, self-proclaimed bachelor Duke (Robert, Duke of Stanford) by just being herself, of course. She gets along very well with his “on the wrong course to love” sister and saves her. She takes risks and he saves her multiple times, including with a sword duel.

Our characters are Alexandra Grantham, our gorgeous bluestocking deb who really wants nothing to do with marriage and Robert Beaumont, Earl of Chanderly and Duke of Stanford. Considered the leader of the ton and arbiter of all that’s done and not done in society. Lady Beauchamp is Alexandra’s grandmama. She’s very well thought of in high circles and is a close friend of Robert’s. She’s bringing Alexandra out this season, whether she wants to or not.

There’s Sir Jason Morecombe, a vile man who tries to poison everything for his personal amusement. And Lady Barrington, who just won’t give up on pursuing Robert and sees absolutely nothing in her way. Mrs. Hadley is a gossipmonger. Her sister is Sir Jason’s SIL. Mrs. Hadley has a daughter named Jane (plain Jane) who also wants Robert. She also has a step-daughter, Emily, whom she shuns. She’s a close friend of Alexandra’s.

Alexandra has a brother, John. He suffers from severe asthma but tries to ignore it. John finds himself in love with Emily and unwilling to leave the city for his health. Mr. Edward Ponsonby wants to marry Alexandra, but he wants her beauty and her fortune, not her intellect. He has no understanding of her at all. He kidnaps her and she has to be rescued by Robert. This is where the sword fight comes in. Morecombe threatens to spread the gossip about the abduction and Robert challenges him to a duel.

The pace is brisk and totally appropriate to the story about this slightly madcap young woman. Tension builds around the couple from the very first when she holds up his carriage a la Robin Hood in her quest to help the local poor.

I must give this a 4-star rating as it is so formulaic and predictable that things are foreseeable in the story. There are no real surprises. But it is a good story and worth reading just for the fun of the relationship between these two.

Recommended.

[princestreetco]

Duracell Pushes the Idea of Trust in Its First Offbeat Ads From W+K

When you're hacking away at unsightly ear hair, the last thing you want is for the battery in your trimmer to conk out. That would leave you with bushy lobes and broken dreams.

You'd prefer those tiny blades to cut fast and true, the reassuring buzz of your AA-battery-powered device ringing like sweet music in your progressively less-hairy ear. Now you're ready to take on the big, bad world. See you in hell, unsightly ear hair!

Wieden + Kennedy New York brings this shaggy scenario to life in the ad below, part of its new "Trust Is Power" campaign for Duracell:

Yeah, try plucking those suckers out with tweezers. Ouch! (Not that we'd know about this firsthand.)

"Trust Is Power" is W+K's first major push for the Duracell since it won the business in October. Previously, the brand worked with Anomaly and targeted viewers' heartstrings with grandiose Star Wars tie-ins and a particularly uplifting ad about hearing loss. (A holiday-themed effort from W+K, "Duracell Express," in which the brand delivered free batteries to Midwestern families on Christmas Eve, tried a somewhat lighter tone.)

While the work goes for full-on comedy, there's a salient point behind the cheeky humor.

"Trust seems in very short supply today," says Ramon Velutini, Duracell's vp of marketing. "We wanted to come forward and reassert our position as a power that everyone can trust, every day. We're taking a lighthearted look at the real issue of trust, because while you do need trustworthy power when you're climbing K2—the world's second-highest mountain—you also need it for your game controller and your kids' toys."

"Ear Hair" broke Sunday during the the New England Patriots' triumphant drubbing of the Pittsburgh Steelers in the AFC Championship Game on CBS. (Go Pats!)

A second spot, "New Mom," casts the C-cell battery as a "soothing cylinder of trust" for young parents:

MJZ director Steve Ayson, whose penchant for delivering laughs powered Samsung and Old Spice campaigns, does a fine job bringing Duracell's "trust" proposition to live. The ads are fast-paced and fairly amusing, and they make their point without going too far over the (copper) top for their own good.

Meanwhile, Duracell also created a 147-page catalog (posted on Instagram too,) with battery facts, tips on cooking, camping, gaming and parenting, and self-aware copy lines like "An entire catalog devoted to eight batteries. Are we overdoing it? Yes, we are." Some dude with a battery-powered ham slicer shows up a lot. There's also a house made of 9-volt batteries.

Now, "Trust" might seem like an overly obvious positioning, But all kidding aside, when you're shaving an ear, or in the midst of any mundane task of personal significance, it's comforting to know your batteries (at least according to these ads) won't let you down.

"We wanted to move away from Duracell playing a tiny role in a big hyperbolic moment to Duracell playing a huge and trusted part in many small, everyday moments," says W+K creative director Jaclyn Crowley.

By focusing on the micro, the campaign might pack just enough power to help differentiate the brand in an increasingly tough marketplace.

CREDITS Client: Duracell

—Project Name: Trust is Power TV

Agency: Wieden + Kennedy New York Executive Creative Director: Karl Lieberman Creative Director: Jaclyn Crowley Creative Director: Eric Helin Copywriters: Luke Sacherman, Howard Finkelstein Art Directors: Kate Placentra, Grant Mason Head of Integrated Production: Nick Setounski Executive Producer: Alison Hill Associate Producer: Kweku Taylor-Hayford Director of Brand Strategy: Dan Hill Strategy Director: Sean Staley Brand Strategist: Cristina Pansolini Account Team: Mike Welch, Meghan Mullen, Jamie Robinson Media Director: David Stopforth Comms Planner: Stuart Augustine Business Affairs: Michael Moronez, Brit Fryer Project Manager: Ava Rant Traffic Managers: Sonia Bisono, Andy Hume

Production Company: MJZ Director: Steve Ayson President: David Zander Executive Producer: Emma Wilcockson Line Producer: Laurie Boccaccio Director of Photography: Evan Prosofsky

Editorial Company: Mack Cut Editor: Gavin Cutler / Nick Divers Executive Producer: Gina Pagano Cutting Assistant: Pamela Petruski

VFX Company: THE MILL Executive Producer: Verity Grantham Producer: La-Râ Hinckeldeyn VFX Shoot Supervisor: Tony Robins 2D Lead Artist: Mikey Smith 3D Lead Artist: Andres Eguiguren 3D Artists: Emily Meger, Sean Dooley, Ren Hsien-Hsu, Juan Carlos Brauet

Telecine Company: CO3 Colorist: Tom Poole

Mix Company: Mackenzie Cutler Mixer: Sam Shaffer

—Project Name: Brand Catalog

Agency: Wieden + Kennedy New York Executive Creative Director: Karl Lieberman Creative Director: Jaclyn Crowley Creative Director: Eric Helin Copywriters: Howard Finkelstein, Katie D'Agostino, Luke Sacherman Art Directors: Grant Mason, Grace Martin, Kate Placentra Design Director: Justin Flood Design Team: Erica Bech, Brian Metcalf, James Hughes, Eden Weingart, Scott Gelber, Braulio Amado, Alis Atwell, Qiong Li, Kurt Woerpel, Chris Kelsch, Alessandro Echevarria Head of Integrated Production: Nick Setounski Integrated Producer: Sabrina Rahrovi Art Producers: Deb Rosen, Ali Berk, Pietro Clemente, Yukino Moore Head of Creative Services: Chris Whalley Print Producer: David Niblick Account Team: Mike Welch, Meghan Mullen, Jamie Robinson Social Director: Jessica Breslin Social Strategist : Liz Lightbody Media Director: David Stopforth Comms Planner: Stuart Augustine Business Affairs: Michael Moronez, Brit Fry Project Manager: Ava Rant Studio Manager: Jill Kearton Retouching: 150 Proof Photographer: Kristin Gladney Social Videos: Joint

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(Source: © 2016 ABN | All Rights Reserved)

[lothiriel84]

Cards on the Table (pt. 1)

A series of post-canon vignettes, each from a different character's point of view. [Part 1/2]

A Faro’s Daughter one-shot collection. Deborah Grantham/Max Ravenscar, with a side of Phoebe Laxton/Adrian Mablethorpe.

1. Lord Mablethorpe

When informed of his cousin’s engagement to Miss Grantham, Lord Mablethorpe immediately betook himself to St James’ Square, where he spent the better part of an hour questioning Deb as to what manner of horrible things Max could have done to thus prevail upon her. In the end, it was Deborah’s extravagant blush as she declared herself very much in love with the gentleman in question that eventually set his doubts to rest. As utterly baffled at this unforeseen turn of events as he still was, at least he had the presence of mind to wish her every happiness before taking his leave, and setting out for Grosvenor Square.

To Ravenscar’s credit, he met his cousin’s stern words on the subject of Miss Grantham’s wellbeing with a good deal of amusement, and promptly assured him that nothing could be farther from his intentions than to cause any further inconvenience to his betrothed; Lord Mablethorpe privately wondered at whatever past inconveniences Max might be referring to, but in the end he was too much in awe of his cousin to probe any deeper into the subject.

He didn’t get to see much of either Max or his intended bride after that, as he was planning to fetch Phoebe from Wales and properly introduce her into society as the new Lady Mablethorpe; he was therefore quite bemused upon received a letter from Arabella, in which she informed him she had taken it upon herself to act as chaperone to the loving couple, much to her elder brother’s chagrin. Being as much acquainted with Max’s habitual aloofness as he was with the matter-of-fact way Deb dealt with her suitors, he could hardly imagine the pair engaging in anything that might be deemed even remotely inappropriate; but then again, he couldn’t have imagined anything less likely than his headstrong cousin offering for the likes of Deborah Grantham, never mind her consenting to it, so perhaps he was the one in the wrong after all.

When informed of Miss Grantham’s impending marriage, young Lady Mablethorpe declared herself utterly delighted, and expressed a wish to call on Lady Bellingham’s as soon as they were back in London; she went as far as to timidly suggest she would like nothing better than to be introduced to Lord Mablethorpe’s cousin, as he was to be married to someone she owed so much of her happiness to – along with her dearest husband, of course.

Adrian made a mental note to write to Max, detailing how he desired for his new wife to be received, and assured Phoebe that he would grant her heart’s wish, in this as in all other matters.

2. Mr Ravenscar

With considerable effort, Max Ravenscar tore himself from his betrothed’s embrace, turning his glare upon the downright annoyance that was his younger sister.

“I have told you, Belle,” he warned her, struggling for some semblance of his usual composure. “If you don’t leave this instant – ”

“But my dearest brother, I couldn’t possibly do that,” she countered, all feigned innocence and concern. At that moment, he couldn’t agree more heartily with his stepmother’s wish to have the little minx safely married and out of their care. “You see, I do remember someone lecturing me at length on how gentlemen should never be trusted with a young woman’s reputation, and I’ll have you know I take such an enlightening piece of advice very seriously.”

“Very seriously indeed,” he retorted sarcastically, taking hold of Deb’s hands to prevent her from stepping away in her embarrassment. “If this is about that wretched ball you’ve pestering me about all week, I can tell you now – ”

“That we shall be glad to escort you to it, my dear,” Deborah interjected in a rush, meeting his frown with a determined look of her own. He opened his mouth to contradict her, noticed the telltale blush colouring her cheeks, and thought better of it.

“Oh! You truly are the dearest of creatures, Miss Grantham,” the little minx exclaimed in delight. “I can scarcely wait for the moment when I shall be able to call you my sister.”

You can’t wish for that more heartily than I do, he thought to himself, even as Arabella impulsively kissed their cheek in turn, and bolted for the door. Pausing on the threshold, she turned around, the perfect picture of mischief. “I will be back in half an hour. I trust you both to behave within the bounds of propriety in the meantime.”

“I shall never be able to look her in the eye again,” Deb lamented as her sister-to-be finally took her leave, yet did nothing to resist him when he gathered her back in his arms.

“Nonsense,” Max declared, wasting no time in resuming his previous attentions. Deborah sighed, made a token protest, then willingly surrendered herself to his embrace.

3. Lord Ormskirk

If there was one thing Lord Ormskirk despised more than being worsted, it was having his fiascos bandied about; which was precisely why he took every pain to make a show of civility towards Ravenscar, regardless of how much losing the divine Deborah to such a man stung him.

After all, he reflected somewhat cynically, he could hardly measure up to a man of Ravenscar’s wealth, and fool enough to offer the lady matrimony; at least young Mablethorpe had his youthful impetuosity to excuse him, but a gentleman of Ravenscar’s age and position ought to have displayed more sense. Unfortunately, his own pride prevented him from calling Ravenscar out, as it was more than apparent that – for some reason beyond his understanding – the delightful creature’s affections were irrevocably set on his younger rival, and he cared too much about his reputation as a gentleman to attempt anything about it.

As it was, he resolved to withstand the sight of the newlywed couple flitting about the crowded ballroom with the closest approximation to a bored smile he could manage. Looking as radiant as ever, Deborah never once left Ravenscar’s side, and was conducting herself with the dignity and grace of a gentlewoman; still, as the evening unfolded, Lord Ormskirk became aware of a curious alteration to her countenance, so much that he reluctantly started to pay attention to whatever manner of things were passing between husband and wife.

Ravenscar was doing his utmost to – provoke her, there was no two ways about it. From where he was standing, he had a clear view of Ravenscar’s hand resting at the small of her back, his thumb tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of her dress. Ormskirk could hardly recall any previous occasion in which the beautiful creature had looked this flustered, and by such a simple action at that. Ah, to be young, and in love, he sighed, shook his head, and lazily strolled towards the bowl of punch.

It was much later into the evening when he clapped his eyes again on the pair; Ravenscar was distractedly sipping a glass of port when Deborah sidled up to him, leaning closer to whisper something in his ear that very nearly caused Ravenscar to choke on his wine. After that, he appeared to be making his excuses to the rest of his party, and all but dragged his wife out of the room. Deborah’s musical laugh rang out clearly as they passed him by, blind to everything except one another, and whatever his sentiments towards the gentleman, Lord Ormskirk was forced to acknowledge how Ravenscar’s infamous luck extended much farther than his horses and cards.

4. Deborah Ravenscar (née Grantham)

Deborah woke up to her husband gently shaking her shoulder, and had she not been so impossibly tired, she would have been mortified to find herself in the position of relying entirely upon him to hand her out of the carriage. She even caught Arabella casting a worried look in her direction before wishing them both a good night and retiring to her chambers.

“It would appear I am turning more and more into a frail old matron by the day,” she jested half-heartedly as he dismissed both his valet and her maid, and insisted upon helping her out of her evening gown himself. “I am exceedingly sorry you had to find out only after our marriage.”

“I would hardly have expected this sort of thing to happen before our marriage,” she heard him utter under his breath, glanced up sharply to meet the odd look he was directing at her through the mirror.

“Whatever can you mean, Max?”

She studied his reflection as he reached for the brush and started applying it to her locks. There was something peculiar about his countenance, something she couldn’t quite place, no matter how hard she strived to.

“Had either of us been blessed with sensible female relations reasonably knowledgeable about such matters, I would have suggested you to seek out their advice,” he sighed. “However, I would never ask you to submit to the indignity of broaching such a delicate issue with my stepmother, or – heaven forbid – my aunt.”

“You’re forgetting Aunt Lizzie,” she protested weakly, by now thoroughly puzzled by his oblique remarks. The truth was, she was so very tired, and his gentle ministrations had her well on her way to falling asleep where she was seated.

Max had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed at her objection. “As admirable as your aunt is, I fear she might not be as well informed upon such matters as we might wish, or she would very likely have enlightened you upon your entering the married state.”

As the meaning of his words finally dawned upon her, she was suddenly grateful for the support provided by her chair, and the pair of steadying hands around her shoulders. She was dimly aware of the clatter of the brush hitting the floor as the room spun around her in a most dizzying fashion, and the next thing she knew she was lying on the bed in their shared chamber, her concerned husband dabbing at her temples with a damp cloth.

“I am well,” she hastened to reassure him, yet she had to concede he was probably right in preventing her from sitting up. “I’m just – surprised, that’s all.”

He considered her in that intent manner he occasionally displayed in her presence. “You truly had no reason to suspect that might be the case?”

“I – I did not think too much of it, if I am honest,” she admitted, fighting the blush she felt creeping upon her cheeks. “We’ve been married for scarcely over two months, after all.”

A teasing smile danced on his face. “And we have been nothing but diligent in our marital duties, dearest.”

Her cheeks in flame, she gathered whatever little amount of energy she still possessed to swat at his arm. “Max!”

“No need to sound so scandalised, my darling wife. But I will have the family physician summoned in the morning, so that we might seek further confirmation of your condition.”

Caught between utter bewilderment and bone-deep tiredness, she made no protest when he helped her shift under the bedcovers, tucking her in as if she were little more than an infant. He pressed his lips to her brow and she let out a sigh of contentment, and was only pulled back from the brink of sleep by a sudden thought. “However did you come to be so knowledgeable about such delicate matters, husband?”

He let out a soft chuckle, his fingers coming up to lightly caress her cheek. “You forget I have the misfortune of possessing a sister almost seventeen years my junior. And you should be well enough acquainted with Olivia by now to know that anyone living under the same roof as my esteemed stepmother would have no choice but to be extensively informed about every single one of her ailments, imaginary or otherwise.”

Deborah snorted her laugh into the pillow, and let his soothing caress lull her into a deep, dreamless slumber.

5. Lady Bellingham

Upon entering the house in Grosvenor Square, Lady Bellingham was vaguely surprised to be shown into the library rather than the front parlour where her niece usually received her; still, she thought nothing of it, until the door opened again to reveal none other than her nephew-in-law, who bowed politely and explained that, as his wife was currently indisposed, she was begging her aunt’s permission to come and visit her sometime in the afternoon.

“Of course, if she wishes to,” Lady Bellingham replied somewhat hesitantly. “I wouldn’t want her to overexert herself, knowing that she is unwell.”

The amused look Mr Ravenscar addressed her did nothing to dispel her confusion. “She will be perfectly recovered by the afternoon, I can assure you, ma’am.”

What a strange, strange man, she thought to herself even as she thanked him and took her leave. The truth was, she had been finding Mr Ravenscar’s conduct exceedingly puzzling ever since he had decided to send back the mortgage and those dreadful bills, all of this after being kidnapped and put in a cellar no less. Infatuation or not, she would hardly have expected such a proud man to offer for her Deb, and yet there they were – her niece safely married to the richest man in town, and herself very comfortably set in a respectable house in Berkeley Square.

Mr Ravenscar’s extremely liberal settlement – as well as his generosity in taking upon himself the remainder of her debts – was enough for her ladyship to feel secure for the rest of her days, and not having to worry for her niece and nephew besides. Still, she couldn’t help but occasionally harbour some lingering worries with regards to the potentially disastrous effects of her niece’s headstrongness and quickness of temper, even more so when combined with similar faults of character in her husband.

As it was, Lady Bellingham spent the remainder of the morning in a state of uneasiness, her agitation increasing by the hour, and she was just about to succumb to one of her fits when Silas Wantage showed up announcing that ‘our Miss Deb – Mrs Ravenscar, I should say’ was at the door.

“Upon my word, Aunt Lizzie, you look dreadful,” Deborah greeted her cheerfully, pressing a kiss on each of her cheeks. “What can possibly have happened since I saw you two days ago?”

One quick glance was enough to reassure her ladyship that her niece was indeed in as good health as could be hoped for; unfortunately, it was also enough to make her aware of the glint of barely concealed mirth in her eye, one that long experience had taught her foretold nothing but trouble.

“What was all that nonsense about you being indisposed, that is what I would very much like to know,” Lady Bellingham said with feeling, reaching for her smelling salts. “You are never ill, Deb – and if you’re up to one of your horrible tricks, I must beg you to tell me everything at once, before my poor nerves give way.”

“Nothing of the sort, Aunt,” Deborah assured her with one of her mischievous grins. “Max and I were simply waiting to be sure, and for all that we’d rather delay a public announcement for as long as can be managed, we both agreed that you should be informed presently.”

Lady Bellingham blinked, and promptly dropped the smelling salts. “Deb! You’re telling me – oh, I do declare, I will positively die of joy – and so soon after the wedding, too!”

“I can’t say I expected it to happen this early,” Deborah laughed. “But as Max is utterly delighted at the prospect, I hardly have any complaints for myself.”

“Oh, but we should write to Kit, of course! And Lucius, too – I know you said you have your reasons for refusing to receive him, but he has been extremely kind to us all these years, and – ”

“All in due time, Aunt Lizzie,” her niece forestalled her, shaking her head in amusement. “As I believe I mentioned before, we would rather keep the news for ourselves a little longer.”

“Very well,” Lady Bellingham conceded at length with a long-suffering sigh. “I won’t pretend I understand the point of such secrecy – but as I see you’re determined, it’s not for me to question your reasons, or your husband’s for that matter.”

Deborah offered her a warm smile – she looked positively radiant, now that she thought about it – and gracefully stooped down to retrieve the smelling salts from behind the settee.

[go to part 2]

[gravitasmalfunction]

Every time Deb Grantham goes incandescent with rage my heart swells a thousand times too large for my chest and I lose hours of my life contemplating my love for her.

[lackadaisycal-art]

i wasn’t happy with my original drawing of max and deb and honestly I’m still not but here’s a slightly improved version yay

[lackadaisycal-art]

I just read Faro’s Daughter in an irresponsibly short amount of time for someone with the amount of schoolwork I have to do, but I just loved it so much, I had to draw Deb!!! I don’t like the colours of this at all, but I wanted to draw her in the dress from the front cover to make her even a little bit recognisable, even if I strongly disapprove of it. I plan to draw her again in something better (...or maybe worse)

[lackadaisycal-art]

“Jade and Jezebel. Harpy”

“And Doxy.”

“I apologise for that one.”

I call it: Max Really Fucking Sucks At Pet Names

[hello-delicious-tea]

There is very little more enjoyable than Deborah Grantham’s escalation.

Ravenscar: I will give you money not to marry my cousin.

Deb: HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST I WOULD MARRY YOUR COUSIN. NO AMOUNT OF MONEY WOULD INDUCE ME TO NOT MARRY YOUR COUSIN. I’M GOING TO MARRY HIM AND RUIN HIM.

Ravenscar: Um, wow. Right, I won’t give you any money, and you won’t marry him, you harpy.

Deb: HOW DARE YOU INSULT ME LIKE THIS. I’LL MAKE YOU PAY.

Ravenscar: ???

Deb: BY BEING EXTRA VULGAR AND EMBARRASSING EVERYONE.

Ravenscar: ?????

Ravenscar: Okay, I will get all those bills from the guy who’s trying to blackmail you into becoming his mistress, and I will blackmail you into releasing my cousin, you cunning, evil lady! You won’t get the better of me!

Deb: OH YEAH LET’S TRY KIDNAPPING. 

Ravenscar: ?????????????

Ravenscar: Goddamn I better marry this woman.