#lady henrietta frances

[art-portraits]

Portrait of Lady Georgiana, Lady Henrietta Frances and George John Spencer, Viscount Althorp

Artist: Angelica Kauffmann (Swiss, 1741–1807)

Date: 1774

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Althorp, West Northamptonshire, England

Depicted People:

Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire

Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire (7 June 1757 – 30 March 1806), was an English aristocrat, socialite, political organiser, author, and activist. Born into the Spencer family, married into the Cavendish family, she was the first wife of William Cavendish, 5th Duke of Devonshire, and the mother of the 6th Duke of Devonshire.

Henrietta Ponsonby, Countess of Bessborough

Henrietta Ponsonby, Countess of Bessborough (16 June 1761 – 11 November 1821), born Lady Henrietta Frances Spencer (generally called Harriet), was the wife of Frederick Ponsonby, 3rd Earl of Bessborough; the couple were the parents of Lady Caroline Lamb. Her father, John Spencer, 1st Earl Spencer, was a great-grandson of John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough. Her sister was Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire.

George Spencer, 2nd Earl Spencer

George John Spencer, 2nd Earl Spencer, KG, PC, DL, FRS, FSA (1 September 1758 – 10 November 1834), styled Viscount Althorp from 1765 to 1783, was a British Whig politician. He served as Home Secretary from 1806 to 1807 in the Ministry of All the Talents. He was also the father of the Venerable Father Ignatius of St Paul, a Roman Catholic convert to the priesthood.

[vintagefashionplates]

Adélaïde Labille-Guiard, Self-portrait with two pupils, 1785

Lucy, Countess of Carlisle by Anthonis van Dyck, 1637

Frances Stewart, Duchess of Richmond by Sir Peter Lely, ca. 1662

Young woman at her toilet with a servant by Gerard ter Borch, 1650

A Lady of the Spencer Family by Anthonis van Dyck, ca. 1633–8

Charles I and Henrietta Maria with their two eldest children, Prince Charles and Princess Mary by Anthonis van Dyck, 1632.

Shot silk in historical paintings

Shot silk is a plain-weave in which the warp is one color and the weft another. The result is complex new tints and shades wherever the fabric gets folded or creased. It was popular in 17th and 18th century, of course only for the very wealthy.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Date Night

"Hey- You listening?" My date snapped her fingers in front of me, tearing my gaze away from it. For a brief moment I couldn't remember her name, then it came to me.

"Sorry, Frances. Didn't mean to doze off like that," I said sheepishly. "So… you were saying?"

Frances reclined back, seemingly mollified. "Well, Miriam had to run around telling everyone about Henrietta's boyfriend, so Mirabelle and I teamed up to stop her from running her mouth. But could you believe it…" 

"Yep, I'm sure," I said idly, tuning her words out. Goodness, that woman ran her mouth like nobody's business. She was pretty enough to make up for it, a bombshell blonde with baby blue eyes. I had met her on a dating app. She was the bubbly, romantic sort, going so far as to call herself a 'witch', as if she had any real power. Not the brightest bulb in the box, naturally, but I had always had a thing for bimbos. That cane of hers was a deal-breaker, though. I couldn't be seen dating a cripple, after all.

"Ugh, I know right?! Like, how could she say such things about poor Glendy! It makes my blood boil just thinking about it, you know you know?! That's why I think Mitchell was so brave to stand up for her…"

Something brushed against my bare, exposed throat, and I jolted away, standing up and turning around sharply. But it was only an elderly woman in a bright pink scarf, shuffling to her seat. "So sorry for starting you, dearie," she purred, settling down. "Really, I ought to be more careful."

I nodded placatingly. "Sorry about that, ma'am," I said, nodding my head in apology. The hunger made me skittish. We were at a cosy little Italian restaurant, newly opened and barely occupied.

"Goodness, you're really anxious!" Frances tittered. "Say? Where's our food? I think I need to go call and talk to the waiters at this point." She waved her arm about, trying to catch the attention of the waiters. From the corner where we sat, I caught sight of three of them, heads bowed in some sort of conversation.

None of them looked up. The restaurant was practically empty, and I understood why. Who would want to go to a place with such poor service? They had yet to greet the old lady next to me. "I'll deal with this," I told Frances, and got up ready to give them a piece of my mind. 

Pushing my chair back, I strode purposefully over to the waiters. "Hey, we ordered a lasagna, a risotto, two white wines and a bread basket twenty minutes ago! Where the hell's our food?"

They didn't look up, and I suddenly felt a rush of rage. "Didn't you hear what I just said? I want to speak to your manager now!" The nerve of them, to ignore a paying customer. Had they even conveyed my order to the kitchen? I took one step closer until I was glaring at the back of a dark haired waiter's head. Fed up with him, I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "Don't play dumb-"

He was watching me with no eyes. His face was nothing more than a smooth plateau, devoid of emotion. Yet I had the distinct feeling that he saw me, that he was staring at me, and most of all, that he was angry.

It occurred to me that I might have made a significant error. An error so significant that it might cost me my life. I took two steps away, releasing the faceless waiter from my grasp. "My bad, boys," I said, raising my hands in surrender. "I won't bother you again, eh? Take your time with the lasagna."

The other two waiters looked up, and I swear I saw a twitching of the cheeks that signalled a grin. I turned and fled, only to run right into the old lady. "Run, somethings really wrong with the waiters!" I grabbed her wrist, but something held me right there. I turned around.

The old lady grinned at me, revealing far too many rows of needle-sharp teeth. Her scarf wrapped itself about me like furry pink tentacles, constricting my chest and making my head spin. "What a nice youngster you are," she purred, grasping my arms with bloodied, tetanus-ridden claws. "Looking after an old lady like that, hmm? Why, I could just eat you up!"

Her jaws unclicked, and I gagged on the rotten stink of her breath. They expanded, and I found myself staring down the deep abyss of her oesophagus. I was going to die here, I realised dismally. I was going to die because I went on a stupid date at this miserable restaurant.

And then I wasn't. A small, manicured hand pulled me back, and I found myself wedged into the not-insignificant bosom of Frances. She bore a look of complete, utter disgust. "Let go of my date, skinwalker," she snapped. "This one's mine!"

"Frances, run! Don't try to fight that thing," I urged, trying to hurry her along. I hooked my arm around hers and picked her up, only to get a snack on the head for my troubles.

"Put me down, you idiot! Didn't you hear a word I said?" She glared at me ferociously. "I'm a witch, bitch! And I can take a skinwalker. Now get behind me, you nitwit, and stop pretending to be so macho." For once, I did as she told me to, and ducked behind a table. This was way out of my paygrade.

The skinwalker — if that was what the old lady really was — laughed at Frances. "Little witch, do you really think you can def-" Frances smacked the skinwalker with her cane, cutting off its words. It was almost comical, in a horrible way, to see her stare down a monster twice her size.

She grabbed the coat of the skinwalker and pulled it down. With her other palm, she whipped out her lipstick and sketched a strange symbol on its forehead. "Yes," she said triumphantly, as the skinwalker thrashed and screamed in her iron grip, "I totes think I can beat you."

The three waiters exchanged glances with each other, then made a run for the door. Smoothly, Frances capped her lipstick and pulled out a dagger. She threw it expertly at the dark haired waiter, who was almost at the door. The waiter went down like a stone, hitting the floor with a too-loud thump. The other two followed suit soon after.

Almost as an afterthought, Frances pulled out a tiny, pink handgun and shot the skinwalker in the back of the head twice, then did the same for the twitching waiters. "Ugh, I bet Miriam sent those summonings after me," she said casually, turning to me. "She's always so jealous of the guys I pull, you know you know? I kept telling her she's such a red flag, and you know- she kinda needs to change and get a glowup, but does she listen? No, of course not! Who listens to little Frances, am I right?"

I stared blankly at her, then nodded obediently. "Err," I started, trying to arrange my thoughts into coherence, "Thanks for the save earlier, and I'm really sorry for not listening to you, you know?"

Frances beamed at me and leaned over on her cane, dripping monster blood onto my shirt. "Aww, you're so sweet! I'm just glad you're not the sort who can't deal with a girl being stronger than them, you know you know?" She skipped over to the waiters and pulled out the daggers, which I noted to be decorated in eye-wateringly cutesy stickers. "Look, can I invite you over to my place? It won't be nearly as good as here, but I've got some microwave lasagna?"

The sheer hope on her face, and the fact that she had just single handedly taken down the stuff of my nightmares, meant I really couldn't say no.

(A short story I wrote about one of the characters of my novel, Frances! And yes, her taste in men is terrible.)

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@xenascribbles,

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

can you name all 59 women

1. Anne Bonny: a lesbian

2. Mary Read: a lesbian

3. Mary Read again: an abusive, cheating wife

4. Mary, Queen of Scots: a lesbian. (But also not a lesbian because Hester Mary MacKenzie was also her concubine.)

5. Isabella 'Bella' Baldwin: a lesbian

6. Queen Elizabeth of Parma, also known as Isabelle d'Este, was the Empress of Modena. She's one of several queens whose non-biological children were legitimized by the church.

7. Mary, Queen of France (before and during her marriage to Henry III).

8. Charlotte of Savoy: a lesbian

9. Elizabeth of York, also Elizabeth Stuart: a lesbian

10. Anna Ivanovna Demushkin: a lesbian (Ivan the Terrible's wife, as well as Mary Queen of Scots')

11. Mary, Duchess of Orleans: a lesbian

12. Mary, Duchess of Orleans again: a lesbian

13. Isabella of France: a lesbian

14. Margaret of Anjou, wife of Francis Plantagenet: a lesbian.

15. Mary 'Mary of Guise', daughter of Margaret of Anjou and Francis Plantagenet: a lesbian

16. Queen of Denmark: a lesbian (Anne's daughter, Sophie of Poland and Denmark)

17. Catherine Howard: a lesbian

18. Katherine Howard: a lesbian

19. Mary, Queen of England: a lesbian (Mary Tudor)

20. Eleanor of Austria, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella: a lesbian (Mary Tudor's daughter, also Queen of England)

21. Mary, Queen of Bohemia: a lesbian

22. Catherine Parr: a lesbian

23. Eleanor of Austria, again: a lesbian (Mary Tudor's daughter, also queen of England)

24. Mary Tudor: a lesbian

25. Queen of Scots: a lesbian

26. Catherine Parr again: a lesbian

27. Christine de Bourgogne: a lesbian, as well as a queen of France.

28. Jane Seymour, wife of Thomas Seymour and mother of Edward Seymour. Also a lesbian.

29. Mary Stuart: a lesbian

30. Isabella of Castile: a lesbian

31. Mary Stuart again, daughter of Mary I of England: a lesbian

32. Jane Seymour again: lesbian (Edward Seymour's mom)

33. Anne Fitzwilliam, Duchess of Norfolk: a lesbian

34. Barbara Tacy, Countess of Pembroke: a lesbian

35. Mary Tudor again: a lesbian. (Mary Stuart's daughter again)

36. Jane Buckley: a lesbian

37. Catherine Parr: Elizabeth Howard, Parr's daughter, was Queen of England after her mother's death and died without an heir.

38. Margaret Cecil: a lesbian

39. Anna of Cleves: Anne Beaton, wife of Frederick V, Elector of Saxony and of James I and Mary, Queen of Scots; and her granddaughter, Lady Jane Grey, daughter of King Henry VIII and Edward Seymour.

40. Henrietta Maria Stuart: lesbian

41. Anne of Cleves: lesbian

42. Mary Queen of France: lesbian

43. Mary Queen of France again: a lesbian

44. Margaret, Countess of Lennox: lesbian

45. Elizabeth Howard: another lesbian

46.

Anne Stafford: a lesbian

47.

Jane Stafford: a lesbian

48. Jane Seymour again: a lesbian

49. Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots: lesbian

50. Princess Margaret: a lesbian

51. Anne of Cleves again, this time as a mother: Mary Tudor's daughter; Queen of England for less than a month in 1553

52.

Jane Stafford again: lesbian

53. Margaret Howard, Countess of Stafford: lesbian

54. Lady Jane Grey again: a lesbian

55. Princess Anne: a lesbian. (Princess of Portugal and the two Marianas, of Portugal and England.)

56. Elizabeth Howard again: lesbian

57. Margaret of Anjou, Lady of Woodville, wife of Ralph Neville, son of the Duke of Northumberland (Henry Tudor).

58.

[scotianostra]

On 8th July 1647 Frances Stuart, known as “La Belle Stuart” was born.

Frances was the daughter of Walter Stewart, or Stuart, a physician in the court of Queen Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I who was in exile in France.

When the Stuarts returned to the throne with the Restoration she went with them. In 1662, she became a Maid of Honour to Charles II's bride, the Infanta of Portugal, Catherine, and then a Lady in Waiting to the new Queen.

Reportedly, Charles became infatuated with the girl, but she resisted his advances. In 1664, after England won several naval victories against the Dutch, the king had medals struck depicting the figure of Britannia, he chose Frances for the model. The King was so besotted with her that he considered divorcing Catherine to marry her. Samuel Pepys, the diarist, recorded that she was the greatest beauty he had ever seen.

Considered a great beauty, she had numerous suitors, eventually she eloped with another Charles Stuart, a fourth cousin of the king and the 4th Duke of Richmond and 6th Duke of Lennox in March 1667. She fell out of favour at court for marrying without royal consent.

About 1669 she became seriously ill with smallpox and the king reportedly rushed to her bedside and forgave her for marrying. Upon her recovery, she was appointed Lady of the Bedchamber for the Queen. The king appointed the duke ambassador to Denmark, but Frances stayed at home, managing the estate and business affairs.

The duke died in December 1672 and as he had no heir his estates reverted to the Crown. Charles II granted Frances a 1000 pound pension per annum for life. In 1702 Frances arranged to purchase the estate of Lethington. She died that same year leaving her estate to her nephew Lord Blantyre who renamed Lethington Lennoxlove in her honour.

Pics include two paintings of “La Belle Stuart” and a remarkable wax effigy she ordered that had made of herself dressed in her coronet, robes and shoes worn at Queen Anne's coronation,. She had it set up in Henry VII's chapel near the grave of Ludovic Stuart, cousin of James I, in Westminster Abbey, the effigy survives and beside it you will see an African Grey parrot, which was her “companion” for some 40 years, the parrot died a few days after her.

As seen in the last pic, very few mounted bird specimens survive from this period but x-rays show that the entire skeleton of the bird is intact including its skull. This was a very primitive technique but the parrot probably survived because it was kept in a showcase. It is perhaps the oldest stuffed bird in existence.

[comtessezouboff]

The Windsor Beauties Set

A retexture by La Comtesse Zouboff — Original Mesh by @thejim07

The Windsor Beauties are a set of portrait paintings, still in the Royal Collection, by Sir Peter Lely and his workshop, produced in the early to mid-1660s, that depict ladies of the court of King Charles II, some of whom were his mistresses. The name stems from the location of the collection, which was at Windsor Castle.

Originally commissioned by Anne Hyde, Duchess of York, the first mention of the paintings is by Samuel Pepys, describing them in his diary as being hung in "the Duke of York's room" in 1668. A 1674 inventory lists them as in the ducal rooms at St. James Palace and by 1688 they had moved to the "Princess's dressing room" at Windsor Castle. Moved to the castle's state rooms during the 18th century, the Windsor Beauties were transferred to Hampton Court at some time prior to 1835.

They are considered the pinnacle of restoration art and are regarded as one of Lely's most exquisite work.

The set includes 13 portraits, with the original frame swatches, fully recolorable. The portraits are of:

Anne Digby, Countess of Sunderland

Anne Hyde, Duchess of York and Albany

Barbara Palmer, Ist Duchess of Cleveland and Countess of Castlemaine as Minerva

Barbara Palmer, Ist Duchess of Cleveland and Countess of Castlemaine as St. Catherine of Alexandria.

Elizabeth Bagot, Countess of Falmouth

Elizabeth Hamilton, Countess de Gramont as Saint Catherine

Elizabeth Wriothesley, Countess of Northumberland

Frances Theresa Stewart, duchess of Richmond and Lennox

Henrietta Anne of England, Duchess of Orléans

Henrietta Hyde, Countess of Rochester

Jane Needham, Lady Middleton

Margaret Brooke, Lady Denham

The Honourable Frances Brook, Lady Whitmore

Found under Decor > Paintings for 1.650 §

Retextured from "Portrait of Cardinal de Mazarin" found here

Chairs, stools, side table and bronze "Pendule á Cercles Tournants" by @joojconverts

Walls, floor, torchere, girandole and table by @thejim07

Tea pot, milk jugar, sugar bowl and teacup by @aroundthesims

White vase by @martassimsbookcc

Rug by me (to be released)

(Drive)

(Sims3pack and Package)

(Useful tags below)

@joojconverts @ts3history @ts3historicalccfinds @deniisu-sims @katsujiiccfinds

-------------------------------------------------------

[handeaux]

Cincinnatian James Ruggles Created A “Universal Language” But No One Listened

Cincinnati in 1829 overflowed with excitement. Our little river town had grown to a total population of more than 24,000. General Andrew Jackson made a brief stop here as he journeyed up the Ohio River on his way to inauguration as President of the United States. Frances “Fanny” Trollope scribbled notes for what would become her scandalous exposé, “Domestic Manners of the Americans.” Over the course of a week, witnessed by thousands, Rev. Alexander Campbell of the Disciple Church defended Christianity from the assaults of Robert Owen, founder of New Harmony, Indiana, and fervid apostate, who argued that all religions were false.

Hardly noticed in all the hubbub was the publication of a slim volume by Cincinnati printer James Ruggles proposing the adoption of a universal language. In the intellectual ferment of the early Nineteenth Century, Ruggles’ proposal gained so little traction that he is all but forgotten today.

It is interesting that Ruggles had his book published by Cincinnati printers John McCalla and Samuel Davis, because Ruggles himself was a printer and a publisher himself. Born in New York in 1795, Ruggles married a woman named Henrietta Disher and relocated to Steubenville, Ohio and then moved to Cincinnati. While here, he published a magazine called Ladies’ Museum which, according to an advertisement [29 January 1831],

“Embraced in its general subjects, Original and Selected Poetry, Tales, Notices and Reviews of New Works, Natural History, Sketches of Biography and History, Reports of Fashions, occasional articles relating to the culture of Plants Fruits and Flowers, with such Intelligence, Anecdotes, chastened effusions of Wit, Sentiment, and Humor, as will impart variety and furnish an agreeable miscellany.”

Although not identified as such in the city directory, James Ruggles was also apparently a teacher of some sort, although whether he taught in a private capacity or in the nascent public schools of the city is unknown. In Isaac M. Martin’s 1900 history of the schools of Cincinnati, Ruggles is listed among the “Teachers Who Have Become Authors.”

Martin’s book lists only Ruggles’ “Universal Language” among his publications, but an 18 November 1829 advertisement in the Ohio Monitor revealed that Ruggles was trying to attract enough subscribers to publish a series of books titled “The American Literary Preceptor,” which he described as:

“A complete system of tuition for American youths, containing all the branches of learning necessary, in forming the education of an American citizen – commencing with the first rudiments, spelling, reading, &c. and including those proper, as the foundation of a complete scientific and ornamental education, suitable for fitting one to enter a profession, or any useful occupation; to be comprised in about 15 volumes.”

The advertisement for the textbook series – there is no evidence any of the books were ever published – boasted of Ruggles’ role as the author of the book on universal language.

So, what was the “universal language” developed by James Ruggles? And why was it ignored by pretty much everybody? To begin with, Ruggles’ universal language was almost impossible to read and equally impossible to pronounce. Here is a sample:

“Kertholson sjtilmagpxl fjnhxl lokzturs, deksztxns fakhornpxs, karfzturps vovszdxrap, punkzpurapsdux kirkztur, rolsilnxmszdxrapdui.”

That tangled mess of consonantal gibberish may be translated as:

“To ascertain the relative situation and size of places, references are made on maps to direction, or the points of a compass, and to latitude and longitude.”

According to Ruggles, his universal language was superior to any previously proposed because it was:

“Founded on the clearness of its combinations – the simplicity of its construction, the uniformity and invariableness of its rules – and, especially, the facility and speed with which it can be acquired, of being universally adopted by the civilized world.”

The heart of Ruggles’ artificial language was simplicity. All plurals were formed by adding an s – none of this mouse/mice, goose/geese malarkey. Each vowel and consonant was pronounced uniquely to avoid homonymic rhymes like scoff-cough. Most root words were derived from Latin, so his word for “judge” was “prqt” from the Latin praetor, and his word for “stone” was “lap” from the Latin lapis.

Despite his obsession with simplicity and uniformity, the end result was so alien and complicated that none of the many literary magazines at the time paid it the slightest attention. Part of Ruggles’ problem was marketing. He never named his invention, referring to it only as “The Universal Language.” Later creators of Volapuk and Esperanto had better luck. Ruggles sent advance copies to scholars and celebrities, none of whom had anything particularly favorable to say about his Universal Language – but he published their responses in the back of his book anyway! Typical was this polite dismissal from John Quincy Adams, who found time despite his duties as President of the United States to respond on 27 July 1827:

“Sir: I return herewith, conformably to your request, the Plan of a Universal Language, which was enclosed with your letter of 28th May. An opinion long since formed, unfavorable to all projects of this character, has perhaps influenced that formed with regard to yours. From the examination, necessarily superficial, which I have been able to give it, I consider it creditable to your ingenuity. Respectfully, your fellow-citizen. J.Q. Adams.”

In other words, “I am opposed to the whole idea of a universal language, but your scheme indicates some level of imagination.”

For reasons unknown but probably involving money or the lack thereof, Ruggles uprooted his wife and sons and left Cincinnati around 1831. He reappeared in Edwardsville, Illinois near the banks of the Mississippi River in 1838 as the editor of a local newspaper with a decidedly unusual mission. According to the 1882 “History of Madison County, Illinois”:

“The Western Weekly Mirror was established at Edwardsville by James Ruggles in May, 1838. He was editor and proprietor. The Mirror was devoted to the introduction and propagation of a universal language by which the whole human family could hold converse with one another and be understood. It was a worthy mission, but the feeble effort of its progenitor fell stillborn. It continued until the spring of 1840, when its name was changed to the Sovereign People. It continued until the summer of 1841, when it suspended.”

James Ruggles died of congestive fever on 17 October 1844 in Edwardsville. He left no will, but his wife appealed to the local authorities to become adminstratrix of his estate, which she testified amounted to less than $300.

[princepotatosack]

Hello one and all and welcome to the The Duchess Affair name post. This is a list of period-accurate given names you can give your MC if you need some inspiration or want to know what kinds of names ladies had back then. I've combed through the 1809 edition of Debrett's Peerage for names of noblewomen in the 1600s and 1700s in Britain, which is where I'm taking the liberty of assuming TDA is set.

As always, you can drop any questions in my inbox, I love love love playing reference librarian :-)

Most names in this period either came from the Bible or from literature. The Bible was the most common book owned and read, so Biblical names were frequently seen. Some nobles liked to show off how cultured and educated they were by naming their children after mythological figures or characters from poetry and history, but most people of all classes named children after ancestors or loved ones (which explains why it seems like it was the same dozen names getting passed around again and again.)

Very common names -- the majority of women back then had one of these names:

Anne

Caroline

Catharine (not a typo – this was the standard spelling in the 1700s!)

Charlotte

Diana

Elizabeth

Frances

Georgiana

Henrietta

Isabella

Jane

Louisa

Margaret

Maria (pronounced like “Mariah”)

Martha

Mary

Sarah

Sophia

Less common but not unheard-of names:

Agnes

Alathea

Albinia/Albina

Alicia/Alice

Amelia/ Emilia/Emily

Arabella

Augusta

Barbara

Bridget

Cassandra

Cecilia/Cecily

Clarissa

Constance/Constantia

Dorothea/Dorothy

Eleanor

Emma

Gertrude

Grace

Harriet/Harriott

Hester

Honora/Honoria

Jemima

Judith

Julia

Juliana

Lavinia

Laetitia/Letitia

Laura

Lucy

Marianna/Marianne

Matilda

Penelope

Priscilla

Rachael

Rebecca

Susan/Susanna/Susannah

Theodosia

Theresa

Thomasina/Thomasine

Rarities and oddities -- I only came across these names once or twice each, use them to add a bit of flavor and eccentricity!!!:

Abigail

Amabel/Amabella

Amantha

Anastasia

Angelica

Annabella

Antonia

Araminta

Beatrix

Camilla

Christiana/Christina

Clara

Clementia/Clementina

Dulcibella

Esme

Ethelred

Eugenia

Felicia

Flavia

Flora

Florentia

Frederica

Gabriella

Helen/Helena

Horatia

Josepha

Leonora

Madelina

Margaretta

Narcissa

Octavia

Olivia

Philadelphia

Rose

Selina

Sibella/Sibilla/Sibylla

Tryphena

Urania

Winifred

And just for fun, some extremely British sounding surnames I found that made me chuckle aristocratically:

Beckington

Cavendish

Chatham

Courtenay

Dalrymple

Darlington

Fortescue

Gainsborough

Kingscote

Lovelace

Mountstuart

Ogilvie

Pembroke

Pierrepont

Posonby

Tattershall

Twisleton

Wentworth

Willoughby

Wriothesley

[brokenbluebouquet]

L to R Peter Paul Rubens, Katherine Manners Marchioness of Buckingham c1623 location unknown.

It has occurred to me that I have not done a deep dive into Katherine Manners.

As is so often the case with many court women of the period, the general attitude has been one of dismissal by historians, with many pitying her as homely and insipid based on her portraits and letters.

In fairness Kate does look a little vacant in her portraits, her nose a bit too big, and her chin rather weak. Her handwriting and spelling was poor even by the standard of the day. Nonetheless, recent research would suggest that we have unfairly underestimated Kate.

Kate was born in 1603 to Francis Manners, later Earl of Rutland and his first wife Frances Knyvet. Their family was a catholic recusant one and one of the most important in the midlands.

How Kate became the heir to her father’s wealth, but not his title (that went to one of her uncles) is part of the Belvoir Witch Trials. I’ve already covered this but her two brothers died young and a group of local women were blamed by her father and step mother, were later hanged for this in 1619. Kate herself seems to had ongoing health issues as well.

George (well his mother actually) had been angling for marriage as a means of cementing the Villiers family reputation in Leicestershire, but Francis was against it for good reasons. He did not like either George or his mother and they were not Catholics.

It’s often said that Kate was effectively tricked into marriage by compromising her reputation by staying overnight at the Villiers house, but it’s also possible she was ill and had no choice but to stay overnight and there was no conspiracy. Alternatively, Kate may have been in on this as well. Her and George married privately on 20 May 1621.

He was 28, she was 17.

Magdalena van der Passe, Katherine, Marchioness of Buckingham, c1621, NPG London

During her and George’s marriage, Kate would cultivate a reputation for purity, pliancy, and obedience, which gave her great credit with first James and then in particular Charles. She was one of the few women both men enjoyed being around as she did not threaten them or make them uncomfortable.

She was also the only member of the Villiers family who was not attacked in George’s lifetime. It did not however do much to endear her to the women of the court - nobody likes a goody-goody, as there was an element of calculation at work with her reputation. This is part of why Henrietta Maria never really warmed to Kate despite both being Catholics; Kate having been appointed a lady in waiting in 1626. HM instead preferred Lucy Percy (George’s long time mistress and Kate’s bête noire) much to the annoyance of all.

There were four children from the marriage, Mary, Charles, George jr, and Francis. Only Mary went in to have children of her own. George’s frequent absences and spells of poor health brought on by exhaustion meant there was a 5 year gap between Mary and Charles.

Kate was at Portsmouth pregnant when George was murdered August 1628. She went into hiding after this, meaning we don’t know what Francis’s birthdate is. Charles also took custody of her children, officially as this was George’s wish, but it’s more likely Charles wanted access to their money as being their official guardian under law at the time would allow.

After George’s death she resumed open catholic worship again, and continued to have a prominent role at court after her husband’s murder, but continuing favour with the King was contingent on her willingness to be the chaste grieving high priestess of her husband’s cult.

Initially Kate embraced this role with some gusto, commissioning a large tomb for George and herself, as well as a number of paintings, plays, and other cultural ephemera attempting to rehabilitate her husbands reputation as a virtuous and worthy man destroyed by the envy and malice of his enemies. This is why the majority of her portraits are Kate as a widow wearing a miniature of George.

Gerrit van Honthorst, Katherine Manners as a Widow, after 1628, location unknown

Kate however was still relatively young and in 1635 married her second husband, Irish peer Randall MacDonnell, Earl (later marquess) of Antrim, 6 years her junior and a redhead. It seems they were having an affair before marrying. Her relationship with King Charles was considerably colder from that point onward. The satirists had a fair bit to say about this:

My Lady Dutchesse is still the same

And is a friend to venus game

Her choice betrayes who best doth like her

For by his haire he is a striker

Why Madam are you so profuse

Of your love to my Lord don Luce

Or make him leave his sullen humour

Or leave him quite to cease the rumour.

And….

A health to my Lady Duchess

that loves redd hayr so well

and to my Lord her husband

that made her belly swell.

Kate and Randall left court for Dunluce castle Antrim Ireland in 1638 to save money and to avoid royal disapproval. She seems to have been a lot happier with Randall than she was with George, and he treated her far better as well. There were no children from this marriage.

Kate becomes harder to track in the records from this point, she may have been involved in another round of witchcraft allegations in Ireland where she accused some poor women of cursing her making her ill. She and her husband were forced to move southward to avoid the armies in Ireland at this time.

Kate died in 1649 aged 45/46 in Waterford Ireland, possibly of plague and was buried outside city walls, not in the grand tomb she had built in Westminster Abby for her and George. Her wealth was inherited by her son George jr, and her daughter Mary. Francis had been killed a year before in a skirmish.

Kate tends to pop up in fictional portrayals of the period as a background character. Hilda Lewis’s Wife to Great Buckingham, is a novel about her and George’s marriage. It’s hard to find these days and I read it online some time ago, and sadly I’ve forgotten what site I did. It was pretty melodramatic and terrible, even by the standards of the 1950s.

Miriam Mack played her in Mary&George and looks pretty close to the portraits we have.

Megan Shaw (Auckland University NZ) is currently writing a doctoral monograph about Kate and her career at court. You can find more info here: https://profiles.auckland.ac.nz/msha572

[rosesnink]

The Vindictive Countess

Author’s Notes: 

As some of you know, The Cursed Heiress is nearing its end, and I’ll be publishing before June, I’ll be publishing intermissions; one-shots that give characters backstory and the reason behind their actions, whether good or bad. This intermission will be about Henrietta, her story and reasons why she was so... you know. That being said... 

For several reasons, this series is rated +16, reader’s discretion is advised 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes 

If you wish to know more of the Cursedverse, click here!! 

BEWARE!! MAJOR SPOILERS FROM THE SERIES!! READ ONLY IF YOU HAVE READ ALL OF THE CHAPTERS OF TCH!! 

TW: MINOR CHARACTER DEATH, MISOGYNY OF THE ERA (mentioned) DUKE RICHARDS, A RACIST COMMENT, LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, GRIEF & TRAUMA

Summary: Henrietta tells us her life story and the reasons behind her peculiar behaviour 

Rating: PG-13 

Pairing: Countess Henrietta, Earl Vincent Foredale

Word Count: 8.1k 

Category: Angst, fluff (mainly angst) 

Book: Desire and Decorum (though the fic is mostly previous and after the book’s events) 

July, 1790, Kent

The young Mrs. Henrietta Marlcaster danced away in her wedding day, happily oblivious that, meanwhile, in France, the course of history would change forevermore. Her beauty was truly admirable: a soft, angelic face, long blonde hair and a pair of innocent blue eyes, still clueless to the world’s cruelty.

Her new husband, Mr. John Marlcaster, spun her around, and she laughed, her heart full of love in that moment. They had met not so long ago, and the two had hit it off. Her oldest sister Sophia had died in childbirth and her younger sister was not yet sixteen, deemed too young for marital duties, so it had been up to the young Henrietta, who in October of that year had turned nine and ten years. Despite Mr. Marlcaster being ten years her senior, he had been the most kind, amiable and open-minded gentleman, who was quick to match and delight into her wicked wit.

Now she’d live close to the stratosphere of England society, dine with la crème de la crème and, perhaps, if she had a son, wed him to a lady! Oh, what a delightful life she’d have as Mrs. Marlcaster!

As the match proved to be successful, so did her wedding night, falling pregnant instantly, and the Duke of Karlington came to congratulate them in person, praying for an heir. The moment he left, John took off his wig and whispered “Have you heard the rumours yet, wife?”

“What are those, husband?”

“That he is not Duchess Charlotte’s son, and instead of a poor innocent laundress that was unfortunate to find a drunk and desperate Duke George in the chambers.”

Henrietta trembled at the feeling “You said that alarmingly calm. Poor child, that laundress!”

“You will find soon that the dukes of Karlington have a certain appetite. They know no ages or rings; they take what’s theirs and have no regard for anything. They only draw the line at pregnant women.”

Henrietta automatically placed a protective hand on her belly “Is that why you asked me if I’d be alright being constantly pregnant? To protect your bride from the duke’s advances?”

John smiled, stroking her cheek with one hand “You’re smart and learn fast. You’ll get used to this in no time. It’s better for both of us, really. Those daughters of ours shall make great matches, and our sons will make great soldiers, and you’ll be so big, the duke won’t look at you twice.”

Henrietta bit her lip, unsure of how to feel. John commented how their lineage would be as great as the King and Queen’s. As a wife of her time, she had references like Maria Theresa, Elizabeth Farnese and Queen Charlotte herself that men wished for many heirs and spares so their lineages wouldn’t come into question. Very few children meant the eventual fall and end of the bloodline, and medicine had improved, though many said that not enough.

Soon, the duke’s sons, Tristan among them, fought for the totality of the duchy. It was a bloody affair to say the least. Rumours came everywhere. One poisoned the other, as well as their sons. Duels. Cold-blooded murder. Henrietta was scared for her, and her child. She had listened to her mother and dared not assume the gender until the midwife said a single word. “Be calm, meddle in nothing and focus on your baby, my child, and God will grant you a boy.” Those had been her mother’s words of advice. John, however, was helping the youngest of all, Marquis Tristan, to win the bloody battle. Henrietta had a bad feeling, and it didn’t help the fact that, before her Edmund was born, in 1791, had a dream where she stood in front of a grave and a beautiful baby boy was on top of it, screaming at the tops of his lungs. She woke up sweating and made him promise that he’d be careful of Tristan.

To the date, he had been a young and charming young man who seemed fond of the marriage and seemed to support them.

John’s help had been crucial, and Tristan won the war. They celebrated at Karlington while a maid took care of baby Edmund, who enjoyed the toy it had been gifted from the host. Tristan seemed altogether too happy, smiling rather sinisterly at John. Whatever else could he be plotting with her husband? Honestly, he was starting to become the duke’s husband rather than hers…

1792

Henrietta was playing with baby Edmund, who happily munched on some edible leaves. She laughed, kissing his rosy cheeks, and told her maid to watch over him as she checked on her husband. She couldn’t find him in his office, and supposed that he had taken a nap. She saw him, asleep in an uneven position and tried to wake him… to no avail.

“John, for heaven’s sake, wake up!” She shook him rather violently, but still no response. She panicked and started to slap him and scream at him, shaking him and cried out for a doctor. Such a scandal was noticed and soon the doctor came running.

Henrietta paced, rocking her son as he cried, inconsolable. When the doctor emerged, she handed the baby to the maid and asked “What is it, doctor? Will he ever wake up?”

The doctor nodded negatively and whispered “He’s dead, madam. Poison. I also found a letter addressed to you. It says that nobody save you should read it. I’m sorry for your loss, madam.”

Henrietta nodded, refusing to collapse yet. The moment she put Edmund to sleep, she went inside the room and whispered prayers for her poor, unfortunate husband. She then observed the envelope and sat down in bed, reading the letter.

To my dear and august wife, Henrietta:

If you’re reading this, I am no longer on Earth, and have left you and our boy to your own devices.

I’ll have to be frank with you if you are to survive this awful, unequal society: the duke has likely poisoned me to get his lands, and will soon get it. You must accept your fate, for you’ll forge a new one. I’ve traced a plan ever since the duke told me of his plan to unite all of Karlington once again. I knew I’d be next.

I shall send you to my dear sister Anne, who has successfully married an earl and will train you to become a prim and proper lady, for to avenge the powerful evil, you must be on his same level. Marry as high as you can, my love. Be strong, and focus on our son. Try to sire an heir with one of these ranking men: an earl, a marquess or a duke himself. Become a royal mistress if it’s truly your only option left. It is a lot to ask, but you’ll understand soon enough. I want you to become smarter than you already are. Learn from the ambitious and scheming mamas. Take notes. Become their friend. Use your widowhood to gain their sympathy. Endure what you must endure, my darling, and wait for the perfect candidate. He must be recently single, childless and in need of a favour and advantage. The money I’ve hidden in my future tomb is there. Ask the pariah to take a look at me one more time, and he’ll understand the coded message. This way, you’ll be left alone long enough to take off me the money. I believe that five thousand pounds that I’ve killed myself for shall provide for you before you become a titled woman.

Become of iron, my sweet peony, and hopefully, have our son avenge me for this injustice.

With love,

Your husband.

Henrietta wiped her tears and whispered “Head held high, and don’t let them know your thirst for vindication.”

1795

Her time with Countess Anne had proved fruitful, and she had learned the ways of a lady in the last three years with an iron will and her everyday motivation: to one day be able to laugh at the duke’s face when she gets her vindication.

The dowager had grown fond of her, and had actually summoned her to talk privately. She bowed to her and sat per her request “There you are, my dear. I have great news for you. Fortune smiles to you, indeed.”

“What news, my lady?”

“The best news! As you know, the Earl of Edgewater has been looking for a wife for his only son, Vincent. And he has everything you ask for: he is young, of an amiable character, a recent bachelor, childless and truly needs an advantageous marriage, and the earl has chosen you, my love!”

“That is great indeed. Is he handsome?”

“Oh, indeed. He is tall, with dark hair and gorgeous blue orbs. He also very sweet and a bit shy, but the two of you shall manage. There won’t be another opportunity, daughter. Say the word and I shall ask for an audience before you decide.”

Henrietta smiled “An audience sounds delightful.”

The dowager smiled and clapped her hand together, smiling fondly at the woman that had become a daughter to her, not through any marriage, but love and affection. She was the only one who didn’t chastise her for her standards and clapped her resolve and that she knew what she wanted in life, unlike many others.

“Lord Vincent Foredale, Viscount of Edgewater!” The announcer cried.

Henrietta curtsied respectfully and asked him to sit down. He seemed distant and sad, like he just had a big loss. Henrietta asked for tea for both of them and smiled “Thank you for agreeing to see me, my lord.”

He cleared his throat and smiled “Of course, miss. I mean, Mrs. Marlcaster.”

The tea was served, and Henrietta had to lead the conversation “I wonder if you are aware of my situation, good sir.”

He sighed “I am aware that you’re a widow with one small child. Not to worry, I love children and he will be one more of the family, if you’ll have me.”

Henrietta smiled “I have no trouble marrying you. The question is if you do.”

“I can do my husbandly duties.”

“But do you want to, my lord?”

Vincent sighed deeply and passed a hand over his face “I have no option. Besides, Edgewater needs an heir on my account…”

Henrietta observed him for a moment before she got up from her seat and sat close to him and lowered her voice “Whatever it is that you want to say, say it. I shall be as quiet as a tomb. What do you need in a wife?”

Vincent frowned at her “I do not think I follow you, madam.”

“Your father and you. The two of you seemed… estranged. He has taken something from you, has he?”

Vincent looked around before whispering “How do you know?”

“I know that look of defeat, sir. Three years ago, I crossed the country with the same look. You want the same thing as I: enough power to face our greatest foe. And you need someone strong enough to do it alongside you.”

“I…I do.”

Henrietta smiled conspirationally “Tell me how I can help you and I will do the same. This doesn’t have to be terrible or painful. We can be more than spouses. We can be allies.”

And so, he told her of his romance with opera singer Mary, and how it all went down. How his father and her brother had plotted to do them apart and had succeeded, and how he wanted to take over the estate to avenge her. So far, he had fought one of his men in a tavern and earned their wedding ring back. But he wanted more, and so did she. He also told her of his mother sending him after the wedding away to war with France.

That afternoon, they planned everything and Henrietta waved goodbye her future husband as his carriage left.

The vindication for her husband’s murder had just begun. Tristan wouldn’t seem her coming.

1797

Vincent had served the king well, and had returned safe and sound. Together, as planned in the wedding night, had consumed their matrimony again in hopes to conceive a son, and God gifted her with efficient fertility once again. A month later, she was waiting for her second child. When she had announced it in the duke’s ball, eclipsing him totally, he had been rendered speechless. Poor fool.

Edmund adored Vincent and looked up to him, and she liked to believe that he loved her boy as a son of his own. She truly did.

The remark of the season had been the duke being rejected once again, this time by Lady Ida. Back at home, she had laughed till she could not breathe. She had also tried to befriend Countess Dominique, but she was suspicious of her. After all, she favoured the duke, for he was the earl’s protégé. Not for long, she told herself. If the earl continued this lifestyle, she’d soon have Dominique’s reins.

Everyone expected of her an heir. A son. A boy. She prayed everyday that she’d have a son, and did the same routine as she was pregnant with Edmund, who was now a boy of seven years old, and learning fast the ways of high society, though he was a shy and recluse boy, too weak. A man of that character would be eaten for breakfast by everybody, and she’d be damned if she didn’t sacrifice her whole life for nothing. She started to berate him, try to discipline the way John would’ve and try to give him the ideals of the new man. A new century approached, and she was more than ready to face it.

A year later, Harrison Joseph Foredale was born, and everyone was ecstatic. Vincent called him tenderly Harry. The earl gifted her an expensive necklace and a luxurious headwear, and Tristan was fuming, but Henrietta didn’t feel happy or content. She felt tired, old and sad. And no-one seemed to understand her. She had a hard time with motherhood as a lady and was always grumpy and never in the mood to hold her son, and for heaven’s sake, did he cry. She missed her old, simple life. She missed being a girl. She missed being free. And she missed her husband. She missed her old life, and hated her new one. She hated fake smiling, seeing opportunists trying to break her and Vincent apart, and cold ladies making remarks on her weight gain, calling her the Cow of Edgewater, just as well as those balls that lasted for hours. She hated being a socialite. She hated this, and hated her persona as Lady of Edgewater.

And that is what she told her old friend, the dowager. She chuckled and placed a loving hand on her hand “Let me tell you something, my dear. Not even the royal love their life. They may have privileges, as well as we do, but they lack something, as well as we do: freedom of choice. Whom to be born into. Whom to marry. The number of children we should have. And this intensifies as a woman! If you think the princes go through scrutiny, imagine those poor princesses, locked up in that jail of a Nunnery! All the knowledge and resources in the world, but never the choice to marry, have their own families and rule a country or have children. Or even the poor Princess of Wales. Trapped in a marriage with a dandy who flaunts his mistresses and parties and drinks as he pleases meanwhile, she has to take care of the children, as expected. My daughter, my granddaughter, my daughter-in-law, they all hate this life! We grow up with the dream of becoming beautiful ladies, finding a charming and brave husband who will duel God himself for our love and marry and be merry, but once we become of age, many discover that most men are disgusting and entitled pigs with no regard of our pain or well-being, squeezing out heirs in a cold room of an equally cold castle.” She raised her chin and smirked “But if you get over this pain and become smarter, you can get some excitement out of this. Visit the sea! The fair! Make friends to gossip. You can even take a small nothing girl under your wing and make of her your life’s work. Dance away, break a few bachelors’ heart and indulge as much as you wish, just because you can. Or… you can sink into misery and hope that your husband doesn’t find another younger and more beautiful girl to replace you with.”

That night, Henrietta pondered over the dowager’s words. Indeed, it wasn’t wise to rot into misery and wait for a replacement. No. She’d focus on her son, for little Harry was now Edgewater’s. That morning, she asked for tea and expensive macarons brought from Southern France, and ignored the remarks of her indulgences “Husband. I say, husband!”

Vincent looked up from his toast and frowned “Yes, Henrietta?”

“I was wondering if I may explore the village? The air and meeting new people will do me and Eddie good.”

“I see no trouble if you have an escort with you.”

Eddie smiled “I am her escort!”

Vincent chuckled, rubbing his golden curls “Preferably a female one, son.”

1800

Henrietta was walking around the Bowman’s estate, a new family who had gotten rich via the father, Mr. Bowman, being a brave soldier against Napoleon’s forces. She walked on her own as Edmund was distracted by the grass when she heard a noise. What’s more, an argument between children.

“You’re being mean!” The younger girl, of black skin and cute curls fumed.

“So what? I’m the daughter of a viscount, I can do as I please! Now, you will obey me because I am older, richer and prettier!”

“Oh, right, the white blonde girl is always the mistress!” She retaliated.

“Always has been.”

Henrietta shook her head “Enough, young ladies.”

They both whipped their heads and bowed to the lady. She glared at the small Holloway girl, the youngest, she reckoned “Felicity, that was cruel of you to say to your friend here. Now, apologise and go away.”

“B-But…”

“Are you refusing an order from the Lady of Edgewater?”

“…Sorry, Donna. I’ve… gone too far.”

“I accept your apology.”

With one last curtsy, she left, humiliated, and Donna smiled at the young lady “Thank you, my lady! You’re my hero!”

“My pleasure, Donna, is it?”

Donna nodded “Yes. Miss Donna Bowman, at your service.”

Henrietta observed the young girl. She was surely precocious, but with a strong temper and what’s more: potential.

“Walk with me, Donna. I’d love to meet your mother.”

1810

Tragedy had struck the village, for the poor Mr. Sinclaire had died mysteriously, leaving a sixteen-year-old boy, Ernest, in charge of a large estate and he was inexperienced and young. Vincent paced around, processing his friend’s death “I cannot believe it! How am I to tell poor Ernest that his father has been murdered, Henrietta?” He spun around “You’re good at delivering bad news. Perhaps you may assist me on this one!”

Henrietta shrugged “In these matters, it’s best to be frank while having in regard the fact that he’s a boy. A boy in a dangerous age.”

Vincent nodded “It is a dangerous age indeed. He could do something reckless, or worse.”

“Go with him, Vincent. I have a date with Mr. Sutton anyways. He’s again trying to see if we are to betroth Edmund with his eldest daughter, Theresa.”

“I have no objection. They are a good family, and highly respected in the village, and her father’s an honest man. If you wish it, the affair’s all yours to handle. I shall not meddle.”

“Because he’s not your son by blood?”

Vincent shook his head “Because his mother knows best, and I don’t want all your decisions to come through me. You know I love Ed like a son.”

Henrietta nodded and walked out of the house. She observed her son Harry sparring against a dummy, practising some technique “Harry! Come and kiss your mother goodbye.”

Harry gladly did and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek “Mama.”

“Hm?”

“Will you… agree to the match?”

“First, I want to interview Miss Sutton and her mother myself. Don’t you worry, especially since you are to be betrothed yourself! With Miss Parsons, no less. Not the match that I had in mind, but I’ve seen you both. You’ll make each other happy, surely.”

“I know, I just… want the best for—my brother, like any other brother.”

Henrietta smiled and kissed her son’s hand “I know you do, sweet boy. Now, on you go! The Napoleon dummy won’t defeat itself.”

He nodded and went back to his activities. Like clockwork, Miss Parsons arrived and greeted her future betrothed, and curtsied to the countess.

It has been ten years since Earl Rupert had died, a rather gruesome affair. She still didn’t dare go down the place he had died. She swore she still heard his screams full of anguish. And she had forbidden Harry to do so as well. One never knew.

She was about to go when Dowager Dominique’s voice asked her to escort her. Henrietta spun around “You don’t trust my judgement, Henrietta?”

“Of course I do, Henrietta, I am just a third neutral party. Moral support, even. I only want the best for Edmund.” Henrietta arched an eyebrow “I do, Henrietta. Earnestly so.”

“Very well. In you go.”

They quickly went to the priest’s house, and he greeted them with too much of animosity. Thankfully, she had instructed Miss Bowman not to believe in an old man’s compliments, for they always had a secret intention.

“Countess, may I applaud your eternal beauty that does not fade! You don’t look a day over twenty-eight!”

Henrietta smiled, amused “Why, thank you, good sir. May I know where your wife’s room is?”

“Oh, of course, silly me! Accompany me.” They followed the man and turned a corner, and he stopped short in a small door “I’m afraid the male presence is forbidden in her sacred room. I shall leave you to it! Would you like some tea? I’ll go for those scones over there…”

Henrietta politely knocked on the door and entered the room, where mother and daughter giggled between whispers. The moment the Countess and Dowager stood into the room, they got up and curtsied “Leave me with your mother.” Dominique then asked Theresa to give her a tour of the house and she eagerly accepted.

“Please, my lady, do sit down.”

They both sat, and Henrietta placed her hands on one another “Tell me, Mrs. Sutton, why should I choose your daughter when I’ve had offers from ladies of the court? Edmund could have any lady he wishes. Why Theresa?”

“Well, they’ve grown up together, and they are good friends. Secondly, I’ve seen them talk. There is a connection, and my Theresa is seven times the lady than many titled women, not to mention our good fortune and popularity within Moorfield. You see, my husband talks too much, but he has never disarrayed in his behaviour. He rarely drinks, nor has any bad habits and is a good family man. Same with the rest of my children. They’re good people. Meanwhile, many families have nasty habits and not a good reputation in terms of society. Our lack of title and grand fortune is mended by our good example to the citizens of Moorfield. We are role models. If our children were to marry, perhaps it wouldn’t be an ambitious match… but a smart one. A good Protestant girl with an incredible reputation and very obedient and with an intact moral and an exquisite behaviour and your son will be a force to be reckoned with, surely.”

To say that the countess was impressed was to say the least “You’ve thought this through. I take there’s a dowry?”

“Indeed, as well as a holy bible made of gold and pearls by yours truly and a very handsome cutlery, made of golden silver.”

They chatted for a bit more and, when the time came, they said their goodbyes and Dominique and Henrietta reunited in the walk to the carriage “Well? How was your time with Miss Sutton?”

“A lovely girl. A bit chatty, but her reputation is intact, has good manners, is obedient and willing to learn the ways. I will have no trouble if you approve of the match.”

“Now, let us not rush it. Edmund’s nineteen. Let the boy enjoy his youth. Meet beautiful village girls.”

“I say that theirs would be a good match. He’s Harry’s heir until he sires an heir. And I do think that an engagement will do him good, send him to the right path, but again, it is your choice, as well as your son.”

After three months of negotiation, the engagement was made, and a party was thrown in Edgewater. A private affair of twenty-four people, among them a runaway French daughter of a count and his widow. Apparently, the man had died escaping Napoleon’s regime and only his eldest son, daughter and wife could escape his soldiers. The government since had taken in the French nobility who disapproved of Napoleon until he was defeated.

The girl was a beautiful young lass, who had just turned twenty. A small and blonde woman, with sweet blue eyes and an amiable character, but known for wanting to marry a big fortune among the women and older men, who avoided her like the plague. Henrietta laughed ironically at that. They wanted a woman her age, but with no ambition that was out of pleasing them and siring heirs. She was by then thankful she never had a daughter. She would’ve been swallowed in no time by this cruel, cruel world, and would be entering a dangerous age where men and society would corrupt the poor creature. Not that Henrietta would’ve allowed it if it were the case, but it was for the best that she never had the chance to bear a daughter.

The young and mourning Master of Ledford Park slumped in a corner, nursing his whiskey. Many women had tried to demand his attention to no avail. Even the oldest Holloway had failed so, despite her striking beauty and amiable manners. She’d have fun watching poor young Roselyn fail as well. She was growing old and her own son was busy with other guests, and her husband talked business. What else was a woman on her own to do, but eavesdrop?

“I wonder why a handsome man like yourself is all alone.” She had a pretty French accent, and perhaps that was what called his attention.

“I never liked large gatherings.”

“My, a man of few words.”

“I suppose.”

She giggled “Je suis Roselyn. And you?”

“Mr. Sinclaire, pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, chou.”

He flushed pink, and Henrietta was impressed. The French did have a knack for romance. Perhaps it was just what young Ernest needed. A vivacious and romantic woman who did most of the talking for him. She eavesdropped a bit more, finding amusing how that blonde woman turned the stoic Mr. Sinclaire all pink.

What she remembered was the quick courtship and engagement, and their marriage in a small ceremony in winter. The groom seemed very much in love, meanwhile the bride was delighted by her new status.

What she also remembered, was the duke’s excessive kindness towards the new mistress of Ledford Park. He became too close to her personally, and always seemed to find an excuse to talk alone with him. She knew that if she told the master herself, she’d be dismissed, but he listened to her husband.

“I see nothing wrong, personally. It’s his way of being kind, Henrietta.”

“You forget he’s a Richards! Debauchery and ruining good marriages for a mere fuck is his thing.”

“Henrietta!” Scolded Vincent for her sudden foul language.

“My point is that there’s something fishy. You ought to tell him to remember his place. The boy has lost enough these past two years.”

Vincent looked at his wife, and after what seemed like an eternity, sighed, fully knowing that she was onto something “Very well. I shall speak with the duke myself. But not a word to Ernest or his wife!”

“Of course.”

“Especially not Miss Bowman or the staff.”

She threw her hands up “Very well! Good heavens.”

1815

Henrietta had been embroidering aimlessly for hours, waiting for her boys to come back from hunting when a servant came in rushing, soaked wet and panting. Henrietta, Dominique and Miss Parsons all looked at him in disbelief “I’m sorry, madam, but your husband requires you downstairs now. It’s about Viscount Harry.”

Henrietta wasted no time in question and went down the stairs, where she found a dumbfounded and pained Vincent, trying his best not to cry. The time stopped for Countess Henrietta for a minute. His hair, now catching some grey, his face, starting to get rugged, his tall frame, now slumped and defeated as a small body the size of her son laid in the desk.

Henrietta slowly approached the desk, and swore she could smell her beloved son. She tried to look at his angelic face when Vincent interceded “His face is disfigured. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

She instead caressed his face through the soft, expensive linen covering him “What have they done to you, my son?”

“An accident while hunting,” Edmund responded with a hoarse voice “a boar got to him before I could kill it. I am terribly sorry, mother.”

Henrietta turned around and slapped her eldest son across the face, and everyone gasped or watched in horror “You had a duty as the eldest son. All those lessons of hunting for nothing! Look what your softness and clumsiness has taken us! What will be of Edgewater now?!” She sobbed and buried her face on her son’s corpse “Years of sacrifice and effort, all gone to waste.” She looked up “Leave me with my only son.”

She didn’t have to look back to know that Edmund silently did as he said, slumping in defeat as Theresa ushered him upstairs, comforting him the best way she could. Henrietta then, when left alone, with a trembling hand, took off the linen sheet from her son’s face and, to her utmost horror, gasped and dropped to her knees, his face unrecognizable “What has that monster done to you, my son? Is it possible that such a beast dared kill my personal prince?” She sobbed “Harry, you can stop pretending. Get up, son.” She shook him “I can’t go on without you, my boy. No one can. Get up, my boy, get up, son… Get up…” She sobbed before letting out a soul-breaking scream. She threw her head up as she screamed louder this time, piercing the souls of whoever was close.

She did not cry that night. Instead, she demanded the servants to look for the largest and fattest boar and kill it in retaliation for her son. An eye for an eye, a young boar for a young boy. She’d make of that boar the meal of her son’s funeral, and the boar would have a slow and painful death that she requested to watch, much to the servants’ horror. Dominique asked her not to do such thing, but she told her that she’d only find comfort in seeing her son’s killer being rightfully slaughtered and torn apart, just as her hopes, dreams and revenge.

As the boar cried of pain, Vincent looked away, feeling terrible for the animal. Henrietta, however, was motionless and emotionless, watching as if a comedy was about. She requested its heart be taken out and buried with her son. She’d sleep well at night fully knowing she took something from those beasts.

At the funeral, everyone talked of Henrietta’s gruesome revenge towards the blameless beast, though no one dared say it to her face, fearing the countess’ wrath. Because she was furious. She felt guilty, and with a thirst of revenge.

During the year, she became jealous and bitter, always with a closed group and ignored her husband, who had encored that fateful hunt, and rarely slept, looking for where did her son’s voice come from, or spying on possible disloyal servants. She had grown paranoid and wary of everybody, feeling that someone would try to take her eldest son’s right to Edgewater as Harry’s heir. Vincent had given her his word, and he’d abide by it.

Then, the worst came: a letter from the wanton singer Mary, who apparently had hidden a red-haired daughter called Joanna and was to send her his way. Henrietta at first tried to dissuade him, but ended up in a screaming match that had to be calmed by the dowager. She turned back to him and spitted “Play with your bastard as you please, but you will only replace Edmund’s right as heir when I’m cold in my grave.” She then slammed the door shut.

She was yet to meet her, but she hated her already. That bastard wouldn’t take her son’s place from her. Not if she could help it. She’d make a deal with the devil himself if that meant that her son inherited something and wasn’t taken away again by yet another spoiled brat. Over her dead body.

April, 1816

The plan she had hatched was going well. She had spread rumours that Joanna had her late fiancé poisoned the moment she heard that she’d go live with her nobleman father so she could be free to marry a higher-ranking man.

“Hah, Joanna will lose it, I’m sure.” She told herself as she descended from the stairs. Later in the morning, Dowager Dominique had gone to London herself to mend Joanna’s situation. The same one Miss Sutton wrote her about. At last, that stupid girl was of use.

The dinner was quiet, and Vincent rarely looked or interacted with her. Not that she minded much, but many started to whisper about the lack of the complicity the marriage had once, the very same one that had sired the perfect heir, now six feet under the ground. The thought made her shiver, though she made no show of it.

A servant came into the dining room, telling her husband that a woman from Joanna’s village requested the earl’s presence at once, something of utmost importance. Vincent, not wanting to leave a woman in aid alone in the English cold, allowed her inside. Henrietta smiled “Whatever she has to say, she can say it here, since we are all on edge because of your daughter’s… manners.”

He threw her a warning glance and a woman of blonde hair with grey streaks curtsied to the earl, countess, and everybody titled in the room “My lord, forgive the late hour. My name is Anna Coleman and I’m… the mother your daughter’s late fiancé, Thomas. I have travelled all this way to dismantle the foul rumours that had reached me about their relationship over the last months they spent together.”

“Please, do tell us. As his mother and her mother-in-law, you may provide solace on this.” One noblewoman asked. Henrietta glared at her.

The woman took a deep breath “First, I want to start by damning the soulless person who dared question such a pure and young love! Joanna surely wasn’t the most emotional or expressive girl, but she was not heartless. She loved my son, and always will, even if she marries five more times. You see, I have been their escort for years, and have witnessed their love first-hand, alongside Mary, may the lord have her in His glory. Joanna wasn’t good with words, but she wrote my son numerous and loving letters, even though he was within reach, and made him beautiful and thoughtful gifts.” She looked for something in her box and showed a simple necklace “This necklace had been bought with all of her savings since she was eight, and has a lock of hair inside it, alongside a Latin phrase that says ‘To my everlasting love, Thomas. Yours, Joanna’. My boy was also bullied for his soft and introvert nature, and Joanna was the first to jump to defend her, as he did in return whenever her virtue was questioned. She had a deep love and respect for him, and always greeted him with a kiss on the hand and called him ‘my august promised one’ or ‘my other half’. She also got into nasty fights in his name, and even got arrested for defending him when he was weak. She nursed him when he was sick, as did he. I saw them exchange plans of when they were married. There was such devotion and love in their eyes… Not to mention she herself dug up and built him a worthy grave when I couldn’t afford it. And I could go on for the rest of the night.” She looked at the table “And now, I ask of you: with such obvious gestures of the purest love and devotion towards my son and his memory, however could she suddenly change her mind and have killed her first love and soulmate, all for a mere man with lands and titles? It’d be a risky gamble, one that I hear she’s losing. Why lose the love and dedication of a man with whom she had her whole life planned, all for something she never seemed to want? Joanna is a simple girl. All she ever wanted was a loving husband, little ones running around her cottage and a simple life to keep her heart warm. Tell me, why throw that all out for a dream that may as well not happen? Do you think she would do such a thing, all for naught? Because I do not think so.”

Many started to whisper, agreeing with the woman. It was clear: who were they to question a mother’s judgement? Joanna still clearly mourned him, according to Mr. Woods’ letters, telling him of her reluctance to go serious about her pursue for a husband. She even felt guilty at times for it. And Mrs. Coleman just proved them wrong with a moving speech. Vincent got up, his eyes welled with tears and emotion and placed a kind hand on her shoulder “I thank you personally for coming here to defend not only your son’s memory, but my daughter’s honour, even though she’s no longer your responsibility. As her father and head of the house.”

Mrs. Coleman bowed and smiled “I love that girl like my own. It’s the least I could do, after she made my little boy so happy and full of love and life.”

“Please, do stay the night and tell me more of them. I want to know all about my dear girl’s childhood.”

“I—I do not wish to bother—,”

“My little girl’s family is my family as well.”

Henrietta fumed and stormed out of the room, clearly angry that her plan backfired. During the night, Vincent admonished her, telling her that involving a dead, innocent boy into her schemes had been too much, and she needed to apologise to Mrs. Coleman and Joanna right away. She, of course, refused, and was thus forbidden to get out of either her chambers or the drawing room. No matter what she did, her stepdaughter just proved to be smarter and have allies of her own. No. She wouldn’t lose to a nobody from a pig farm.

May, 1816

Tragedy had yet again struck Edgewater. Vincent and Joanna were dead, all within a week. Vincent had died of a suspicious illness, and poor young Joanna, murdered by somebody they were yet to identify. Again, her efforts for nothing. She had been shocked and horrified when they told her of it. Many wondered why she was so horrified, if this is what she wanted. Sure, she never liked the girl, but to the point of wanting her dead was too far even for Henrietta. All she wanted for her was to return where she came from in shame, like the dowager had done all those years ago with that laundress.

It seemed like god didn’t want her to be happy or have her revenge. Was it His punishment for having plotted against a possibly innocent soul?

The talk with Joanna’s mother had been enlightening to say the least. She was done fighting for nothing. Twice she had plotted to have her revenge and vindication, and those plots had been foiled by death. The duke had crossed a line, and he’d soon fall as she had prayed all those years. But at what cost? A poor child had died in order for him to be held accountable. Poor girl. She now lied in the cold ground next to her dear son. Perhaps he’d look after her. Henrietta knew they would. They were kin, after all.

The moment Henrietta saw with her two eyes her son descend from the horse he mounted, the world seemed to slow yet again “Dominique,” she breathed “am I hallucinating or is that my boy?”

“I see him too, Henrietta.”

Henrietta ran over her son, hugging him tightly and kissing his head, tearing up of pure joy “Oh, my boy, my son! You’re alive! You’re back!” She kissed his head and smiled, pure love in her heart. Harry smiled “Mother… I’m home.”

“You are. You truly are!!”

Joanna left as everyone greeted the boy back home. Henrietta and him walked back to the estate “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m back from the dead. You see… I wasn’t even dead in the first place.”

Henrietta stopped on her tracks “Pardon? Whose corpse did I cry to then, Harrison?”

“I, uh, honestly don’t know. Edmund and Bishop Monroe took care of—oh, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“EDMUND TOOK CARE OF WHAT?!” Henrietta cried, hard enough for everybody to hear. And the fact that Joanna seemed unfazed by it meant that she already knew. That woman always found a way to know the deepest secret of everybody she knew.

Edmund froze on his way to hug his brother, for Henrietta’s eyes were two fiery icicles of fire and were glaring to him. She could see him shudder. Good “Edmund John Marlcaster, explain yourself at once!!”

“I…uh…”

She was so going to make her son pay for all the pain he put her through.

When Edmund suddenly married Briar, she had tried her best to remain a supportive woman. She was done being scheming and always on edge, and had tried to go back to her older self. When they returned to the estate, according to her trusted lady, they were a pair of insatiable newlyweds. Henrietta shook her head. Ah, to be young and in love… it’d soon fade away.

Harry called on her door and seemed nervous about something “Mother, there is something I’d like to tell you.”

“By all means, son.”

“I… would like to ask for your blessing for something.”

“And that is?”

“…I wish to take Theresa Sutton as my wife and countess. Joanna already approves of the match, as well as Lady Grandmother.”

Henrietta looked at him, shocked to say the least. She knew that look well. Oh, good lord. How could she not know? He was her own flesh and blood! “You love her,” she confirmed, more than asked “don’t you?”

“Deeply so.”

“How long?”

“Since I was fourteen—,”

“Fourteen?! I betrothed you to another girl while another occupied your heart, Harry!”

Harry shrugged “Annabelle knew, somehow. She always did.”

Henrietta sat down and sighed. She looked up and nodded “If she truly makes you happy… I won’t oppose you either.”

Harry smiled and hugged her tightly “My beautiful mother, the best countess of all!” He cried, kissing her hands. Henrietta laughed, looking at him. By God, she had missed his smile.

If anyone else wanted to ask permission to marry Joanna, they could as well go right ahead without her verbal consent.

Though, the moment both Briar and Theresa announced separately that they were expecting, Henrietta nearly fainted.

1818

Henrietta observed her grandchildren playing around while everyone else chatted and awed at the adorable children. She thought of Vincent. Her poor, unfortunate husband would’ve loved to go with this view, rather than the one he had by then, those two years ago. So much had happened. So much had changed. And from now on, only good things would happen, surely.

My name is Henrietta Maria Lennox, and I was born in 1772 in a simple family of three sisters in Exeter. I met my husband John when I was eighteen, and became his wife when I was nineteen. In 1791 we had our dear son Edmund, who was the apple of his eye.

Sadly, John died of poisoning because of Duke Richards’ ambition, and tasked me as a parting gift the task to vindicate him, and I did. It took me twenty-five years to do so, but I did. I married for the second time to Lord Vincent Foredale, who became the Earl of Edgewater in 1799 at the sudden death of his father, the cruel Rupert Foredale. In 1798 I bore Vincent another son, Harrison, and my, he was a golden child, and the one I loved the most.

In 1811 I betrothed my dear Edmund to Miss Theresa Sutton, and in 1814, I betrothed my dear Harry to Miss Annabelle Parsons, both good and respectable women who made in their own ways my sons content.

The year 1815, a fateful son took me my son. He faked his own death by a boar attack to flee to France and spy for the king, and he did a wonderful job for a year. The following year, Joanna Mills arrived in my life. I wasn’t thrilled at all. I felt like she had replaced my dear Harry, and promised to overthrow her and send her back to Grovershire in shame, though she outsmarted me again, and again, and again. Before either of us could properly face-off, she was murdered by the very same duke who had taken from me my land and son’s birth-right, and was gone for months until, by the end of summer, she came back from the dead. Only God knows what antics she used to heal herself and ending up in the Ottoman Empire no less. She came back, alongside my son Harry, giving him back to us. She also allowed my son to take his title as earl and the duke was exiled in shame to somewhere I don’t even want to know.

In 1817, I became a grandmother to Joanna Marlcaster by Edmund and Edward Foredale by my son Harry. Thankfully, he could marry Theresa Sutton, my grandson’s mother, before he was born, and Edmund married in secret Briar Daly, Joanna’s childhood friend. As a gift, Joanna gave him our lands back, and I realised that the girl was completely blameless of this, yet another pawn of the chess in the men’s world, and buried the hatchet. She also revealed us her own child, Vincent’s grandchild.

This year, 1818, I said goodbye to my good friend Dominique Foredale in the spring of May. She had lived to see her great-grandchildren born, and I am now officially the Dowager Countess, and the senior member of the family.

I have lost a husband, and taken a new one. I had a son, whom I treated unfairly out of fear and pettiness of my past pain. I had buried another son, and got him back in a year’s span. I gained a step-daughter who proves every day to be an efficient ally, and two daughters-in-law who treat me well despite not having done the same for them.

I have been a wife, a mother, a schemer who made her biggest goal. Nobody believed in me at first. I lost; again, and again, and again. The cut off the lights, but I still looked at my dream, and repeated myself ‘It’s not over until I win.’ And I did. Twenty-six years of effort, all were not in vain in the end.

I am Henrietta, the Dowager Countess, or as many call me, the Vindictive Countess, the woman who supported Edgewater through my womb and fortune, and made her desire of vindication true.

My name is Henrietta, the woman who proved that, if you truly believe you can do it, you will, and this is my story.

[cmbrosia]

[ rose williams , 22 , cis woman , she/her ] have you seen , MARIGOLD AMBROSE the WITCH has entered court? said to be INTELLIGENT + ELOQUENT , we can only hope their good qualities outshine that they are also SELF-DESTRUCTIVE + OBSESSIVE . when asked about them , people are always reminded of: smeared scribbles written in black ink on yellowed pages, moving shadows in a moonlit room, an ornate golden mirror and the unnerving sound of a pounding heartbeat. they are THE LADY OF HOUSE AMBROSE. they believe in THEMSELVES. may their wand guide them to absolution. 

FACTS

full name: marigold henrietta ambrose. nicknames: mari, goldie. title: lady marigold ambrose, daughter of duchess ambrose. age: twenty-two. sexuality: bisexual.  relationship status: unmarried, not engaged. languages: english (with a mild french accent), french. looks: dark hair, brown eyes. wizarding school: beauxbatons (had she attended hogwarts, she would have been in ravenclaw).  patronus: blackbird. wand: ash, dragon heartstring, 12″, stiff.  

STORY

marigold grew up in france and only recently returned to england with her mother, the duchess ambrose. despite having an english mother, she had a classic french upbringing and attended  beauxbatons instead of hogwarts. all she has ever known is france. despite living a privileged life with glamour and riches, marigold grew up extremely lonely in a big empty house. there were no children around, only her. it always felt like she lived with a stranger instead of a mother, she has never once felt loved by the duchess ambrose. due to not being around children growing up, the young witch mainly entertained herself with books — and later she began writing poetry. her poems were dark and reeking of melancholy, so marigold never showed them to anyone, and she knew her mother would only laugh at her words. the duchess had given her a bright name, a golden name, but she always felt unable to live up to it. she was not sunshine personified, she was midnight rain.

school became her saving grace and marigold discovered new sides to herself at beauxbatons. the biggest one was that she actually learned how to make true friends. she was a master at small talk, of being polite and charming as she had been taught, but she never made a real human connection before starting school. the moment she said goodbye to her mother, something inside her changed, a weight was lifted from her shoulders. marigold had always thought herself incapable of making friends, she had thought that she needed no one but herself. her years at school were her happiest by far. she wrote fewer poems but she filled her hours alongside her little group of friends. the young lady was finally content. when she graduated from beauxbatons marigold truly believed that everything would change, but almost immediately she found herself falling back into the same pattern, her mother made sure of that. the house was still empty, filled with beautiful things and balls hosted every month, but her mother still felt like a stranger. countless poems were written, all filled with gloom and despair, a wish for a different life. she wanted her old life with her friends back, she did not want to meet french noblemen and women whose vainess rivaled that of her mother. but then one day the duchess suddenly announced they would return to england. mari decided then and there this was her chance to finally escape the numbness, to finally feel something again, even if her mother has proven to be more set on finding a suitable husband for her daughter than to help marigold grow into her own person.

the day after returning to london marigold ventured out to the shops, her object of desire being a new hat and after introducing herself to the shopkeeper, she overheard two women nearby whispering about her mother, how they had no idea that the duchess had a child. at first marigold did not think anything of it, but somehow the thought planted itself in her subconscious and it is currently haunting her. mari knows that she was born in england, surely the ladies must just be remembering wrong. she knows it makes no sense. why would the duchess raise another’s child... but what if there is a reason why the duchess has never loved her — one other than her not living up to her mother’s expectations?  

PERSONALITY 

marigold is an introvert that has been molded into an extrovert. it saps a lot of her energy, but she can smile, small talk and entertain with the best of them. some part of her enjoys knowing that she can put an act on so well. she is fiercely intelligent, scoring high marks in all her classes in school, and she actually enjoys learning and spends a lot of time with her nose in books. she is most skilled at charms which makes her a dangerous duelist, she is also very creative with her choice of spells. she is generally pleasant to be around, marigold takes no enjoyment in other people’s suffering, but neither does she go to great lengths to make others happy.

due to her unhappy childhood, she can get caught up in her sadness. it can take such a deep hold that she becomes self-destructive. there is also a deep rooted rage inside her. it rarely bubbles to the surface but when it does, mari has no control of herself. none of her poems before she started school has survived, she burned them all in a fit of rage years ago. marigold has a tendency to be obsessive, she finds it hard to stop or let go when something has managed to capture her interest. this has led to countless sleepless nights spent thinking, reading or writing about the same subject over and over again. 

she is in the process of figuring out who she truly is without the influence of her friends, of her mother or her old life in france. 

[seasonsfm]

⸻  ⊰  𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄  𝐓𝐎  𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑  !  the  ton  is  buzzing  at  your  arrival.  the  following  character(s)  and  faceclaim(s)  are  now  taken  and  closed  for  applications.  please  make  sure  to  read  through  and  follow  each  step  of  our  checklist  and  submit  your  blog(s)  via our  asks  within    the    next    24    hours  so  we  are  able  to  send  you  the  discord  link . 

ana  de  armas  as  aurelie  dogood,  the  lady  of  rosse  by  taryn  (  oc  dormer  spot  ).

anya  taylor - joy  as  theodosia  duffy  née  howard,  the  duchess  of  fife  by  velvet.

arsema  thomas  as  frances,  miss  maynard  by  bonnie.

ben  barnes  as  grayson  cecil,  the  marquess  of  salisbury  by  marie.

charitha  chandran  as  henrietta,  miss  olivier  by  garnet.

corey  mylchreest  as  edmond,  mister  lambton  by  faye.

dev  patel  as  miles  wilson  by  ferb.

elle  fanning  as  lilac,  miss  dunbar  by  ferb.

florence  pugh  as  elizabeth,  lady  hayes  by  dani.

hannah  dodd  as  lyanna,  lady  hastings  by  krystal.

india  amarteifio  as  louise,  the  duchess  of  macklenberg - strelitz  by  kai.

jessie  mei  li  as  eliza,  lady  duff  by  s.

joe  alwyn  as  robert,  earl  spencer  by  di  (  oc  grosvenor  spot  ).

jonah  hauer  king  as  james,  earl  grosvenor  by  juno.

jonathan  bailey  as  edward  melbourne,  the  duke  of  wellington  by  meg  (  oc  hanover  spot  ).

katie  findlay  as  sophronia  blakely,  the  mistress  and  innkeeper  of  the  white  rabbit  by  faye.

kelvin  harrison  jnr.  as  ludlow,  mister  maynard  by  velvet.

kylie  bunbury  as  elisabeth,  the  duchess  of  macklenberg - strelitz  by  annie.

matilda  de  angelis  as  sophia,  the  princess  of  great  britain  by  lu.

morfydd  clark  as  eleanor,  miss  lambton  by  circe.

ozge  yagiz  as  defne,  miss  cecil  by  taryn.

patrick  gibson  as  felix,  the  duke  of  york  by  s.

rege - jean  page  as  albert  augustus,  the  duke  of  macklenberg - strelitz  by  di.

sai  bennett  as  catherine  grosvenor,  the  duchess  of  york  by  annie.

simone  ashley  as  lalitha,  miss  selvam - townsend  by  circe.

theo  james  as  william  augustus,  the  prince  of  wales  by  kai.

timothee  chalamet  as  westley  evans  by  kell  (  oc  hanover  spot  ).

[ulkaralakbarova]

Based on the famous book by Jules Verne the movie follows Phileas Fogg on his journey around the world. Which has to be completed within 80 days, a very short period for those days. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Phileas Fogg: David Niven Passepartout: Cantinflas Whist Partner: Finlay Currie Ralph: Robert Morley Monsieur Gasse: Charles Boyer Mr. Fix: Robert Newton Achmed Abdullah: Gilbert Roland Saloon Hostess: Marlene Dietrich Saloon Pianist: Frank Sinatra Train Conductor: Buster Keaton Proctor Stamp: John Carradine Steward: Peter Lorre Saloon Bouncer: George Raft Colonel: Tim McCoy Stationmaster: Joe E. Brown Princess Aouda: Shirley MacLaine Mr. Talley: Melville Cooper Police Chief: Reginald Denny Railway Official: Ronald Colman Denis Fallentin: Trevor Howard Hinshaw: Harcourt Williams Tourist: Martine Carol Francis Cromarty: Cedric Hardwicke Roland Hesketh-Baggott: Noël Coward Foster: John Gielgud French Coachman: Fernandel Paris Tart: Evelyn Keyes Flamenco Dancer: José Greco Abdullah’s Henchman: Cesar Romero British Consul: Alan Mowbray Steamship Company Clerk: Charles Coburn Drunk in Barbary Coast Saloon: Red Skelton SS Henrietta First Mate: Andy Devine SS Henrietta Engineer: Edmund Lowe SS Henrietta Helmsman: Victor McLaglen London Carriage Driver: John Mills Sporting Lady’s Companion: Glynis Johns Sporting Lady: Hermione Gingold Prologue Narrator: Edward R. Murrow Drunk in Hong Kong Dive: Mike Mazurki Reform Club Member: Ronald Squire Reform Club Member: Basil Sydney Bullfighter: Luis Miguel Dominguín Elephant Driver-Guide: Robert Cabal SS Henrietta Captain: Jack Oakie London Revivalist Group Leader: Beatrice Lillie Club Member: A.E. Matthews Club Member: Walter Fitzgerald Club Steward: Ronald Adam Clergyman: Frank Royde Extra (uncredited): Abdullah Abbas Extra (uncredited): Jesse Adams Extra (uncredited): Fred Aldrich Extra (uncredited): Ray Armstrong Extra (uncredited): Gertrude Astor Extra (uncredited): Walter Bacon Extra (uncredited): Rama Bai Extra (uncredited): Leah Baird Extra (uncredited): Brandon Beach Extra (uncredited): Eugene Beday Extra (uncredited): Helena Benda Extra (uncredited): Audrey Betz Extra (uncredited): George Blagoi Extra (uncredited): Eumenio Blanco Extra (uncredited): Nina Borget Extra (uncredited): Danny Borzage Extra (uncredited): Hazel Boyne Extra (uncredited): George Bruggeman Extra (uncredited): Bob Burrows Extra (uncredited): Paul Busch Extra (uncredited): Gordon Carveth Extra (uncredited): Spencer Chan Extra (uncredited): Jack Chefe Extra (uncredited): Sing Chen Extra (uncredited): Dick Cherney Extra (uncredited): Bud Cokes Extra (uncredited): Louise Colombet Extra (uncredited): Bill Couch Extra (uncredited): Paul Cristo Extra (uncredited): Roy Damron Extra (uncredited): Eddie Das Extra (uncredited): John Davidson Extra (uncredited): Jack Davies Extra (uncredited): Jack Davis Extra (uncredited): Anna De Linsky Extra (uncredited): Gloria Dea Extra (uncredited): John Deauville Extra (uncredited): Harry Denny Extra (uncredited): James Dime Extra (uncredited): Joe Dougherty Extra (uncredited): Dan Dowling Extra (uncredited): Harry Duff Extra (uncredited): Arthur Dulac Extra (uncredited): Charles Dunbar Extra (uncredited): Renald Dupont Extra (uncredited): Larry Duran Extra (uncredited): Minta Durfee Extra (uncredited): Jack Ellis Extra (uncredited): Richard Elmore Extra (uncredited): Frank Erickson Extra (uncredited): Bob Evans Extra (uncredited): Harry Evans Extra (uncredited): Franklyn Farnum Extra (uncredited): Art Felix Extra (uncredited): Grace Field Extra (uncredited): Sam Finn Extra (uncredited): Bess Flowers (uncredited): Frances Fong Extra (uncredited): Otto Forrest Extra (uncredited): Helen Foster Extra (uncredited): Jesús Franco Extra (uncredited): Ben Frommer Extra (uncredited): Curt Furburg Extra (uncredited): Joe Garcio Extra (uncredited): Joe Gilbert Extra (uncredited): Mary Gleason Extra (uncredited): June Glory Extra (uncredited): Albert Godderis Extra (uncredited): James Gonzalez Extra (uncredited): Carmelita González Extra (uncredited): Dick Gordon E...

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

It watched me without eyes

"Hey- You listening?" My date snapped her fingers in front of me, tearing my gaze away from it. For a brief moment I couldn't remember her name, then it came to me.

"Sorry, Frances. Didn't mean to doze off like that," I said sheepishly. "So… you were saying?"

Frances reclined back, seemingly mollified. "Well, Miriam _had_ to run around telling everyone about Henrietta's boyfriend, so Mirabelle and I teamed up to stop her from running her mouth. But could you believe it…" 

"Yep, I'm sure," I said idly, tuning her words out. Goodness, that woman ran her mouth like nobody's business. She was pretty enough to make up for it, a bombshell blonde with baby blue eyes. I had met her on a dating app. She was the bubbly, spiritual sort, going so far as to call herself a 'witch' and brag about her astrology knowledge. Not the brightest bulb in the box, naturally, but I had always had a thing for bimbos.

"Ugh, I know right?! Like, how could she say such things about poor Glendy! It makes my blood boil just thinking about it, you know you know?! That's why I think Mitchell was so brave to stand up for her…"

Something brushed against my bare, exposed throat, and I jolted away, standing up and turning around sharply. But it was only an elderly woman in a bright pink scarf, shuffling to her seat. "So sorry for starting you, dearie," she purred, settling down. "Really, I ought to be more careful."

I nodded placatingly. "Sorry about that, ma'am," I said, nodding my head in apology. The hunger made me skittish. We were at a cosy little Italian restaurant, newly opened and barely occupied.

"Goodness, you're really anxious!" Frances tittered. "Say? Where's our food? I think I need to go call and talk to the waiters at this point." She waved her arm about, trying to catch the attention of the waiters. From the corner where we sat, I caught sight of three of them, heads bowed in some sort of conversation.

None of them looked up. The restaurant was practically empty, and I understood why. Who would want to go to a place with such poor service? They had yet to greet the old lady next to me. "I'll deal with this," I told Frances, and got up ready to give them a piece of my mind. 

Pushing my chair back, I strode purposefully over to the waiters. "Hey, we ordered a lasagna, a risotto, two white wines and a bread basket twenty minutes ago! Where the hell's our food?"

They didn't look up, and I suddenly felt a rush of rage. "Didn't you hear what I just said? I want to speak to your manager now!" The nerve of them, to ignore a paying customer. Had they even conveyed my order to the kitchen? I took one step closer until I was glaring at the back of a dark haired waiter's head. Fed up with him, I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "Don't play dumb-"

He was watching me with no eyes. His face was nothing more than a smooth plateau, devoid of emotion. Yet I had the distinct feeling that he saw me, that he was staring at me, and most of all, that he was angry.

It occurred to me that I might have made a significant error. An error so significant that it might cost me my life. I took two steps away, releasing the faceless waiter from my grasp. "My bad, boys," I said, raising my hands in surrender. "I won't bother you again, eh? Take your time with the lasagna."

The other two waiters looked up, and I swear I saw a twitching of the cheeks that signalled a grin. I turned and fled, only to run right into the old lady. "Run, somethings really wrong with the waiters!" I grabbed her wrist, but something held me right there. I turned around.

The old lady grinned at me, revealing far too many rows of needle-sharp teeth. Her scarf wrapped itself about me like furry pink tentacles, constricting my chest and making my head spin. "What a nice youngster you are," she purred, grasping my arms with bloodied, tetanus-ridden claws. "Looking after an old lady like that, hmm? Why, I could just eat you up!"

Her jaws unclicked, and I gagged on the rotten stink of her breath. They expanded, and I found myself staring down the deep abyss of her oesophagus. I was going to die here, I realised dismally. I was going to die because I went on a stupid date at this miserable restaurant.

And then I wasn't. A small, manicured hand pulled me back, and I found myself wedged into the not-insignificant bosom of Frances. She bore a look of complete, utter disgust. "Let go of my date, skinwalker," she snapped. "This one's mine!"

"Frances, run! Don't try to fight that thing," I urged, trying to hurry her along. I hooked my arm around hers and picked her up, only to get a snack on the head for my troubles.

"Put me down, you idiot! Didn't you hear a word I said?" She glared at me ferociously. "I'm a witch, bitch! And I can take a skinwalker. Now get behind me, you nitwit, and stop pretending to be so macho." For once, I did as she told me to, and ducked behind a table. This was way out of my paygrade.

The skinwalker — if that was what the old lady really was — laughed at Frances. "Little witch, do you really think you can def-" Frances smacked the skinwalker, cutting off its words. It was almost comical, in a horrible way, to see her stare down a monster twice her size.

She grabbed the coat of the skinwalker and pulled it down. With her other palm, she whipped out her lipstick and sketched a strange symbol on its forehead. "Yes," she said triumphantly, as the skinwalker thrashed and screamed in her iron grip, "I totes think I can beat you."

The three waiters exchanged glances with each other, then made a run for the door. Smoothly, Frances capped her lipstick and pulled out a dagger. She threw it expertly at the dark haired waiter, who was almost at the door. The waiter went down like a stone, hitting the floor with a too-loud thump. The other two followed suit soon after.

Almost as an afterthought, Frances pulled out a tiny, pink handgun and shot the skinwalker in the back of the head twice, then did the same for the twitching waiters. "Ugh, I bet Miriam sent those summonings after me," she said casually, turning to me. "She's always so jealous of the guys I pull, you know you know? I kept telling her she's such a red flag, and you know- she kinda needs to change and get a glowup, but does she listen? No, of course not! Who listens to little Frances, am I right?"

I stared blankly at her, then nodded obediently. "Err," I started, trying to arrange my thoughts into coherence, "Thanks for the save earlier, and I'm really sorry for not listening to you, you know?"

Frances beamed at me and pulled me up, leaving my sleeves coated in blood. "Aww, you're so sweet! I'm just glad you're not the sort who can't deal with a girl being stronger than them, you know you know?" She skipped over to the waiters and pulled out the daggers, which I noted to be decorated in eye-wateringly cutesy stickers. "Look, can I invite you over to my place? It won't be nearly as good as here, but I've got some microwave lasagna??"

The sheer hope on her face, and the fact that she had just single handedly taken down the stuff of my nightmares, meant I really couldn't say no.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Hi! I'm a bit of a history nerd too (though never enough to study it in uni, just as a hobby 😂)

What about question nr 10: Pieces of art ( paintings, sculpures, lithographies, ect.) related to history you like most ( post an image of them)

And/or nr 13 Something random about some random historical person in a random era.

Also, not related to anything previously said, what book would you recommend? Could be any period of time or place 💜

Thank you!

Thank you anon!! <3

10. Pieces of art ( paintings, sculptures, lithographies, etc.) related to history you like most ( post an image of them)

This may be a basic pick but I DON'T CARE. The Execution of Lady Jane Grey by Paul Delaroche is so utterly devastating, it's one of my favourite paintings of all time - it just captures how terrible Jane Grey's fate was so well. I was lucky enough to see it in person at the National Gallery a few weeks ago and it's so huge that you just can't look away from it

13. Something random about some random historical person in a random era.

It was hard to choose a single person for this but lemme tell you people about the absolute legend that was Jeffrey Hudson. Jeffrey Hudson was born with dwarfism and lived as a 'court dwarf' for Queen Henrietta Maria, the wife of Charles I of England. His life was really interesting, and I'd recommend reading about it, but my personal highlight was when he challenged another man at court to a duel after suffering an insult - his opponent showed up with what was essentially a 17th Century water pistol, clearly expecting Hudson not to put up much of a fight, and instead Hudson fatally shot him in the head. (He was also captured by Barbary pirates at one point?? icon)

As for book recommendations, here's a little list:

Femina by Janina Ramirez - Focuses on correcting historical misconceptions about medieval society and reframing notable female figures that have often been overlooked, including chapters on Aethelflaed of Mercia, Margery Kempe, and the women responsible for creating the Bayeux Tapestry (Side note, but I met Janina Ramirez at a history festival last year and she is absolutely LOVELY. This book is really excellent, and a great introduction to loads of incredible women)

Severed by Frances Larson - A history of severed heads. Yes it's as nasty and fun as it sounds

Mortal Monarchs by Suzie Edge - A timeline of the deaths of every single English monarch from Harold Godwinson in 1066 to George VI in 1952

A Fatal Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum by Emma Southon - A history of murder in Ancient Rome. Really good fun, Emma Southon is definitely a good author for anyone interested in Roman History, especially Roman women

The Covent Garden Ladies by Hallie Rubenhold - A deep-dive into the people behind 'Harris's List of Covent Garden Ladies', a directory detailing the prostitutes working in late 18th Century London

These are all good history books to read for fun - I definitely tend to avoid reading proper academic texts when it's not for my work, so these are all super easy and interesting reads

[thechaosmuses]

Below the cut is a list of all my canon characters, from every fandom, organized by such. I figured I would go ahead and put this up, as well as an oc muse one, for my oc and canon starters so that way it's easier for y'all to see who is included without going to every separate muse list.

The Vampire Diaries

Freya Celeste Mikaelson Elijah Daniel Mikaelson Niklaus Ryder Mikaelson Kolton Nathaniel Mikaelson Henrik Alexander Mikaelson Hope Andrea Mikaelson Malachai Silas Parker Olivia Mae Parker Silas Xavier Salvatore Damon Luca Salvatore Stefan Lance Salvatore Jeremiah Steven Gilbert Katherine Maria Pierce Qetsiyah Zione Bennett Bonnie Sheila Bennett Marcel Leon Gerard Hayley Jane Marshall Elizabeth Anne Forbes Josette Olivia Saltzman Ryan Nicholas Clarke Landon Maxwell Kirby Aurora Violet De Martel Aiden Matthew Lawrence Tyler James Lockwood Alexia Rae Branson Sebastian Killian Jones Milton Gabriel Greasley Benjamin James Kenson Lorenzo James St. John Vincent Keith Griffith Sean Kieran O'Connell Lucien Maverick Castle TEST MUSES Dorian Lee Williams Sophie Danielle Deveraux Monique Marie Deveraux Evangeline Amaya Sinclair Inadu Tayen Labonair Rafael Alexander Waithe Finch Taylor Tarrayo Cleo Ada Sowande Penelope Eden Park Jade Ivy Young

Containment

Jake Holden Riley Katie Selene Frank Jana Christine Mayfield Teresa Violet Keaton

Teen Wolf

Mieczyslaw Noah Stilinski Scott Gregorio McCall Christopher Henry Argent Allison Artemis Argent Lydia Sophia Martin Jackson William Whittemore Derek Samuel Hale Cora Avery Hale Camden Matthew Lahey Isaac Michael Lahey Vernon Dallas Boyd Danny Keahu Mahealani Malia Elizabeth Tate Kira Jade Yukimura Theodore Christian Raeken Jordan Tyler Parrish Aiden Jacob Steiner Mason Cade Hewitt Brett Lee Talbot Garrett Cole Williams Nolan Andrew Holloway Bobby Adam Finstock Marin Sophia Morrell Braeden Valerie Bardot Deucalion Damien Hemming

Supernatural

Dean Michael Winchester Castiel James Novak Claire Grace Novak Jack Kellan Kline Gadreel Dustin Ward Rowena Jane MacLeod Fergus Roderick MacLeod Belphegor

DC Comics

Bartholomew Henry Allen Nora Francine West-Allen Bart Joseph West-Allen Sara Caitlin Lance Dionysus Arbios Kara Aileen Danvers Winslow Jordan Schott Jr. Clark Joseph Kent Mon-El Lar Gand Querl Dox Music Meister Harleen Frances Quinzel Pamela Lillian Isley

Marvel

Joaquin Miguel Torres Peter Django Maximoff Pietro Django Maximoff Wanda Marya Maximoff James Buchanan Barnes (pre-serum and super soldier) Steven Grant Rogers (pre-serum and super soldier) Michelle Julia Jones-Watson Peter Benjamin Parker Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy Peter Benjamin Parker Jonathan Spencer Storm Kate Bishop Natalia Alianovna Romanova Yelena Fyodorovna Belova Brunnhilde Valkyrie Loki Laufeyson Stephanie Grace Rogers (genderbent steve) Jamie Belladonna Barnes (genderbent bucky) Samantha Trinity Wilson (genderbent sam) Theodosia Audra Odinsdottir (genderbent thor) Lady Loki Laufeyson (genderbent loki)

Stranger Things

Jonathan Ross Byers Nancy Diana Wheeler Steven Michael Harrington Robin Rae Buckley Edward Joseph Munson Argyle Eduardo Diaz Jane Eleanor Hopper Dustin Jace Henderson Lucas Charles Sinclair Maxine Elizabeth Mayfield

Misc

Nicholas Sean Miller Winston Saint-Marie Schmidt Reagan Marie Lucas Leonardo Winston Hamato Michelangelo Chandler Hamato Samuel Nicholas Drake King Benjamin Florian

9-1-1

Athena Grant Howard Han Henrietta Wilson Maddison Juliet Buckley Evan Jones Buckley Edmundo Anthony Diaz

Book Babes

Major Jay Kitahara Lieutenant Lorelai Cathwell Sergeant Major Alary Johann Corporal Erik Mendel Devin Nesta Archeron Elain Archeron Feyre Archeron Rhysand Darling Azriel Cassian Amren Morrigan Gwyneth Berdara Eris Sargon Vanserra Lucien Vanserra Helion Luciano Meridian Tamlin Avri Desrosiers Thesan Addae Koitla Viviane Anera Agnarrson