#ursula warleggan

[softschofield]

mary warleggan, née lashbrook, 1732-1771; mother of george, wife of nicholas, sister-in-law of cary, grandmother of ursula and valentine — person in her own right | it is a serious thing to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world (and women know what it is to endure)

[lokislynx]

Poldark.

I can't even remember how many times I have read the book series through. I adore them.

I loved the old tv series too. I adored how it was bult like you were watching a theatre play.

The new adaption with Aidan Turner as Ross is good too but.

Spoiler allert!

I was and still am hugely disappointed by season 5. I am just rewatching.

Despard is a fool Ross would never follow. Ross is also behaving widely out of character in sertain other aspects. And the way the series force feeds him as a hero in season 5 is... embarrassing.

And then. The original books don't really have slavery as a subject. Ross's speeches in parlament are more about the rights of an ordinary english worker and the children who labour. The Poldark family has enough problems with their daily life in Cornwall. And while slavery is a terrible part of human history, hasn't it been used in other movies and series and literature before. So why bring it into Poldark which already has an interesting and rather unique story base?

And then there is George Warleggan. An absolutely brilliant character. Keeps the season 5 somewhat floating. The new series adaption goes all in with his love for Elizabeth. The way he is truly broken by her death is genious. But then this arch is rather ruined by the slavery arch of the series. George in the books never would remarry for business reasons, in fact he starts to woo a wealthy woman for the pure lust he feels for her which is a new feeling for him. That makes him gather even more riches so that he can propose to her: a woman who is rather... costly. So George is quite powerful and rich enough to marry the woman he wants, not the woman he would benefit from. He also did not wish to destroy Elizabeth's children. He adored Ursula. He regreted the fight he had with Valentine (when Valentine was a young adult and... frankly pretty impossible). And George did not stand between Geoffry Charles's future or beloved like he tries in the new series. The George in the books isn't weak.

And then there's Tess. Surely created by the tv series writers to make Demelza seem more witty and powerful, but does the opposite, I think, to all she (Tess) touches. She is a poorly written, cliche character. Much like Sylvie in the Loki series.

[incorrectpoldarkquotes]

"Listen, guys, I don't know how I feel about Papa. I love him, I hate him, I'm going to outsource it to my therapist."

- Valentine, to Geoffrey Charles and Ursula

[upstartpoodle]

An extract of a one shot of a post-canon Dwight & George friendship fic as requested by @lashbrook11, another little extract of which can be found here.

“Oh, Dr Enys, forgive me if I don’t stand,” he whispered hoarsely. “I have only just managed to get her to settle.”

His tired gaze flickered down towards the sleeping Ursula, one tiny fist clasped loosely at the embroidered edge of her blanket. Her little face was peaceful, innocent, but there was a tell-tale redness to it that told Dwight she had been crying. He made a soft noise of sympathy at the sight.

“I quite understand, Sir George,” he replied, careful to keep his voice as low as his host’s so as not to disturb her. “Rest assured, I’ve no need for such formalities under the circumstances. I merely intended to call upon you on my return from Sawle.”

George raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

“I see,” he said. “So is this to be a professional visit?”

“Well, I had intended for it to be a social call,” Dwight replied, not entirely truthfully, “but by the looks of it, it appears as if my services as a physician would not go amiss here.”

At his remark, George’s lips quirked upwards in what, in a less serious man, he could barely have justified as calling a smile. It was not—thank God—the smile that he had often seen directed at Ross, cold and sharp and promising future bankruptcy and ruin for insults dealt. Nor was it the one that had been reserved for Elizabeth and his children, soft and faint, but warm, genuine. Instead there was something rather wry about the expression, not unlike the looks he vaguely remembered him exchanging with Francis so many years ago. There was just a touch of humour in it that seemed to Dwight, even dulled as it was by the deep lethargy in his eyes, a little out of place on the man’s face, upon which he was far more accustomed to seeing cold, calculated aloofness, barely concealed anger or—more recently—pure, abject misery.

“Ah, well, as you can see, whilst you have been battling the French, we have been facing an equally formidable adversary,” he said. “The mighty cold. Unfortunately, it has proven to be a more than worthy opponent. Bessie was the first of the casualties. It has managed to lay all the servants quite low. Only Lucy and the cook seem to have escaped it. But I hardly think you have come here for an account of my domestic woes. Please, sit.”

[oetravia]

Happy Father’s Day!

[letterfromtrenwith]

Valentine’s Day

A little modern AU George/Elizabeth mini-fic. 

"Well, they're finally asleep - oh." George stopped short, finding their bedroom apparently empty.

"I'm in here!" Elizabeth's voice floated out from the en-suite just before the faint sound of water running. "Finally got too tired, did they?"

"You'd think it wouldn't have taken as long." He tried - and failed - to suppress a jaw-cracking yawn. They'd been up since 5:30, unable to keep Valentine and Ursula in bed any longer. Valentine had been hyperactive - well, more hyperactive than usual - for the past week leading up to his fifth birthday party, and any time her brother was excited, so was Ursula. Being only two, she'd forgotten than she'd had her birthday just a couple of months ago at Christmas, and had apparently decided that it was today as well.

"Birfday! Birfday!" She'd exclaimed half the morning until the guests had finally arrived - her little friends Sophie Enys and Loveday Carne being invited probably hadn't done much to disabuse her of the notion that it was her party, too. George and Elizabeth had decided to buy her a couple of new toys, as well, since understanding why Valentine got presents on her birthday and she didn't get any on his was probably beyond a toddler.

Valentine seemingly hadn't minded at all that his little sister had co-opted his birthday, even calling for her to help him blow out the big '5' candle on his cake, which had prompted a chorus of 'aww's from the mums present, and caused Elizabeth to try to hide so Caroline's Instagram story wouldn't feature her wiping her eyes.

With Valentine having started school the previous Autumn - an event that had caused George to wonder where the preceding four years had gone in what seemed like the blink of an eye - this was his first 'real' birthday party. Previous ones had had mostly adult guests - Caroline, of course, who doted on her godson only a tiny fraction less than her on her own daughters, Morwenna, Francis, Verity and all the others - but for some reason George couldn't quite remember they had decided that inviting fifteen 5-years olds and their parents into their house was a good idea. In the end, several of Valentine's classmates had ended up being accompanied by babysitters and older siblings, their parents off on their own Valentine's Day outings.

"Sorry we didn't get to do much for ourselves today." George said, after he'd finally got into his pyjamas and sunk gratefully into bed. In a very brief lull before the guests arrived, they'd exchanged cards and small gifts - a box of Elizabeth's favourite chocolates and a new pink tie for George - but had barely spent any time alone together until this moment, either herding kids or checking on food or topping up adults (very much non-alcoholic) drinks. Even after it was all over there'd been cleaning up to do, not to mention futile attempts to convince an overhyped Valentine and Ursula to at the very least take a nap while their parents had dinner.

"There's still time. The day's not over yet."

"What are we going to do in...two hours?" George laughed, although he was actually rather shocked it was only ten. It felt like he'd been awake for days.

"Oh, I can think of a thing or two." Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, wearing a smile and something made of red lace and silk which didn't cover anywhere near enough skin to qualify as a nightie. Suddenly, George didn't feel quite so tired anymore.

[nervousbirddreamer]

Baby Ursula Warleggan in 5.01

[harry-leroy]

👀

Hi! Thank you for this! So this is an interaction between Ursula Warleggan and Ross Poldark after Valentine’s been accused of murder - something (as I understand it) happens in the latter books. (I haven’t gotten around to reading the books yet, so this might not be any kind of accurate- oh well!).

“You realize,” began Ross, using a tone of voice that he used when speaking with George, one of amused but tired patience. “That your brother is on trial for murder,”

“Yes, yes!” Ursula began talking over him, whatever patience that was maintained during the conversation snapping in half. “Not to worry, I have been made well aware of the fact,”

“And will you do nothing?” Ross asked, keeping his gaze on her no matter how much the young woman didn’t like it. Once there was a moment of silence, Ross pressed further. “You are his sister. I cannot say for certain how close you were but at the very least-“

“At the very least, what?” Ursula looked him dead in the eyes, which she did not do often to people she spoke to. She had her father’s deep, sunken blue eyes, though in them Ross saw a glimmer of Elizabeth. He blinked the thought away.

“Your intervention-“ Ross began, trying to pry away from the gaze of those terrifying eyes, though Ursula cut him off yet again.

“Intervention?” the tone was unmistakably something of her mother’s. A pregnant silence fell between them. She walked closer towards him, her shoes clicking on the floor. Each step echoed fierce in Ross’s ears. He found that he could not escape that bright blue wild gaze. “Who are you to talk of an intervention- with such presumption-“

“Now is not the time-“ Ross stepped back, looking down at the floor.

“Not the time?” Ursula said with a straight tone, rather challenging.

“Your brother’s trial!” Ross tried to redirect the conversation, though it felt like something of a sword match.

“Your son’s trial!” The eyes were at their brightest now. Ross was stunned into silence. After a brief moment, Ursula spoke again. “Your son. The only connection I have with Valentine Warleggan is through a woman I have never met. A woman I most likely killed the day I was born. A woman you and my father undoubtedly had a passion for. I know what you did, Ross,”

Ursula had never called him ‘Ross’ before, though she was not sure it felt as good to say it as she had wanted it to feel. It was always ‘Captain Poldark’ or ‘Poldark’ if they were being friendlier.

“Would she have wanted you to stand by while her son stands unfairly on trial for murders he did not commit?” Ross diverted the passion aside, shrugged his shoulders, almost saying the words with a casual tone of voice.

Ursula turned her eyes away. It almost looked as though she were about to lose her balance.

“Oh,” she began. “You know what she would have wanted, do you? Oh, because what? You knew her so well? You were never even married-“

“She deserved better than your father,” Ross countered.

After a pause, “my father is not a good man, but he suffered just as much for what you did to my mother as she did. As my brother does at this very moment. As I do,”

The eyes turned back on him, anger rolling in the irises like a harsh tide.

“You broke my family. You’ve ruined our lives. With your presumption. With your lust. With your inability to let go. With your bastard love-child. Every day we Warleggans live under the shadow of your legacy. Everything we do, you’re always there. To judge. To counter. To strike us down, so don’t talk to me about an intervention because you’ve done quite enough of that for one lifetime,”

Ross blinked, unsure of how to untangle himself from the snare of her gaze.

“Ursula,” he began.

“Get out of my house,” she snapped.

“Ursula,” he extended a hand, perhaps to calm her down.

“I said get out of my house,” she turned away from him, beginning to gather the papers she had been working on off of the table. “You keep inviting yourself in and it’s bad form,”

“Bad form?” Ross questioned. It sounded like something George would have said at her age.

“Yes, yes!” her voice rose, half-interrupting him again. “Everything you do on this side of town is bad form. This isn’t Cornwall,”

She paused, setting the papers down.

“You know, I pity your wife,” she began to feel fidgety, passionate nerves seizing her. “I pity your children. My father is a cold man but at the very least, he doesn’t have bad form,”

“I’m sorry you think that,” Ross’s tone was graver now, though it was unclear as to whether the gravity came from the first comment or the latter.

Silence again. Ursula took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she did. It was the best she could do to control her spiraling anxiety. She blinked them open again, the ferocity of their color slightly more tame.

“I will defend my brother,” she spoke finally. “I will testify,”

“To his good character?” Ross had what he wanted now.

“No,” Ursula cut him off. “Not to his good character. My brother has no good character. He’s taken after his father in every way. His crimes are great and many, and he will answer for them somehow,”

“On God’s doorstep?” Ross almost said with a tone of arrogance.

“I don’t believe in God,” Ursula said. “No. Not on God’s doorstep. On the doorstep of his own home, yes. On the doorstep of the homes of the many young women he has slept with, of the men he has robbed, of the families he has deprived of their livelihood, of your own home,”

Another silence.

“So when you ask if I will testify,” she said. “I say yes, I will testify. But I will testify only in the name of the law, and of justice. My brother is not a good man, but he is not a murderer. That much I will admit,”

She turned back to him, her eyes the brightest and most intense they had been the entire conversation.

“And he better hope and beg to whoever’s going to listen that when I place that blindfold over my eyes and hold the scale in the palm of my hand, that it tips in his favor. And you better think, long and hard, Ross Poldark, about your presence here, and how you’ve pushed us to this. I’ll take my share of the responsibility. Take yours,”

[dodgersrecruit]

Ursula's Godparents?

I don’t believe that her baptism appeared on the show. I wonder if it has even taken place yet. In any regard, do we have any idea who George would select as little Ursula's godparents? He has such a limited circle of family and friends, it's hard to imagine who George would choose. I would have loved to have seen her baptism.

[legopoldark]

The Angry Tide, Book Three, Chapter 15

George stared down at the child. Ursula Warleggan. But Elizabeth had left him. This was all that was left. She had left him Ursula. … He was no philosopher and no seer, but had he been both he might have wondered at the fact that his fair-haired, frailly beautiful wife had now borne three children and that none of them would come to resemble her at all. Though Elizabeth had been constitutionally strong enough, perhaps some exhaustion in the ancient Chynoweth strain was to be the cause of this virtual obliteration of her personal appearance in any of her children, and the dominance of the three fathers. Geoffrey Charles was already like Francis. Valentine would grow ever more like the man who had just left the house. And little Ursula would become sturdy and strong and thick-necked and as determined as a blacksmith. The child stirred in her sleep; still so tiny; still so frail. ‘Look after the children,’ Elizabeth had whispered. Very well, very well: he would do that; but what was the use of that? It was his wife he wanted: the person you did things for, the cornerstone. All his labour, all his scheming, all his organizing and amassing and negotiating and achieving … without her it was all in vain. … He blamed fate, never knowing that he should have blamed himself. … ‘Ursula,’ George muttered. ‘The little she-bear.’ And for the first time he had to take a handkerchief to wipe his eyes.

[diana9241livejournalcom]

noooooooo

#That ONE time I felt bad for George

[incorrectpoldarkquotes]

Valentine: Papa is angry at me and I'm not sure why.

Ursula: Were you talking before he got annoyed?

Valentine: Yes.

Ursula: Well, that's probably it.

[upstartpoodle]

Ursula Warleggan

[oetravia]

“A mother’s love for her child surpasses all other loves, does it not?”

Happy Mother’s Day!

[boromirswife]

For the fic meme: "Well, my dear," Elizabeth said as her husband stepped through the door to Trenwith after a hard day of work at the Bank in Truro, "it appears that I am insufficient for our young madam--Ursula insists that she shall not go to bed until her papa comes to read her a story."

“Well, my dear,” Elizabeth said as her husband stepped through the door to Trenwith after a hard day of work at the Bank in Truro, “it appears that I am insufficient for our young madam — Ursula insists that she shall not go to bed until her papa comes to read her a story.”

George smiled, though he was weary and looking forward to bed himself, he would never deny his dear daughter anything she asked. “Tell Miss Ursula I shall be up to see her in a few moments,” he said, kissing Elizabeth on the cheek before she disappeared back upstairs.

It could not have been more than three minutes before George heard the sound of tiny feet behind him — he turned to see his daughter, looking as if she could fall asleep where she stood but seemingly refusing to out of pure stubbornness. “Papa, Mama said you were coming to read me a story,” Ursula said with a pout, like she had been forced to endure an eternity waiting for her father.

“And you shall not be made to wait another moment, my dear.” George scooped Ursula up in his arms easily, and she giggled. Though she had been quite chubby as a baby, now at five years old, she was small for her age — much like her father.

“How did you get down here so quickly, Ursula?” Elizabeth asked as she walked back into the room, a relieved sigh passing her lips. “I see you have caught your papa.”

Ursula, much like her older brother Valentine, has proven herself to be quite the escape artist, especially when it came to her making her way to her papa — she had once found her way outside, without anyone knowing exactly how she had done so, insisting that she would walk all the way to Truro to go and visit him at work.

“May I have my story now, Papa?” Ursula asked, pressing her face into her father’s shoulder, clearly struggling to stay awake.

“Of course, my dear.” Smiling to Elizabeth, George carried his daughter upstairs to the nursery. Immediately, she laid down, enthusiastically anticipating whatever story her father would tell her tonight.

“Once upon a time…” George began, recounting the fairytale with as much enthusiasm as his tired brain could muster — and of course, creating different voices for each of the characters as Ursula always demanded. Elizabeth usually wasn’t there while he was reading Ursula to sleep, so he felt a degree of embarrassment at how silly he must have sounded.

It didn’t take long for Ursula’s little eyes to flutter shut — the story was only about half over — and George closed the book softly. Leaning down, he kissed his slumbering daughter on the forehead. “Sleep well, my little she-bear.”

When he turned, he noticed Elizabeth gazing fondly at him. For some reason — despite seeing that look many times during the time they had been married — it still made him blush. Suddenly, he was unable to stop himself from yawning, and Elizabeth giggled sweetly.

“You look very tired, my love,” Elizabeth said, taking her husband’s hand. “I think it is time we go to bed ourselves. Perhaps I should read you a story?”

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my askbox and I will write the next five.

[letterfromtrenwith]

Christmas Wrapping

Just some George/Elizabeth Christmas fluff

Requested by @warlegganfangirl1984 :D

"No! Don't let her see!" Elizabeth hissed, leaning over to try to cover the present she was wrapping.

"Elizabeth, she's a baby. She hasn't got a clue what you're doing." George shook his head affectionately, bouncing Ursula gently in his arms. As he said, she wasn't paying a blind bit of notice to what was on the table, instead tugging at the collar of George's shirt. "You don't know it's Christmas, do you? Hmm? Christmas?"

"Mus! Mus!" Ursula replied, giggling.

"It's her birthday, too." Elizabeth muttered, but went back to wrapping. George smiled; Elizabeth always wanted to make Christmas special for the children, she'd been that way ever since Valentine was a baby. Now almost 5, he was old enough to get completely into the spirit of Christmas, excitedly opening his advent calendar every day and eagerly looking forward to Santa's visit.

Christmas had been very disordered last year, since Elizabeth had been in the hospital giving birth to Ursula, so Valentine had had to be carried out of bed at just before midnight on Christmas Eve, spent the day itself with his cousin Morwenna at her fiancé Drake's brother's house with a lot of people he didn't know.  Not that he'd minded too much, considering he'd still got his presents and big Christmas dinner prepared by Drake's sister-in-law, Emma, who'd also kindly sent George and Elizabeth a box of leftovers.  

"Well, she'll know what this one is so just take her over there a bit, will you?" Elizabeth nodded towards the other side of the room, and George obligingly carried Ursula over to look at the Christmas tree. As young as she was, she was still fascinated with the lights and the pretty decorations, especially the big fluffy feathered birds Elizabeth had clipped to some of the branches. George glanced over his shoulder to see what Elizabeth was wrapping, and allowed himself a small smile as she frowned at a square sheet of paper and a big cuddly starfish, clearly wondering how to put the latter into the former. He'd wrapped some of Valentine's presents, but Elizabeth had insisted she wanted to do all the rest, since she had more time off at Christmas than he did. He was here now, of course, but slightly hampered by Ursula's refusal to go to sleep.

"Can you see all your presents?" He murmured to the baby, who turned her head to look at him with her big blue eyes. He kissed her soft little cheek and then bent over slightly so she could see the bottom of the tree. "Look, there's your Mummy's presents, and Valentine's, and these ones are all for you!"

Elizabeth might not be finished with Ursula's, but there was still a sizable pile for her, from Morwenna, Caroline, Francis, Verity and even Uncle Cary, who had become - by his standards - much less grumpy since the children had arrived. George might still secretly picture Cary as Scrooge every time he read A Christmas Carol, but becoming a Great Uncle had softened the old man a little bit.

"Don't forget Daddy's presents." Elizabeth called over, and George turned back to see her triumphantly sticking a bit of tape to an impressively pentagonal parcel. She flashed him a delighted smile and he couldn't help but grin back. "He spoils us all year round so it's only right for us to spoil him at Christmas."

There was actually quite an alarmingly high pile with his name on - George couldn't possibly imagine what might be in them.

"Dadda." Ursula repeated, sleepily. Her eyelids were dropping at last and George cuddled her closer, gently rubbing her back, something he'd found, over many sleepless nights passed, helped soothe her.

"Well, I think our little angel is finally ready for bed," he murmured, carrying her back over to Elizabeth, who was now folding a tiny blue and white striped jumper with a smiling fox on the front. "Say night-night to Mummy."

"Night-night, baby." Elizabeth reached up to stroke Ursula's hair as George bent down. He kissed Elizabeth on the cheek and then turned to take Ursula upstairs, but Elizabeth stopped him. "Wait, take Valentine's stocking."

"What's in this? Lead?" The reindeer emblazoned stocking she handed him was surprisingly heavy.

"No!" She laughed. "Just some things to keep him entertained if - when - he wakes up in the morning too early."

George practically crept into the children's room, afraid of waking Valentine and having to answer some awkward questions about why Santa wasn't delivering his stocking. He managed to hang it silently on the end of the bed, and put a now sound asleep Ursula in her cot. He left her a little present, too, a knitted rabbit which had been hidden in the back of the drawer where they kept the blankets.

He stood and watched them sleep for a while, feeling just a little bit overwhelmed with emotion, as he sometimes did ever since Valentine had been born - or rather, ever since he'd met Elizabeth. During the lonely years of his late childhood, after both of his parents had died, and a great deal of his adulthood if he was honest, he would never have imagined standing in the nursery of his two children, with his wife wrapping presents downstairs, and a happy family Christmas to come.

Elizabeth was just coming up the stairs as he carefully closed the nursery door, trying to silence the click of the handle as much as possible.

"All done?"

"Yes," she smiled. "There's going to be a mountain of paper tomorrow. The recycle bin won't know what's hit it!"

She cuddled up close to him when they got into bed, George reaching over the turn out the light.

"You know," she murmured. "It's just after midnight. Merry Christmas, George."

"Merry Christmas, Elizabeth."