After breakfast, I went out riding with Michael so he could show me over the courses the hunt was likely to take. My horse was from the Foxbridge stables, sent ahead of me along with my luggage; but it wasn't Pippin, who was too delicate of limb for the rough-and-tumble of a fox hunt--he could leap a fence or brook with the best of them, but if he fell or another horse banged into him he'd be done for. Instead I had a big dappled gray Irish hunter called Samson (Delilah's brother rather than her mate, which makes me wonder what goes on in the stablemen's heads when they name these animals); and since the horse was as unfamiliar as the terrain, I was going to need a lot of practice before the big hunt on Saturday.
We spent hours trotting and galloping around, it was the longest ride I'd been on in ages (since I last hunted, in fact, the previous winter), but it was worth it to see so much of the park. At the end, he showed me one of his favourite spots, a spring-fed pond surrounded by massive weeping willows overhanging the water and screening it from passersby; it was freezing, of course, but we warmed each other up afterward, then rode back to the house.
We'd been out so long we missed luncheon, but Pond had already procured a tray of sandwiches, cheese, and fruit for me, so I had a lovely solitary picnic in the bathtub before I got dressed.
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256 Words
14624 Total Words
Sunday, 9 November 2014
Saturday, 8 November 2014
NaNoWriMo 2014 - Day 8
I went into the bedroom and stirred the fire a bit, then climbed up onto the massive bed, wondering if I should close the curtains or not--they were so artfully draped that I wasn't sure they were actually meant to be functional. I slid out of my slippers and dressing-gown and slid in between the sheets, picked up my book, and settled in to wait for Michael to turn up. It really had been a long day, though, and I was asleep before I knew it, the latest Poirot novel open on my face.
"You're pretty when you're asleep," Michael woke me up, stroking my hair.
"Why'd you wake me, then?" I smiled up at him. I had no idea what time it was or how long I'd been asleep, but he looked as if he'd been asleep himself, flushed and tousle-haired.
"You're more fun when you're awake," he answered, coming in for a kiss. He wasn't wearing pajamas, and had been busy with my buttons before he woke me, so things progressed from there pretty quickly.
"If that's how they do it at Charterhouse," I gasped out quite some time later when we lay exhausted side-by-side, "then I'm sorry I went to Eton."
"I didn't learn any of that at Charterhouse," he gasped back, brushing his damp hair out of his face with his fingers.
"Cambridge, then?"
"Hardly," he laughed, coming up on one elbow and looking down at me, "I get most of my hints and tips from the stables."
"Your stables must be a lot more interesting than mine," I told him, reaching up to pull on the curtain of dark hair hanging down over his eyes.
"What was all that billing and cooing at my sister tonight?" he asked, suddenly very serious.
"I was just being friendly," I shrugged cavalierly, though that's hard to do when you're lying down, "She's a nice girl, I like her."
"If that's you just being friendly, I'd like to see what you think wooing looks like."
"Pretty much like this," I said, rolling over and pinning him to the mattress, sitting on his hips and holding his hands above his head.
"Do this to my sister and I'll have to call you out," he warned, though his eyes were twinkling as he struggled unconvincingly against me.
"I don't expect she likes me enough to let me, do you?" I asked thoughtfully.
"How should I know?" he said in the same thoughtful tone, "I'm not even sure she likes men."
"Well, I'll let you know when I find out," I said, letting go of him and laying back down beside him, "Let's not talk about Lavinia, I'd rather talk about you."
"I'd better get back to my own bed before Molly comes around to light the fires," he said regretfully, cuddling close and burying his face in my neck, "I don't want to get out in the cold, though."
"Already? What time is it?"
"It's almost dawn."
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14,368 Total Words
"You're pretty when you're asleep," Michael woke me up, stroking my hair.
"Why'd you wake me, then?" I smiled up at him. I had no idea what time it was or how long I'd been asleep, but he looked as if he'd been asleep himself, flushed and tousle-haired.
"You're more fun when you're awake," he answered, coming in for a kiss. He wasn't wearing pajamas, and had been busy with my buttons before he woke me, so things progressed from there pretty quickly.
"If that's how they do it at Charterhouse," I gasped out quite some time later when we lay exhausted side-by-side, "then I'm sorry I went to Eton."
"I didn't learn any of that at Charterhouse," he gasped back, brushing his damp hair out of his face with his fingers.
"Cambridge, then?"
"Hardly," he laughed, coming up on one elbow and looking down at me, "I get most of my hints and tips from the stables."
"Your stables must be a lot more interesting than mine," I told him, reaching up to pull on the curtain of dark hair hanging down over his eyes.
"What was all that billing and cooing at my sister tonight?" he asked, suddenly very serious.
"I was just being friendly," I shrugged cavalierly, though that's hard to do when you're lying down, "She's a nice girl, I like her."
"If that's you just being friendly, I'd like to see what you think wooing looks like."
"Pretty much like this," I said, rolling over and pinning him to the mattress, sitting on his hips and holding his hands above his head.
"Do this to my sister and I'll have to call you out," he warned, though his eyes were twinkling as he struggled unconvincingly against me.
"I don't expect she likes me enough to let me, do you?" I asked thoughtfully.
"How should I know?" he said in the same thoughtful tone, "I'm not even sure she likes men."
"Well, I'll let you know when I find out," I said, letting go of him and laying back down beside him, "Let's not talk about Lavinia, I'd rather talk about you."
"I'd better get back to my own bed before Molly comes around to light the fires," he said regretfully, cuddling close and burying his face in my neck, "I don't want to get out in the cold, though."
"Already? What time is it?"
"It's almost dawn."
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496 Words
14,368 Total Words
Thursday, 6 November 2014
NaNoWriMo 2014 - Day 6
"What do you mean?" he wondered, putting his hand on my neck companionably.
"Just that you could get to know her if you don't come at her like Don Juan on the make," he was still standing terribly close, and I wondered why; it made sense when he was trying to intimidate me, but now it was a little bit odd, "She's sensitive about men wanting to marry her for her money, it will put her right off you. If you take a friendly interest in her and her pursuits, who knows? She might come to like you, and though I seriously doubt she'd marry you, it would get your mother off your back if she sees you two getting along."
"You're awfully pretty, you know," he said, stroking my jaw with his thumb.
"I know," I answered stupidly, startled by this sudden change of topic. Something was poking me in the stomach, and it wasn't a pool cue.
"I'd like to get to know you better," he said quietly, then leaned in and kissed me softly.
"I'd like that, too," I said when he let me come up for air, "Not just now, though, do you mind? I'm kind of beat from the trip."
"All right," he said cheerfully, not at all put out as men usually are when they poke you and then don't get to go any further, "Shall we finish our game?"
*****
"Does it ever seem to you, Pond," I mused as he arranged my pajama collar to lie elegantly against the lapels of my dressing-gown, "that more people are queer than aren't?"
"I don't see how that could be true, my lord," he answered, "If we were in the majority, there wouldn't be so much legislation about us, would there?"
"Oh, I don't mean exclusively queer like you and me," I clarified, "But it seems to me that a surprising lot of people go both ways. I expected that sort of thing at school, most of the boys were pining for girls while having it on with another boy; but it seems to have carried over into adult life to quite an unexpected degree."
"Perhaps your lordship's circle of acquaintance is more conditioned to such duality," he said thoughtfully, turning to neaten the arrangement of toilet articles on the dresser, "How many men does your lordship know who weren't educated at a public school?"
"Not very many, that's true," I went and sat in the very comfortable chair by the fire and put my slippered feet against the fender to warm, "But even at school, it was only a slim majority of us having it on with each other, almost half the fellows believed all the 'hygiene' bunkum they taught us and didn't even have it on with themselves. But so far, five out of the eight men in this house have made a pass at me, and I haven't even been here a whole day, yet."
"I don't wish to take liberties, my lord," he said with a sort of wooden formality, which is his usual prelude to remarks of a blindingly personal nature, "but I suspect that is largely due to your lordship's particular beauty. I doubt those gentlemen are busy making passes at each other."
"That's sweet of you, Pond," I glowed at the compliment, "I suppose you're right, though, my sort of looks do seem to appeal to men. Not that I'm complaining, mind. But do you mean to say that men who don't go to public school tend not to like boys?"
"It has been my experience, my lord," he said as he folded my shirt and underclothes over his arm in preparation to taking his leave, "that young people who remain at home for their education, and are not sequestered from the opposite sex during what one might call 'the sweetheart years,' are less likely to explore and develop feelings for their own sex."
"Really!" I frowned thoughtfully at this, "That must make it very lonely for those of us who don't care at all for the opposite sex."
"Very lonely, indeed," he said with a sad sort of smile, "Will there be anything else, my lord?"
"No, thank you, Pond," I hoped I hadn't upset or offended him, it was so hard to gauge his emotions--I never knew if he was annoyed with me until he put an uncomfortable collar on me next day, "Good night."
"Good night, my lord," he slid backward out the door.
Pond had given me a lot to think about, so I sat in the dressing-room for quite a while, smoking my pipe and sipping the snifter of cognac thoughtfully left at my elbow. And though I did give some thought to Pond's lonely puberty, I was really more occupied with figuring out how I might entertain all of the various offers I'd received during the day without completely exhausting myself.
I was pretty certain Michael was going to come to my room sometime after everyone else went to bed, which was the only reason I'd put Rupert off; but despite the gentle kiss, Rupert struck me as more of an out-of-doors type, anyway, preferring the quick tumble in the bushes to the leisurely encounter in a bed; but the latter was quite probably Chester's style, and I could easily visualise a long idle afternoon with him.
What about Sir Peregrine, though? I was not averse to giving him a thrill, though I couldn't really imagine it going any farther than some flirty badinage and a few discreet gropes. The average elderly roue might remain active with the ladies well into his twilight years, but elderly queers are often cursed with a self-consciousness of their age-ravaged bodies and are reluctant to expose themselves to the potential disgust or ridicule of young men.
Well, whichever way things turned out, I certainly had plenty to keep me busy during my stay at Verevale. I just had to be careful to not amuse myself into a physical decline.
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1002 Words
4564 Total Words
"Just that you could get to know her if you don't come at her like Don Juan on the make," he was still standing terribly close, and I wondered why; it made sense when he was trying to intimidate me, but now it was a little bit odd, "She's sensitive about men wanting to marry her for her money, it will put her right off you. If you take a friendly interest in her and her pursuits, who knows? She might come to like you, and though I seriously doubt she'd marry you, it would get your mother off your back if she sees you two getting along."
"You're awfully pretty, you know," he said, stroking my jaw with his thumb.
"I know," I answered stupidly, startled by this sudden change of topic. Something was poking me in the stomach, and it wasn't a pool cue.
"I'd like to get to know you better," he said quietly, then leaned in and kissed me softly.
"I'd like that, too," I said when he let me come up for air, "Not just now, though, do you mind? I'm kind of beat from the trip."
"All right," he said cheerfully, not at all put out as men usually are when they poke you and then don't get to go any further, "Shall we finish our game?"
*****
"Does it ever seem to you, Pond," I mused as he arranged my pajama collar to lie elegantly against the lapels of my dressing-gown, "that more people are queer than aren't?"
"I don't see how that could be true, my lord," he answered, "If we were in the majority, there wouldn't be so much legislation about us, would there?"
"Oh, I don't mean exclusively queer like you and me," I clarified, "But it seems to me that a surprising lot of people go both ways. I expected that sort of thing at school, most of the boys were pining for girls while having it on with another boy; but it seems to have carried over into adult life to quite an unexpected degree."
"Perhaps your lordship's circle of acquaintance is more conditioned to such duality," he said thoughtfully, turning to neaten the arrangement of toilet articles on the dresser, "How many men does your lordship know who weren't educated at a public school?"
"Not very many, that's true," I went and sat in the very comfortable chair by the fire and put my slippered feet against the fender to warm, "But even at school, it was only a slim majority of us having it on with each other, almost half the fellows believed all the 'hygiene' bunkum they taught us and didn't even have it on with themselves. But so far, five out of the eight men in this house have made a pass at me, and I haven't even been here a whole day, yet."
"I don't wish to take liberties, my lord," he said with a sort of wooden formality, which is his usual prelude to remarks of a blindingly personal nature, "but I suspect that is largely due to your lordship's particular beauty. I doubt those gentlemen are busy making passes at each other."
"That's sweet of you, Pond," I glowed at the compliment, "I suppose you're right, though, my sort of looks do seem to appeal to men. Not that I'm complaining, mind. But do you mean to say that men who don't go to public school tend not to like boys?"
"It has been my experience, my lord," he said as he folded my shirt and underclothes over his arm in preparation to taking his leave, "that young people who remain at home for their education, and are not sequestered from the opposite sex during what one might call 'the sweetheart years,' are less likely to explore and develop feelings for their own sex."
"Really!" I frowned thoughtfully at this, "That must make it very lonely for those of us who don't care at all for the opposite sex."
"Very lonely, indeed," he said with a sad sort of smile, "Will there be anything else, my lord?"
"No, thank you, Pond," I hoped I hadn't upset or offended him, it was so hard to gauge his emotions--I never knew if he was annoyed with me until he put an uncomfortable collar on me next day, "Good night."
"Good night, my lord," he slid backward out the door.
Pond had given me a lot to think about, so I sat in the dressing-room for quite a while, smoking my pipe and sipping the snifter of cognac thoughtfully left at my elbow. And though I did give some thought to Pond's lonely puberty, I was really more occupied with figuring out how I might entertain all of the various offers I'd received during the day without completely exhausting myself.
I was pretty certain Michael was going to come to my room sometime after everyone else went to bed, which was the only reason I'd put Rupert off; but despite the gentle kiss, Rupert struck me as more of an out-of-doors type, anyway, preferring the quick tumble in the bushes to the leisurely encounter in a bed; but the latter was quite probably Chester's style, and I could easily visualise a long idle afternoon with him.
What about Sir Peregrine, though? I was not averse to giving him a thrill, though I couldn't really imagine it going any farther than some flirty badinage and a few discreet gropes. The average elderly roue might remain active with the ladies well into his twilight years, but elderly queers are often cursed with a self-consciousness of their age-ravaged bodies and are reluctant to expose themselves to the potential disgust or ridicule of young men.
Well, whichever way things turned out, I certainly had plenty to keep me busy during my stay at Verevale. I just had to be careful to not amuse myself into a physical decline.
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1002 Words
4564 Total Words
Wednesday, 5 November 2014
NaNoWriMo 2014 - Day 5
Returning to the to the drawing-room, we found the ladies spread out into equal north and south factions with the footman and the coffee-service forming the border: the southerners falling immediately on the card-tables and the northerners loosely clustered around the immense and heavily gilt piano at that end of the room, where Lavinia and Abigail entertained the company with the sort of music that Aunt Em would sniffily characterise as "young ladies' accomplishments"--second-rate Romantic concertos that cover any mistakes within their gooey constructions and sound a good deal more complicated than they are.
Despite Aunt Em's example and careful lessons, I've a pretty democratic ear, and enjoy a second-rate concerto as much as a first-rate symphony or even a third-rate music-hall ditty, so I rather liked it--and made myself conspicuous by applauding the end of every piece, and making sure my applause was just a bit more enthusiastic for Lavinia's efforts than for Abigail's (though Abigail was a marginally better pianist).
After the music, I sat close beside Lavinia on the sofa and looked adoringly at her while she told me more about art. And since this was a performance, I kept a weather eye on my audience: Lady Levondale threw indulgent smiles over her cards from way across the room, Lord Levondale glanced inquiringly at us over the top of his newspaper, and Michael looked frankly bewildered by the display; I also noticed some unexpected looks, Abigail watched us with an unhappy frown, and Lord Rupert looked absolutely outraged.
I could understand Abigail being a trifle put out by my monopolising her friend, but what did Rupert care? Was he enamoured of Lavinia? Or was it me he was watching slip through his fingers? So curious was I about this development that I had to sidle away from Lavinia and ask Rupert if he'd join me in a game of billiards; he agreed rather reluctantly, which piqued my curiosity even further.
The billard room was reached through a very small masculine sitting-room off the drawing-room, and was beautifully paneled in rich dark walnut carved by Grinling Gibbons in the shapes of fruit and dead game; the ceiling was painted with a Baroque scene of Diana and Actaeon, with the modern billiard lamp descending rather gracelessly from the goddess's midriff. Rupert and I played in complete silence for several minutes, and I could see him working himself up into saying something to me, so I waited patiently for him to pop.
"I say, Foxbridge," he finally cut loose while standing next to me at the end of a set, turning toward me and towering over me in a somewhat intimidating fashion, "What's the idea of throwing yourself at Miss Levondale like that?"
"Why do you think there's some idea behind it?" I asked, looking up into his angry face. He was very tall, and I hadn't realized just how tall until he stood glaring down at me, "Can't a fellow flirt with a girl without ulterior motives?"
"Well, look here, I'm supposed to be flirting with her," he said, blushing a bit to admit it, "But I can't even get a look in, with you doing your Casanova bit and hanging on her every word. You're scooping me, dammit!"
"All's fair in love and war, what?" I tried laughing it off, not wanting to admit that Lavinia and I were just play-acting for a joke, but also not wanting to make him actually angry. I didn't know how strong he might be, and though we were both armed with long sticks, he could obviously out-reach me.
"But you've already got a fortune," he complained, "What do you need to go chasing after another one for?"
"Miss Levondale is a person, not a fortune," I pointed out tartly, offended.
"You know what I mean," he thundered, stepping even closer to me; I tried to back away to safety, but there was a sofa behind me and I was stuck, "My mother brought me down here to court Miss Levondale. We're all stony-broke, and my idiot brother married a girl even more broke than we are, so the Mater's hauling me around to grab her an heiress by hook or by crook. I don't mean to treat Miss Levondale as an object, but I'm just as much an object in these schemes."
"I'm sorry," I said sincerely, though I was still a little offended. This revulsion for mercenary motives is probably what my grandfather felt when my father the impoverished young earl took a running jump at his precious daughter; but it's probably only those of us with plenty of money who can afford such scruples.
"I don't much fancy my chances," he relaxed but didn't move away from me, his closeness becoming more a confidence than a threat, "I'm a younger son and not exactly one of the best and brightest; but I'm a decent chap and not bad-looking, we might come to like each other. But I don't have a prayer with someone like you turning her head."
"I hate to break it to you," I tried to placate him, "but neither of us has a prayer with her. She's not interested in getting married."
"Well, neither am I, really, but my Mater will have it so. I have to at least try."
"Just don't put yourself out too much, old man," I reached up and lay my hand on his arm soothingly, "She's only indulging me because she knows I don't mean anything by it. If she thinks you're in earnest, she'll run a mile in tight shoes before letting you alone in a room with her."
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939 Words
3561 Total Words
Despite Aunt Em's example and careful lessons, I've a pretty democratic ear, and enjoy a second-rate concerto as much as a first-rate symphony or even a third-rate music-hall ditty, so I rather liked it--and made myself conspicuous by applauding the end of every piece, and making sure my applause was just a bit more enthusiastic for Lavinia's efforts than for Abigail's (though Abigail was a marginally better pianist).
After the music, I sat close beside Lavinia on the sofa and looked adoringly at her while she told me more about art. And since this was a performance, I kept a weather eye on my audience: Lady Levondale threw indulgent smiles over her cards from way across the room, Lord Levondale glanced inquiringly at us over the top of his newspaper, and Michael looked frankly bewildered by the display; I also noticed some unexpected looks, Abigail watched us with an unhappy frown, and Lord Rupert looked absolutely outraged.
I could understand Abigail being a trifle put out by my monopolising her friend, but what did Rupert care? Was he enamoured of Lavinia? Or was it me he was watching slip through his fingers? So curious was I about this development that I had to sidle away from Lavinia and ask Rupert if he'd join me in a game of billiards; he agreed rather reluctantly, which piqued my curiosity even further.
The billard room was reached through a very small masculine sitting-room off the drawing-room, and was beautifully paneled in rich dark walnut carved by Grinling Gibbons in the shapes of fruit and dead game; the ceiling was painted with a Baroque scene of Diana and Actaeon, with the modern billiard lamp descending rather gracelessly from the goddess's midriff. Rupert and I played in complete silence for several minutes, and I could see him working himself up into saying something to me, so I waited patiently for him to pop.
"I say, Foxbridge," he finally cut loose while standing next to me at the end of a set, turning toward me and towering over me in a somewhat intimidating fashion, "What's the idea of throwing yourself at Miss Levondale like that?"
"Why do you think there's some idea behind it?" I asked, looking up into his angry face. He was very tall, and I hadn't realized just how tall until he stood glaring down at me, "Can't a fellow flirt with a girl without ulterior motives?"
"Well, look here, I'm supposed to be flirting with her," he said, blushing a bit to admit it, "But I can't even get a look in, with you doing your Casanova bit and hanging on her every word. You're scooping me, dammit!"
"All's fair in love and war, what?" I tried laughing it off, not wanting to admit that Lavinia and I were just play-acting for a joke, but also not wanting to make him actually angry. I didn't know how strong he might be, and though we were both armed with long sticks, he could obviously out-reach me.
"But you've already got a fortune," he complained, "What do you need to go chasing after another one for?"
"Miss Levondale is a person, not a fortune," I pointed out tartly, offended.
"You know what I mean," he thundered, stepping even closer to me; I tried to back away to safety, but there was a sofa behind me and I was stuck, "My mother brought me down here to court Miss Levondale. We're all stony-broke, and my idiot brother married a girl even more broke than we are, so the Mater's hauling me around to grab her an heiress by hook or by crook. I don't mean to treat Miss Levondale as an object, but I'm just as much an object in these schemes."
"I'm sorry," I said sincerely, though I was still a little offended. This revulsion for mercenary motives is probably what my grandfather felt when my father the impoverished young earl took a running jump at his precious daughter; but it's probably only those of us with plenty of money who can afford such scruples.
"I don't much fancy my chances," he relaxed but didn't move away from me, his closeness becoming more a confidence than a threat, "I'm a younger son and not exactly one of the best and brightest; but I'm a decent chap and not bad-looking, we might come to like each other. But I don't have a prayer with someone like you turning her head."
"I hate to break it to you," I tried to placate him, "but neither of us has a prayer with her. She's not interested in getting married."
"Well, neither am I, really, but my Mater will have it so. I have to at least try."
"Just don't put yourself out too much, old man," I reached up and lay my hand on his arm soothingly, "She's only indulging me because she knows I don't mean anything by it. If she thinks you're in earnest, she'll run a mile in tight shoes before letting you alone in a room with her."
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939 Words
3561 Total Words
Tuesday, 4 November 2014
NaNoWriMo 2014 - Day 4
When we went in to dinner, I realized that escaping the frying-pan of escorting Dotty to dinner meant I had landed in the fire of having to sit directly across from Jingo.
I should have known that would happen, since there are only two ways of arranging dinner-tables: with dinner-partners of the same relative rank, or individuals placed in descending rank from the ends; by the first arrangement, the first- and third-ranked lady and gentleman would be seated together on the host's right and left, and the second- and fourth-ranked gentleman and lady on the hostess's left and right; by the second arrangement, the first- and second-ranking lady are on the host's right and left while the first- and second-ranking gentleman are on the hostess's right and left, and the rest go left and right in descending order to the middle of the table.
Hostesses alternate between these patterns mostly to keep married couples separated, an ancient practice I've never quite understood. And I of course omit those impossible gatherings in which the hostess does not have an equal number of each sex in multiples of four, in which case mathematics of a very high order must come into play.
This information is not especially relevant, and of little use to anyone other than a hostess trying to learn how to arrange a table with lots of aristocrats present; but to give the reader a better picture of where everyone was in relation to everyone else at dinner that night, and most nights in that first week at Verevale, I append Lady Levondale's seating chart:
Dinner was a bit of a trial with Jingo right in front of me, smirking away in that maddeningly sexy way he has and reaching his long legs under the table to caress my ankles with his foot. To distract myself, I concentrated all my charm onto furthering my faux romance of Lavinia Levondale--and in the process furthering a real friendship. Like many plain women, she was a delightful companion once you got past her defences, passionate and well-informed on a wide variety of subjects; she could be graceless in her facial expressions and gestures, and sometimes her words would rush out faster than her mouth could form them, but a few drops of spittle on one's shoulder was a small price to pay for her really quite fascinating insights into modern art, a subject by which I had long been mystified.
When it came time to turn my attention to Lady Levondale on my left, I made a point of asking her a lot of questions about her daughter, though of course her attention was spread a good deal thinner as she took part in several conversations at once while keeping an eagle eye on the footmen. After dinner over the port, I considered wedging myself in beside Lord Levondale to continue the campaign, but decided it would be laying it on a little too thick; instead, I parked myself next to Sir Peregrine and listened to him to natter on about Egypt while groping my thigh.
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2622 Total Words
I should have known that would happen, since there are only two ways of arranging dinner-tables: with dinner-partners of the same relative rank, or individuals placed in descending rank from the ends; by the first arrangement, the first- and third-ranked lady and gentleman would be seated together on the host's right and left, and the second- and fourth-ranked gentleman and lady on the hostess's left and right; by the second arrangement, the first- and second-ranking lady are on the host's right and left while the first- and second-ranking gentleman are on the hostess's right and left, and the rest go left and right in descending order to the middle of the table.
Hostesses alternate between these patterns mostly to keep married couples separated, an ancient practice I've never quite understood. And I of course omit those impossible gatherings in which the hostess does not have an equal number of each sex in multiples of four, in which case mathematics of a very high order must come into play.
This information is not especially relevant, and of little use to anyone other than a hostess trying to learn how to arrange a table with lots of aristocrats present; but to give the reader a better picture of where everyone was in relation to everyone else at dinner that night, and most nights in that first week at Verevale, I append Lady Levondale's seating chart:
| Lord Levondale | ||
| Dowager Duchess | Lady Faringdon | |
| Mr Levondale | Lord Rupert | |
| Mrs Pargeter | Mrs Vandekamp | |
| Mr Vandekamp | Sir Wilfred | |
| Miss Smallridge | Miss Vandekamp | |
| Sir Peregrine | Mr Pargeter | |
| Miss Beckett Haven | Miss Levondale | |
| Lord Faringdon | Lord Foxbridge | |
| Lady Levondale |
Dinner was a bit of a trial with Jingo right in front of me, smirking away in that maddeningly sexy way he has and reaching his long legs under the table to caress my ankles with his foot. To distract myself, I concentrated all my charm onto furthering my faux romance of Lavinia Levondale--and in the process furthering a real friendship. Like many plain women, she was a delightful companion once you got past her defences, passionate and well-informed on a wide variety of subjects; she could be graceless in her facial expressions and gestures, and sometimes her words would rush out faster than her mouth could form them, but a few drops of spittle on one's shoulder was a small price to pay for her really quite fascinating insights into modern art, a subject by which I had long been mystified.
When it came time to turn my attention to Lady Levondale on my left, I made a point of asking her a lot of questions about her daughter, though of course her attention was spread a good deal thinner as she took part in several conversations at once while keeping an eagle eye on the footmen. After dinner over the port, I considered wedging myself in beside Lord Levondale to continue the campaign, but decided it would be laying it on a little too thick; instead, I parked myself next to Sir Peregrine and listened to him to natter on about Egypt while groping my thigh.
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513 Words
2622 Total Words
Monday, 3 November 2014
NaNoWriMo 2014 - Day 3
In case you've stumbled across this chapter of my memoirs orphaned from the greater canon of my no-doubt-tediously massive biography--and assuming I have not reached a level of fame so universal that schoolgirls in Timbuktu and granddads in Amazonian jungles hear my name and say "Oh, yes, Lord Foxbridge... what about him?"--I shall take this opportunity to introduce myself.
As Debrett can tell you, my name is Sebastian Albert Savarell St. Clair, Viscount Foxbridge by courtesy, and I was born on April 11, 1906; my father is the 10th Earl of Vere, Parliamentary Undersecretary of Tax to the Inland Revenue, and my late mother was an American heiress; I grew up at Foxbridge Castle in Gloucestershire, I attended Eton and Magdalen College, Oxford (B.A. 1927); I live at 34 St. James's Street, W1 and belong to Brooks's, the Oxford & Cambridge, and the Bachelors'.
What Debrett won't tell you is that I'm extraordinarily pretty, with curling auburn hair, big round chestnut-colour eyes, plump rosepetal lips, and blushing alabaster skin--this I owe to my mother, who was a famous beauty; Debrett is also too discreet to mention that I am obscenely rich, sole heir to my grandfather's patent-medicine millions (which I also owe to my mother), and since I came of age last Spring I command a fairly colossal income. I also inherited a million or so pounds from my father's younger brother, who I think was something of a gangster in Singapore, and of course will one day inherit my father's earldom with its hundred thousand acres and several stately homes.
I suppose it is rather gauche to mention these things, and worse to hammer away at them, but what are a few indelicate details among friends? Discreet reticence doesn't make for very good memoirs, you know. Besides, Debrett tells you all the ladies' ages, so their discretion isn't exactly a model for a young gentleman's use, anyway.
At any rate, I'd like to think that the best use of great wealth and great beauty is to spread them around liberally; the only thing I like better than throwing money around is to
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354 Words
2109 Total Words
As Debrett can tell you, my name is Sebastian Albert Savarell St. Clair, Viscount Foxbridge by courtesy, and I was born on April 11, 1906; my father is the 10th Earl of Vere, Parliamentary Undersecretary of Tax to the Inland Revenue, and my late mother was an American heiress; I grew up at Foxbridge Castle in Gloucestershire, I attended Eton and Magdalen College, Oxford (B.A. 1927); I live at 34 St. James's Street, W1 and belong to Brooks's, the Oxford & Cambridge, and the Bachelors'.
What Debrett won't tell you is that I'm extraordinarily pretty, with curling auburn hair, big round chestnut-colour eyes, plump rosepetal lips, and blushing alabaster skin--this I owe to my mother, who was a famous beauty; Debrett is also too discreet to mention that I am obscenely rich, sole heir to my grandfather's patent-medicine millions (which I also owe to my mother), and since I came of age last Spring I command a fairly colossal income. I also inherited a million or so pounds from my father's younger brother, who I think was something of a gangster in Singapore, and of course will one day inherit my father's earldom with its hundred thousand acres and several stately homes.
I suppose it is rather gauche to mention these things, and worse to hammer away at them, but what are a few indelicate details among friends? Discreet reticence doesn't make for very good memoirs, you know. Besides, Debrett tells you all the ladies' ages, so their discretion isn't exactly a model for a young gentleman's use, anyway.
At any rate, I'd like to think that the best use of great wealth and great beauty is to spread them around liberally; the only thing I like better than throwing money around is to
______________
354 Words
2109 Total Words
Sunday, 2 November 2014
NaNoWriMo 2014 - Day 2
"Oh, Lord Foxbridge!" the lady looked up by the time I'd crossed the room and stood in front of her, having finished a tricky bit of curlicue on her embroidery, "I'm so glad to meet you!"
"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Levondale," I bowed low over her hand and kissed it, making her giggle a bit. She was a pretty little thing, pleasantly plump with a pert smile and merry eyes, expensively but rather sloppily dressed in a French lace tea gown slipping sideways on her round shoulders, her pearl necklaces all hanging slightly askew, and springy white-blonde curls escaping from the pearl-headed combs of a perhaps-too-ambitious coiffure--she made me think of the White Queen, but dressed by Callot Sœurs.
"I do hope you had good weather for your journey," she gestured for me to take the chair beside her own, "Are you hungry? We just finished luncheon, but Winborn can bring you some sandwiches, if you like. Or something to drink?"
"Some tea would be lovely, thank you," I smiled at the butler, who bowed and sailed backward out the door, snapping it shut as he went, "I was delayed getting out of London this morning, so my man packed a basket for us. We stuffed ourselves with deviled eggs and cheese rolls from Croydon to Crawley. It's great fun, eating while driving, though Pond made me pull over so he could brush off all the crumbs."
"It sounds dangerous," she clasped her hands together nervously, "I always get very nervous if my driver takes his hand off the wheel even for a moment."
"Not at all," I assured her, "So long as the motorcar is well made and kept in repair, you barely need to touch the wheel unless you're going to turn. In my Royce, I can practically lie down and take a nap on a straight road."
"Really? Still, I'd prefer my driver to have both hands on, it's so much more reassuring."
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328 Words
1755 Total Words
"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Levondale," I bowed low over her hand and kissed it, making her giggle a bit. She was a pretty little thing, pleasantly plump with a pert smile and merry eyes, expensively but rather sloppily dressed in a French lace tea gown slipping sideways on her round shoulders, her pearl necklaces all hanging slightly askew, and springy white-blonde curls escaping from the pearl-headed combs of a perhaps-too-ambitious coiffure--she made me think of the White Queen, but dressed by Callot Sœurs.
"I do hope you had good weather for your journey," she gestured for me to take the chair beside her own, "Are you hungry? We just finished luncheon, but Winborn can bring you some sandwiches, if you like. Or something to drink?"
"Some tea would be lovely, thank you," I smiled at the butler, who bowed and sailed backward out the door, snapping it shut as he went, "I was delayed getting out of London this morning, so my man packed a basket for us. We stuffed ourselves with deviled eggs and cheese rolls from Croydon to Crawley. It's great fun, eating while driving, though Pond made me pull over so he could brush off all the crumbs."
"It sounds dangerous," she clasped her hands together nervously, "I always get very nervous if my driver takes his hand off the wheel even for a moment."
"Not at all," I assured her, "So long as the motorcar is well made and kept in repair, you barely need to touch the wheel unless you're going to turn. In my Royce, I can practically lie down and take a nap on a straight road."
"Really? Still, I'd prefer my driver to have both hands on, it's so much more reassuring."
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328 Words
1755 Total Words
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