#the dowager duchess is a delight (how could she not be)

[ofliterarynature]

I can’t say I love the casting for the Peter Wimsey adaptation I’m watching, but I’m nonetheless very offended that they recast Bunter for the second season.

#Wikipedia assured me the original gentleman will be back after this #but it’s the principal of the thing #lol #anyways i would like to say they did Mr Parker very dirty in Clouds of Witness his hair was atrocious #I did not like lady Mary at all #the dowager duchess is a delight (how could she not be) #and if Peter/Ian Carmichael was just a *bit* younger… #ok he’s pretty decent actually #he gets extra bonus points tho because he narrated the audiobooks #bec talks #lord Peter Wimsey

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Young At Heart: Punch (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rated: G, the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed Word count: 2.4k

Masterpost

Summary: The Bridgerton family gathers at Aubrey Hall and two of the uncles put on a show for you and the children.

Author's Note: This adorable idea came from the imagination of @queen-of-the-misfit-toys which kicked off the prompts for happy/silly Benedict stories. Benedict definitely has theater kid energy 😋 Thank you for the prompt and I hope you enjoy! 💙

Aubrey Hall was the loudest noble home you had ever worked in. Or, at least it was now. Not that you had a large basis of comparison, this being only your third post in your career as a nursemaid. When you interviewed for the position you had met the Viscountess Bridgerton, glowing in her second pregnancy, and her firstborn, little Edmund. For the first four years of his life the family had gone without a dedicated nursemaid, with the Viscountess herself taking charge of his upbringing, along with assistance from her housekeeper, her mother-in-law the Dowager Viscountess, and even her husband. It was an unusual circumstance to find parents so devoted to close interaction with their child, but it gave you a good impression about the type of family they were. But now that there was another little Bridgerton on the way, you had been hired to look after the future viscount and his eventual new sibling, caring for them until they were old enough for formal tutelage with a governess. 

Your new residence of Aubrey Hall, sweeping, beautiful, and nestled in the hills of Kent, had been peaceful for the first two months of your employment. You quickly fell into a good rapport with Edmund, or Neddy as he preferred, and developed a great admiration for the kind Viscountess. The Viscount also treated you with respect but was often occupied with business. While his brow carried an intense furrow and his jaw was often clenched in the company of others, you were privy to the quiet moments with his son and wife. That was when he revealed his hidden facets, those of a deeply contented family man - playful, loving, and fiercely protective. This was an excellent family, and you were looking forward to spending several years in their orbit.

What they had neglected to tell you beforehand was how prolific the wider Bridgerton clan was. You could have researched them yourself, not that it would have changed your interest in the position, but you did not expect that the entirety of them would descend on the country seat at the close of the London season and start of autumn. Even the eldest daughter Daphne, now Duchess of Hastings, traveled with her family from their home at Clyvedon for a reunion with all the siblings. The Viscountess had given you full notice that the Duchess was bringing her own three children, August aged five, Barnaby aged four though a bit younger than Neddy, and little Caroline, not yet a year old. She had kindly offered to support you with more staff but you were eager to prove yourself and agreed to manage all the children on your own. It was only temporary after all, and you had cared for three children in one of your previous posts, though they were all sisters and you weren’t caring for a baby simultaneously. Nonetheless, you had agreed to rise to the challenge.

That was how you found yourself, a bit dazed as carriage after carriage rolled up the gravel drive, producing one gorgeous chestnut-haired Bridgerton after another. Six younger siblings arriving with the Dowager Viscountess and an army of servants, then the Duke and Duchess with their valet, ladies maid, and brood of their own. The noise of cheer and lighthearted bickering broke out at once, and you kept your bearings by focusing on Neddy, always standing nearby as he was fawned over by his aunts and uncles. When the Duchess introduced you to her children, you delighted in how the two little boys stood so proud and ready for your inspection, the younger clearly imitating his older brother. They didn’t seem to have any objection to you and immediately fell into playing with their cousin while you chatted with the Duchess about Caroline. She placed the little girl into your arms and her tiny eyes sparkled before she buried her face into your shoulder with a giggle. 

Rather than task you with whisking the children away, the entire army of Bridgertons wanted to be present together in the drawing room. Your job was nearly being done for you as you watched the youngest aunt and uncle, Hyacinth and Gregory, clatter around and entertain the three little boys with their toys. You rocked Caroline gently as the Duchess invited you to join her and the Viscountess where they sat. The love in the room was palpable.

When the adults began to bow out for various activities, you knew it was time to wrangle the children to their own space. The Duchess smiled sweetly as you balanced Caroline and called the three little boys together, bidding them to say their farewells.

That was when a groan sounded from one of the Bridgertons on a far sofa. “Awww,” he swung around to face you, his bottom lip folded into an exaggerated frown. “I didn’t even get to see them yet.”

Oh my. You had barely been able to register what each of the Bridgertons looked like, or indeed how many there even were, during the whirlwind of everyone’s arrival. This one, one of the Viscount’s brothers, was strikingly similar in appearance and yet more gentle looking. And he was a very handsome man, even with his childish pout. 

“Yes,” Another Bridgerton brother piped up beside him, a third copy of the Viscount. “You’ve been hogging them all. We haven’t gotten to spend any time with our niece and nephews.”

“Well, no one is stopping you from entertaining them now.” The Duchess responded primly. “I’m sure that Miss y/l/n would appreciate the help if you wanted to spend time with them in the nursery.” She turned back to you and you could see the kindness and cleverness in her blue eyes. She understood how full your hands were, but also did not want to undermine you.

“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice a bit uneven as you turned back to the first brother. “We can all go up to the nursery now. There are plenty of amusements for everyone.”

“Even a puppet theater!” Neddy crowed, jumping up and down and causing his cousins’ eyes to light.

“Yes, even a puppet theater.” You nodded at the three excited little faces gathered around your skirt.

“Well, then I’d say it’s time for a performance!” The second brother walked over and lifted Neddy under the arms, raising him high enough for the boy to perch on his shoulders, locking his tiny hands under his chin to hold on. “Colin Bridgerton,” he introduced himself to you with a warm smile, which you returned.

As the other, taller brother crossed the room, Barnaby immediately turned to him with outstretched fingers, bouncing eagerly.

“Uncle Benny, up up!”

With a broad grin the uncle knelt toward him. “Barnaby Basset, my brave little man. Come here,” In one smooth motion he lifted the boy, let him clasp his arms around his neck and swung him so that he rode pick-a-back. Then he turned his kind eyes to you.  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss y/l/n. I’m Benedict.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” You cast your eyes down in greeting, but also to keep yourself from staring too long into the blue-grey depths that seemed to hold you in fascination. You surveyed the lot of them, five eager-eyed Bridgerton boys, young and old. “Are we all ready then?”

“Up, up!” Crowed Barnaby over Benedict’s shoulder.

His uncle chucked. “Indeed, we are going up even further. Upstairs.”

Colin waved August ahead of you all. “Lead the way, good sir.” Dutifully jutting his chin in the air, the eldest little boy marched forward, leading your happy parade through the house and up to the nursery, guided by your whispered directions.

Once you reached your destination, the excited squealing began. The younger boys both wriggled off of their uncles to join August and they tore through the room, Neddy pointing out every toy and hiding place with pride. They quickly clustered around the puppet theater tucked in a far corner and began jumping in place, demanding a performance. Colin and Benedict were only too happy to oblige, gathering chairs for their audience. As you tried to settle the little ones, the uncles pored through a nearby chest of puppets.

“Ah!” Colin exclaimed, “Mr. Punch!” He proudly held aloft an old puppet, red nosed and holding his trademark slapstick. 

“Excellent,” Benedict grinned. “I shall be Mr. Punch and you shall be Judy.” He plucked the figure off his brother’s hand and stooped to maneuver into the theater box.

“Hold on! I found it! Why are you Punch?” Colin argued. You had to fight the giggle rising in your throat, watching these grown men bicker like children. Your charges who sat patiently at your side seemed better behaved. 

“Because I’m better at the voice.” Benedict shot back casually.

“Well, I won’t be your wife.” Colin spat. “I’ll be the banker or someone.” He began to dig through the chest again.

“Isn’t Punch and Judy intended for one performer?” You tried to sound innocent but couldn’t resist the urge to rile them, they were already too entertaining. 

Benedict popped his head into view and smiled, a devastating, lopsided grin that was suddenly the brightest point of light in the room. “We can adapt.” 

You nodded and turned back to the children. Caroline was dozing gently in your arms, undisturbed by the excitement around her, and the boys squirmed in their chairs, waiting for the show. Colin found a satisfactory puppet, disappeared into the box beside Benedict and the theatrical began.

It was all you could do not to burst into hysterics hearing Benedict voice Mr. Punch. He was far too talented at the awful, nasally whine of the misguided fool. Whether or not the boys had encountered this character before, their eyes lit up with delight as he introduced himself and then led them on his day full of misadventure. Soon enough, he encountered the banker, voiced in a smug baritone by Colin. At first he duped Mr. Punch by spiriting away bags of money while Punch was counting them, a joke that left the nephews shrieking with laughter. But once Punch caught on, he exacted his revenge by beating the banker with his slapstick. The attack became spirited and the banker even managed to wrest the stick away and began hitting him back. You suspected this was not part of the original sketch, and your suspicion was confirmed when both the slapstick and puppets disappeared beneath the edge of the theater box entirely. 

The children grew silent and curious as low angry voices and sounds of a tousle arose beneath the now empty stage and the entire structure began to shake. Lord help you. You thought you were getting two adults to assist in keeping everyone occupied, but now realized you had only added two overgrown children to your assembly. You cleared your throat loudly, which fortunately called the men back to themselves and two chestnut heads peeked over the top of the stage. Colin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and Benedict pulled another of his dramatic pouts. You wanted to be cross with them for setting a bad example, but they were so charming even in their quarreling, that you said nothing and just fixed them with stern eyes. They quickly disappeared again and the puppets returned to the stage, made amends, completed their adventure and bowed to the cheerful applause of the little ones. Holding Caroline, you couldn’t clap yourself, but did smile widely as the men emerged and performed dramatic bows of their own, clearly pleased with the happy reception. The subsequent chatter while the boys circled around their uncles’ knees did cause the baby to fuss and you stood to rock her.

“Allow me,” Colin walked to you with a gentle grin. You settled his niece into his outstretched arms and he began to bounce and coo to her contentedly. Again you marveled at the love and commitment evident in each member of this expansive family. Parents so dedicated to connection with their children, and aunts and uncles so invested in their joy. It was rare to find in any family, but particularly in one so wealthy and titled where the upbringing of children was often left to an army of staff. But that was clearly not the way with the Bridgerton family.

You turned to Benedict and were reminded that not only was this family uncommonly kind, they were also all uncommonly attractive. He had herded the boys into playing with carved miniature horses and you joined him in watching over them.

“Colin has a way with babies,” he assured you. “You can trust him with Caroline.”

You returned his smile with gratitude. “Thank you both for being here. It is lovely to see a family that wants to spend so much time together.”

“Well, Clyvedon is so far away, we can’t pass up the opportunity to see these imps while we’ve got them.” He tousled Barnaby’s hair but the boy was too engrossed to look up.

“That was an excellent performance Mr. Bridgerton, despite the unexpected interlude.” He smirked at you with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. You had seen that look on the faces of children you had worked with before. He was a troublemaker, but likely got away with his misbehavior more often than not. When those traits endured into adulthood, they often spelled something exciting, and perhaps a bit dangerous. “You are frightfully good as Mr. Punch.”

He scoffed but you could see he enjoyed the praise. “It’s nothing. Well, it’s years of practice with my siblings. I was usually the one putting on the shows while we were growing up.”

“You’ve become very skilled at it. The children wouldn’t stop laughing. I could never hope to perform like that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he leaned in, his kind eyes focused on you. “You’re certainly not like most of the shriveled old nursemaids I’ve met, no offense to your colleagues. You must be something of an actress to entertain children all day.”

The way he addressed you was so open and honest, as if you were a friend and not the hired help. It disarmed you in the most pleasant way, inviting you to be playful and honest too. “How can you know?  You’ve only just met me.”

“I expect I’ll get to know you better over the coming days.” That charming smile was going to be troublesome. Despite your better judgment, you sincerely hoped he would. 

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton family #female reader #fluff #regency era

[kathonyxbee]

“I’m not jealous. Truly.”

Hello, hello!

Happy Kathony Week!!! 🐝🌷⛈

Here is my entry for the prompt: “jealousy and all its cousins” (Day 1)

Set post-wedding, pre-ILY. When Kate joins Daphne at Lady Danbury's soirée, she hears a lot about Anthony's reputation as a Rake which causes certain feelings to gnaw at her. It's a good thing Anthony can read her so well and knows just the way to convince her otherwise.

Or, Kate is jealous and Anthony has no problem telling her he wants her, but can't tell her he loves her.

“Don’t cause too much trouble tonight, will you?” Anthony requested from where he sat in a chair on the other side of their room, Newton yapping at his feet. He was already dressed for the evening, though they weren’t attending together. Anthony was heading for White’s with his brothers, while Kate was off with Daphne, the Duchess of Hastings and her sister-in-law, at Lady Danbury’s Soirée. She’d been surprised when the invitation had arrived, and had been considering whether or not to refuse, trying to figure out what was appropriate now that she was Lady Bridgerton, but Daphne had dropped by the other day, and after she’d told Kate what Lady Danbury’s Soirée for the Married Ladies of the Ton involved, Kate had eagerly accepted the invitation. So, here she was, getting ready while her husband lounged around, watching her.

“Hmph,” Kate huffed as her maid applied the finishing touches to her hairstyle while she tried to pick one of the flower headpieces to pin to her hair. Her curly hair had been tamed into an intricate, braided updo, leaving a few curls framing her face, just how Anthony liked it. Which, was ridiculous in and of itself as they weren’t even attending together, but a part of her rather liked pleasing him as much as she enjoyed teasing him. Hopefully, she would be able to do both. Her gaze flickered to Anthony’s, briefly, “cause trouble?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Who? Me? Impossible,” she quipped drily.

“Nice try, Kate,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes before glancing, briefly, at his pocket watch, his eyebrow creasing slightly.

“Besides,” she murmured, “this is a gathering for the married ladies of the ton. It shall be a most lovely and perfectly innocent evening, indeed,” she told him, though her lip twitched slightly because from the little Daphne had told her, she knew it was going to be anything but. Still, it was nice to make Anthony squirm, a little.

He scoffed, “now, why do I doubt that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear husband,” she retorted sweetly, catching his gaze briefly, and a shiver ran down her spine at the way he was looking at her. She turned to her maid, “would you please excuse us?” she whispered quietly. The maid glanced between the two of them for a moment before curtsying and scurrying off, understanding that it was best for her to leave.

As soon as the door was shut, Anthony leapt to his feet and strode over to her, positioning himself right behind her, and she could feel him breathing heavily in her ear.

“Are you sure about that, dear wife?” he growled as he ran his hands down her arms, his teeth lightly grazing her skin, sending another shiver down her spine.

“Quite sure,” she quipped drily, trying to sound nonchalant, but her body reacted to the proximity between them, and she stiffened, a shiver running down her spine. Anthony merely hummed in her ear, though he didn’t seem convinced.

Slowly, he reached for one of the flower pins on her dressing table, and picked one that matched the color of her dress before gently pinning it to her hair, his finger brushing against her ear, causing a shiver to run down her spine. Her husband did that to her, the insufferable man.

“Thank you,” she breathed out as she peered at their reflection in her vanity mirror. They did look good together, almost but not quite the same height, her dark skin in contrast with his pale one, but oddly enough they fit. More than that, it felt right to have Anthony by her side, behind her, to be on his arm. So, perhaps it wasn’t that bad to be married to him, even if he she would have no love. He was still attentive, and gentle, and the nicest man in all of London.

Anthony pressed a quick, chaste kiss to her temple. “You look rather exquisite, dear wife,” he murmured in her ear, and she blushed, slightly, because every time he complimented her it felt like the first time. And, damn him for being so good with him because he was making it more and more difficult not to fall in love with him.

“Not so bad yourself, dear husband. Not that it matters, as you’re only going to your club,” she quipped, small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she put on her earrings.

“Is that so?” he remarked, sounding mock hurt as he helped her with her necklace, fastening it around her neck.

“Mm. Thank you.”

There was a knock on the door, interrupting them.

“Enter!” Anthony barked, and once more her ladies’ maid returned.

She bobbed a curtsy, “my lord, my lady, the Duchess of Hastings is here,” she announced.

“Thank you,” Kate murmured, flashing her a smile. “The Viscount and I shall join her in a moment,” she added, dismissing her, and the maid nodded, bobbed a curtsy once more before leaving. Kate turned to her husband. “Well, that is my cue to leave,” she told him, grabbing her gloves from the table, slipping them on. Anthony was already ready to go, and he offered her his arm.

“Shall we, wife?”

“Of course, husband,” she muttered primly as she took his arm, the two of them making their way downstairs to the drawing room where Daphne, the Duchess of Hastings was waiting.

She stood as soon as they arrived, eager to greet them.

“Brother! Kate!” she exclaimed, immediately pulling Anthony in for a hug, exchanging cheek kisses with him.

“Sister,” Anthony muttered with a smile.

Daphne then turned to Kate, pulling her in for a hug as well.

“Daphne, how lovely to see you,” she said, exchanging cheek kisses with her sister-in-law. “Thank you for inviting me to attend,” she added.

“Nonsense! Lady Danbury is the one who sends out the invitations, and she is rather fond of you and your sister,” Daphne shrugged, brushing her off. “I’m just glad to have another familiar face there.”

“Likewise,” Kate nodded. “Thank you for agreeing to take me with you, though.”

“Of course,” her sister-in-law smiled. “That way, we’ll be able to get to know each other better, won’t we?”

“Of course.”

Anthony glanced between them, furrowing his brow slightly, that little crease between his eyebrows deepening slightly. “I must admit, I am a little worried at the thought of the two of you spending an extended amount of time together,” he remarked, his lips twitching slightly.

Daphne laughed, obviously amused while Kate cackled.

“Not to worry, brother, I shall bring your wife back in one piece,” she declared with a wink.

“Well, forgive me, sister, if I don’t trust you on it,” he retorted.

Kate snorted. “Do not fret, Anthony,” she said sweetly, patting his arm lightly. “We shall both act appropriately, as all married women do.”

Anthony scoffed, “appropriate. You. I’ll believe it when I see it, you menace,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

She grinned wickedly, “ah, but that’s why you won’t see it, husband,” she muttered sweetly.

“All right, all right, you two,” Daphne cleared her throat. “I believe that’s enough innuendos; he is my brother after all. Unfortunately.”

Kate chuckled. Anthony scowled.

“You know, I’m not sure I like your friendship with my wife, Daff,” he glared.

“Is that so?” Daphne raised an eyebrow. “I can say the same about yourself and my husband, brother,” she added, her tone too sweet to be genuine. Kate had to admit, she was enjoying this bit of sibling rivalry. Anthony just grunted. Daphne clapped her hands together. “Well, we should be going, Kate. My carriage is waiting for us,” she announced.

“Of course,” she smiled.

Anthony nodded, “I shall escort you, then head off myself.”

The three of them made their way out, Kate’s arm looped through Anthony’s while Daphne walked next to her, prattling on quietly about her new baby and what her husband, Simon, the Duke of Hastings, was doing at their Clyvedon estate, dealing with some tenant issues.

***

The carriage ride had been pleasant, Daphne and Kate both chatting the entire time, Daphne regaling her with stories of their family, about Anthony, and the others, too, about herself and her husband and their daughter, Amelia.

Soon, they arrived at Danbury house, the home of the dowager Lady Danbury, a footman announcing their arrival before a butler led them inside, and Kate could see Daphne practically brimming with excitement, the other woman practically bouncing.

She chuckled at Kate’s confused look, “don’t get me wrong, I adore my daughter and love spending every waking moment with her, but I miss my freedom a little, too. Being out in society. Lady Danbury’s soirees are absolutely delightful. Come,” she said, gesturing for Kate as the butler opened the doors.

Lady Danbury was there to greet them, a vision in burgundy, her hair flawless, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She beckoned for both of them to join her, and they did, Daphne beaming excitedly.

“Your Grace, Lady Bridgerton what a delight to have you here tonight,” she greeted them with a smile. “Welcome to my Den of Inequity,” she smirked. “Please, come,” she added, and began leading them further into the room, Daphne grabbing onto Kate, looping her arm around hers.

The room was lavish, beautifully decorated, with string music playing in the background, and tables throughout. Each table was occupied by a group of women, society ladies, drinking and laughing and playing card games. Kate’s brow furrowed briefly as she passed by them, especially when she heard her own name – the Young Lady Bridgerton – being whispered, but she ignored it, instead following along with Daphne and Lady Danbury.

Lady Danbury led them to a table occupied by three other women, whose faces immediately lit up upon seeing Daphne.

“Daphne!” they exclaimed, and exchanged quick greetings with her, hugging and exchanging pleasantries before their attention turned to Kate. Kate, who suddenly felt inadequate in front of these beautiful, extravagant women of the ton, wishing she’d worn more jewels, a fancier dress.

Lady Danbury cleared her throat, “ladies, may I introduce you to the newest member of our ranks. Kate, Viscountess Bridgerton,” she announced, gesturing at Kate, who forced a smile, exchanging a look with Daphne who flashed her a more encouraging smile in return. “Kate, these are Lady Trowbridge, Lucy Granville and Kitty Langham,” Lady Danbury added, introducing them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Kate said with a soft smile, and the three women nodded, smiling at her.

Daphne latched onto her once more, pulling her to two empty chairs with a “come, Kate,” that Kate couldn’t refuse.

“The rules of the game are simple,” Daphne explained as Lady Danbury took a seat herself, “each turn, all you have to do is place your token on the card you believe the dealer will turn over.”

“Now, ladies,” Lady Danbury drawled, “place your bets.”

They did as told, Kate taking a moment to look over the cards before placing her token on an ace of spades.

Kitty, the General’s wife, and a good friend of Daphne’s, offered her a drink, “takes away the sting of losing,” she explained with a smile.

Daphne giggled, “I doubt that is necessary, Kitty. My sister-in-law is quite competitive and she’s good at winning.”

“The Duchess is right,” Lady Danbury piped up. “Kate was the one who bet on this year’s Royal Ascot winner,” she explained with a smirk. “And, against her now-husband, the Viscount, too,” she added, an amused glint in her eyes.

Kate grinned.

“And she’s been collecting her winnings ever since their wedding night, I’m sure,” Lucy Granville added, earning a giggle from the other ladies.

“Of course. The Viscount has much to offer,” Lady Trowbridge added, and Kate stiffened slightly.

“And, how would you know?” Lucy quipped, glancing at the blonde, who merely smirked knowingly. Kate tried not to look at either of the women, in particular Lady Trowbridge, and instead took a swig of her drink, the alcohol burning her throat, but she didn’t care.

“Well, everyone is aware of the Viscount’s reputation,” Kitty chimed in, probably trying to ease the tension. “A Rake. I’m sure your sister-in-law understands, right Daphne? The Duke was quite the rake, himself, wasn’t he?” she added, taking a sip of her drink. “And, now he is a devoted husband and father.”

Daphne chuckled, “yes, he was. Reformed rakes really do make the best of husbands, don’t they, Kate?”

Kate smiled, though it was probably more of a grimace. “Indeed, they are,” she muttered, taking a sip of her own drink.

The dealer turned the cards over, and Kate grinned when she turned out to be right. She did like to win, after all.

“Again!” she exclaimed, laughing in delight, her desire to win outshining that small, jealous voice in the back of her head.

“My, my, Lady Bridgerton,” Kitty drawled, “it seems you are the star of the evening.”

“Well, I do enjoy a bit of competition,” she quipped, lips curving into a smirk.

Daphne snorted, “she does! She fits in quite nicely with us Bridgertons, you know. She was this year’s Pall Mall victor,” she said with a wink.

“Ah, the famous Bridgerton Pall Mall,” Kitty nodded. “The ton only hears of it, but the Bridgertons are known to be quite competitive.”

Kate nodded, “that they are. But, I happen to be quite competitive myself. And, besting one’s husband is the best win of all,” she said with a smirk.

“Oh! Were you engaged then? We all heard the engagement occurred at Aubrey Hall but didn’t know of the circumstances. Was marriage part of the terms of the game?”

“No, we got engaged after I sank my husband’s ball into the lake, but now that we are husband and wife victory in Pall Mall and all other things shall be that much sweeter,” she remarked, taking another sip of her drink.

The ladies gasped, obviously delighted by this small tidbit about what happened between them, and Kate couldn’t help but feel a small thrill.

“Yes,” Daphne beamed, “my brother has certainly found his match in Kate,” she gushed, sending Kate a wink.

Kate won the next round, too, this time placing her token on an eight of hearts.

But, the whispers and innuendos didn’t stop there, and soon Kate realized that other tables, too, whispered when they thought she couldn’t hear them. They whispered about her, about how she wasn’t Edwina, about Anthony, too, and his rakish exploits from before. An opera singer, an artist, a tailor, visits to brothels, and even a widow or two. And, later when Kate had won most of the games, she felt anything but a victor.

***

She’d bid goodnight to Daphne downstairs, and hoped that her husband was either not home or fast asleep, but alas he wasn’t. He was waiting for her, in their bedroom, lounging on the bed. She dismissed the maid, not wanting to deal with more questions. She would manage on her own.

She flashed him a tired smile in greeting, “good evening, Anthony.”

“Hello, wife,” he smirked. “Did you have a good evening? Enjoyed yourself?”

She hummed, “indeed I did. Did you?” She glanced at him as she slipped off her gloves, laying them on the table, then began taking off her jewelry, her earrings clattering against her other jewels. She reached to unclasp her necklace, but Anthony came to stand beside her, gently taking it from her hands and unclasping it himself before handing it to her.

“So, what do the ladies of the ton do without their men?” he wondered, obviously curious as he wordlessly unpinned the flower from her hair.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she quipped, smirking slightly, but it felt flat, like she wasn’t quite into it.

“Oh, I would,” he grinned as he helped her undo her updo, her curls falling down her shoulders. “Well?”

She chuckled, “ah, but then where would be the fun in these gatherings? Us married ladies gather to gossip about our husbands, among other things, and our husbands must not know,” she retorted.

“Kate…” he groaned.

“A secret is a secret, dear husband,” she reminded him with a smirk. Anthony merely huffed, pouting petulantly in response. “Oh, that is very becoming of you, Lord Bridgerton,” she added, rolling her eyes.

Anthony glared, “you are an absolute menace, did you know that?”

“So you’ve mentioned a few times,” she grumbled. She sighed as she looked back into the mirror, her mind going back to the gathering, to the events of the night, and in particular the whispers and innuendos.

Anthony noticed her stiffen, saw the sad look in her eyes, and tried catching her gaze in the mirror, but she couldn’t, couldn’t bear to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, coming to stand behind her once more.

“Nothing,” she muttered with a forced smile. “All is well. I’m just tired, Anthony,” she told him, but unfortunately her husband could read her, and he knew something was wrong.

“Kate,” he drawled, “what happened?”

“Nothing, it’s just-” she stopped herself, her lip caught between her teeth. He raised an eyebrow, nudging her lightly to continue. “Nothing, truly. It is just that… well, you were the topic of quite a few conversations this evening, but it’s fine,” she told him, her words coming out in a rush, and she could feel her cheeks flush.

But Anthony knew what she meant almost immediately, his forehead creasing only briefly in confusion before he frowned, muttering a quiet “oh.”

“I told you, it is nothing for you to worry about, we should just get ready for bed,” she told him in a dismissive tone, trying to brush it off. But she should have known. Anthony Bridgerton was not one to let it go.

“Kate,” he said slowly, “are you jealous?”

“Of course not!” she snapped, maybe a little too harshly. “I’m not jealous, don’t be ridiculous,” she told him.

“Kate, you were aware of my reputation before we married. Wasn’t that the reason you objected to my courting your sister?”

She rolled her eyes, “of course. That is exactly the point. As I said, I’m not jealous. Truly,” she told him, but even as she said it, she was lying through her teeth. And Anthony knew that. They both knew it.

She tried to step aside, but he stopped her, his hands gripping her arms gently, though she continued to face the mirror.

“Kate, we both know that isn’t true,” he said softly, and she could feel his breath in her ear, but still she didn’t meet his gaze.

“Anthony,” she groaned, breathlessly.

“Kate,” he whispered into her ear, his teeth lightly grazing her skin before he turned her around, but still she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Kate, what did they say? Tell me.” His tone was desperate, willing her to tell him, his fingers reaching to rest under her chin, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze. “Look at me, Kate,” he demanded, his tone pleading, and when she did, she saw his eyes burning with emotion, and she felt her resolve weaken.

“Nothing specific,” she whispered, “nothing to my face. But they kept talking. About you. Your… reputation,” she admitted, averting her gaze, and she heard him sigh heavily.  

“Kate, you knew-” he started, his forehead creasing in frustration.  

“They mentioned a woman you were once fond of. Sienna Rosso. An opera singer. It seems you have a type,” she muttered, reaching to cup his cheek gently.

“Had,” he mumbled.

She met his gaze once more. “Had?” she repeated.

He nodded, “had,” he said, his voice firm. He spun her around so her back was to him once more before he pressed his body against hers, his mouth next to her ear. “Now, I have a different type.” He smirked, “a beautiful, insufferable and competitive menace who drives me utterly insane with desire,” he said, breathlessly as he brushed his lips against her ear, nipping lightly on her earlobe, causing her to let out a small giggle. “I want you,” he muttered as he pressed a kiss to her jaw. And another. And another, trailing kisses along her jaw. “I desire you,” he whispered as he kissed along her neck. “All the time. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day,” he murmured against her skin as his lips brushed over her collarbone. “I- I need you,” he stuttered, and Kate’s heart skipped a beat. “I need you, Kate,” he repeated, his voice hoarse, and she shivered, as he removed his hands from her arms. “I.” Kiss. “Want.” Kiss. “You.” Another kiss. “Always.” He continued in this manner, peppering kisses all over her skin, his hands expertly unbuttoning her dress, letting it pool at her feet before he spun her around once more, so she was facing him this time.

“Anthony,” she muttered breathlessly as he cupped her cheeks, his fingers firm but gentle on her skin.

“Kate,” he breathed out. “Listen to me,” he urged, “and listen closely. Sienna is my past. Just like all those other women the ton whispers about. My past. But they do not matter. She does not matter. You matter, Kate. You are my present and my future. You are my always. I will always want you, Kate. You are the bane of my existence and the object of my desires,” he said, his voice hoarse, his dark brown eyes blazing, urging her to believe him. “All at once.”

Kate felt her breath knocked out of her, and she gasped quietly before reaching for him, her own arms winding around his neck, pulling him to her.

“Anthony,” she muttered against his lips, her nose bumping against his, their foreheads touching, “I need you.”

He picked her up effortlessly, his deft fingers already undoing the laces of her corset, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, felt him press against her thigh, hard. He needed her just as much. It was clear in his tone, in his eyes, in the way he kissed her, hungry and desperate, like a man drowning.

“I need you, too, Kate,” he whispered before capturing her lips with his own. “You have no idea how much.”

And Kate had to admit that a little jealousy had come in handy. Very handy. Especially as her husband gasped her name in pleasure.

#katexanthonyweek #katexanthonyweek2021 #kate sheffield x anthony bridgerton #Kate Sharma x Anthony Bridgerton #kathony #kanthony #bridgerton

[sigynthevictorious]

A Christmas Arrival

Festive-ish drabble for @sonofhighrock

The new Duke and Duchess of Norfolk had been married not even a year when they had been blessed with the promise of a child. It wasn’t unexpected so to say, but both were alarmed just how quickly Sigyn had fallen pregnant. Still, they were excited and eager to meet their child, a sign of hope and light in the tempestuous political storm that was their lives.

The feast of Saint Stephen and the New Year were fast approaching, not that it mattered much to Sigyn. She had been in confinement for the majority of the month as she waited for her child to come. Tales of the Advent celebrations from her ladies warmed her heart. She longed to be a part of them but this year there were more important things to concern herself with.

It was early on Christmas morning that the first stirrings of labour arrived. Naturally discussions began saying how remarkable it was that the Duke’s first child could be born not only on the anniversary of their mighty ancestor being crowned King, but also on the same day of their Lord and Saviour. Sigyn, feeling the pressure rise to deliver her husband a healthy son now, tried to ignore the prayers and hopes of her ladies.

As the sun began to set and the pains increased, her cries of pain began to echo through the walls of the castle, so naturally word quickly spread about the impending arrival. Of course, the Duke was kept from entering the room, yet the Dowager Duchess, adamant on being there for the birth of her first grandchild as well as comforting her daughter-in-law and friend, was at Sigyn’s side as she sat upon the birthing chair.

Numerous curses along the lines of “men are vermin” and “I curse the day he came to my bed” were grunted by the new Duchess with every contraction that sent agonising pain through her body. Obviously not caring that her mother-in-law was in the room and heard every insult that was hurled at her son.

It felt like a lifetime had passed, the pain erased any concept of time and only got worse as her time to push came. “Get it out!” she cried, pleading with the women around her whilst squeezing the hands of the Dowager Duchess and one of her ladies before giving another firm push.

Much to the delight and relief of everyone in the room, the child came quickly and safely into the world. The child was large but came but thankfully seemed to cause no complications. Their strong and loud cry filled the air before they were whisked away to be dried and examined by one of the physicians. As expected they appeared to be in perfect health so was soon bundled up to protect them from the cold mid-winter chill.

“A son, Your Grace” the midwife declared before placing the child in his mother’s arms. His head was covered in a mop of thick black hair and his cries soon settled down as Sigyn held him close to her chest. “He’s so beautiful,” she sighed, kissing her son's forehead. Her heart had never felt so full, so overcome with a sense of unconditional love for the now sleeping babe in her arms. She cherished the moment, not able to pull her eyes away from his round cheeks and dimpled chin. The perfect miniature of his father.

Sometime later, just before the festive day ended and Sigyn had been cleaned up, tucked up in bed and the room returned to normal, the Duke was finally allowed to enter. Sigyn sat with their son still in her arms, her bright love filled eyes fixed upon his precious face and a tiny hand held onto her little finger as Lanius came in. “He’s perfect” she greeted her husband, eventually managing to look away from their son with a proud smile as she held the peaceful child out for him to see.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

#sonofhighrock #drabble #sigyn x lanius #tw childbirth #tbh this could be a starter too but hey ho

[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite Historical Fiction || The Stolen Crown: The Secret Marriage that Forever Changed the Fate of England by Susan Higginbotham ★★★★☆

The next day I was told that my sister had a visitor of some importance, who particularly wished to see me. After some delay, during which more fuss had been made than usual about my clothing, I was sent to my sister’s chamber. There sat a lady who, though somewhat younger, reminded me a bit in appearance of the Duchess of Norfolk. With her was my mother, newly arrived from Grafton, where she traveled to and from court from time to time.

“Hello, my dear,” said Mama, giving me a kiss after I dropped a curtsey to them all. “This is the Duchess of Buckingham. We have known each other a very long time, since we were often at court together during the time of Margaret of Anjou. The Duchess of Buckingham is sister to the Duchess of York, the king’s mother, and to the Duchess of Norfolk, John’s wife.”

Momentarily overwhelmed by all of these duchesses, I merely nodded, then remembered that I had been told by the Duchess of Norfolk that her father, Ralph Neville, the Earl of Westmorland, had sired nearly two dozen children, including the Kingmaker’s late father, by his two wives. I wondered how he had kept their names all straight. Perhaps he couldn’t, and had assigned one of his servants to this task exclusively.

“She’s a little thing,” said the Duchess of Buckingham. “Why, the title will be longer than the girl!”

“But very healthy. Katherine has hardly had a sick day in her life.”

“That’s certainly to be desired. Tell me, child. I hear that you met my grandson Harry yesterday. Did you like him?”

I was still indignant about being called too French, but I could hardly tell this to Harry’s grandmother, especially as I was puzzling over this exchange between her and Mama. “Yes, your grace,” I said in a rather flat tone.

“Good. It has been arranged that you are to marry him. The wedding will take place just before the queen’s coronation. So you and I shall share a title. Duchess of Buckingham.” I rocked back on my heels. Since coming to court I had learned a great deal about matters of precedence, and I knew that as Duchess of Buckingham, I would be one of the greatest ladies of the land. Only a few women, such as the queen and the king’s sisters, would outrank me. Sakes alive, my own sisters—except for the queen—would have to give way to me! I would wear a gold circlet on my head. Save for one of the king’s brothers, I could not have made a grander match in all of England. And the young duke was rich. How many castles and manors would he have to call his own when he came of age? I would have my own household, my own servants, my own ladies. In time, I would surely have my own children, set to continue this grand lineage down through the generations.

I came out of my ducal ruminations to see that my mother was staring at me with amusement. “I don’t believe our Kate has ever been so quiet for so long.”

“I am most honored,” I managed.

The Duchess of Buckingham—soon to be the dowager Duchess of Buckingham, I thought dreamily—chuckled and patted me on the head. “Mind you, child, one of my nephews won’t be happy to hear about this. You might as well know.”

“The Earl of Warwick?”

“My, she is a sharp little thing, isn’t she?” The Duchess of Buckingham gave me another pat. “Yes. He has two girls of his own, you see, both of whom would have done quite nicely for Harry with all that they will inherit, and I daresay Warwick had hopes in that direction. But we women have decided that you will suit better, and the king has given the match his blessing. So that is that. Nephew Richard will just have to fume. And fume he shall, I’ve no doubt.”

I was on the way to becoming a duchess, and I had made the Kingmaker angry. What more could a child of seven have accomplished in one day? When I left my sister’s chamber, I saw that my betrothed was waiting for me—a bit of a jolt, for in my excitement I had forgotten that Harry and I had not made a sterling impression on each other. “So they told you?”

“Yes. I hope I shall be English enough for you.”

“I told Grandmother when she talked to me this morning that I thought you were too French,” Harry said solemnly. “But she told me that I was being foolish, that when I was older I would be delighted with your French ways. She didn’t say why. Anyway, she told me that it was either you or the Earl of Warwick’s girls and that if I married one of them, he would probably insist that I go to the North and live with him—I wouldn’t want to do that, my lands are in Wales and nearby, and a man should live on his own lands—and he would try to rule me as he tries to rule the king even when I came of age. She thought I’d enjoy marriage to you more. And she said that you would probably be a better bearer of children for me. The Earl of Warwick’s countess has only had the two, and lost others, they say, and the Duchess of Bedford your lady mother has had so many healthy ones. So I said that I guessed that you would do, and Grandmother said that I was shaping up to be a man of sense after all.”

“Oh,” I said, my mood somewhat dampened.

“And better yet, Humphrey and I are to become Knights of the Bath soon after you and I marry, right before the coronation. We might have had to wait if I weren’t going to be your husband. So I’ve decided that marrying you isn’t such a bad thing as I thought at first.”

“I am glad to hear that,” I said hollowly, and continued walking toward my chambers.

My spirits, however, were usually pretty resilient back then—indeed, they still are today, I think—and I soon regained them in full force. As the days before my wedding passed, I played Duke and Duchess with my dolls, letting the least feminine looking of them stand in for the duke—not that I intended any disrespect toward my fiancé. Because their play consisted mainly in saying what my dolls usually said to each other, with the added novelty of them addressing each other as “your grace,” I tired soon enough of this, after which I would count up the duchesses of England and never cease to find the figure gratifyingly low, even on the occasions when I realized I had missed one or two. There was the Duchess of York, the Duchess of Norfolk I knew, and the wives of her late son and her living grandson as well, the Duchess of Exeter, the Duchess of Suffolk, her mother-in-law the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk, Mama the Duchess of Bedford, and the Duchess of Buckingham. Eventually, I supposed, there would be a Duchess of Gloucester and a Duchess of Clarence. It was a select company indeed—and joining it would be me.  

#bookedit #litedit #katherine woodville #henry stafford #wars of the roses #medieval #hf edits #nanshe's graphics

[lucyofedinburgh]

06 April 1800 The tearoom at Fortnum & Mason Late afternoon

The dowager duchess’s presence was as cloying as her perfume, a salivating blend of rosehip and earthy musk. Lucy hugged closer to the table as she was seated, eager for the sugar-dusted treats to fend the smell away. Lace-gloved hands rested in her lap as the tea was poured, a doting nod bestowed upon the steward before they escaped.

Even at an angle, she could feel the dowager duchess’ beady eyes scan the room. She held court in Fortnum and Mason the way that the Queen did inside Buckingham House, only her subjects were pried away from their own delights and made to sit with her as they were mined for secrets. Lucy shivered. They should have stayed in Vienna.

“Lady Weston.”

Perhaps the attendant was correct; the only way out was excitement, focus, interest. The only way out was through.

Lucy straightened in her seat, blue eyes pinning her companion. “How are you finding your new life?”

A beat.

"That is, in London, of course. We have not seen you in some time.”

@lcdyofcobham​

#lucy x sophia

[chikoriita]

Single Father Seeking Sane Step-Mama Pt. 2

As the hour grew closer to tea time, Eloise strategically chose her seat in the drawing-room. Though not nearly as big as Bridgerton House, afternoon tea at Number Five drew plenty of visitors. With Colin recently returned to town and her mother’s birthday celebration coming up, Bridgertons of all ages flocked to tea. Hence, if Eloise wanted to make her own guests welcome, she needed to make ample space for them.

Amanda and Oliver would fit in with the gaggle of nieces and nephews that accompanied their mothers to tea. Between Daphne, Kate, and Sophie, at least one child of similar age would arrive. If not, Violet always had a marvelous spread. That is if Colin left any for the rest of the family.

No, it was their father Eloise worried about. Would he feel uncomfortable in the midst of all the Bridgertons? Frannie might not come, but Hyacinth was a force of nature in herself. Would he take them up on her spur of the moment offer? What if all her preparations were for naught?

Settled into the armchair by the window, Eloise kept a wary eye on the gate. She did not want to miss them.

“You are here quite early for tea, Eloise.” Daphne strolled in with her two eldest children in tow. “Usually Hyacinth has to bellow for you to “make haste.” Her elder sister gave her a sly smile as she settled on the sofa. Ambrose and Belinda found some sort of entertainment on the other side of the drawing-room.

Eloise made a face. Of course, she would remember something she did at seventeen years old. “You, dear sister, were about to be late for your own presentation. Hyacinth only has to shout if I am in the middle of writing something. They are completely different subjects.”

Daphne laughed. “So you say.”

“Oh good, you brought the older children today.” Eloise did a little clap of excitement.

Her sister furrowed her brow. “Yes, Caroline and Davina had an art lesson this afternoon. Why is it good?”

She leaned close. “The townhome next door was rented out for the Season. I encountered the children as they were moving in today, and invited them to tea.” Reclining once again, Eloise peeked outside to see if anyone else was arriving.

Daphne hummed. “I wonder who they are.”

“I’ve never met them before. The children gave the last name Crane. I have yet to meet their father.”

“Whose father?” Violet asked as two footmen trailed her with a cart full of pastries.

“Mama, does the name Crane ring a bell? I feel like I know someone with the surname, but I cannot place it,” Daphne pondered.

Violet shook her head. “No, dearest. I cannot either.”

Hyacinth bounded into the room with none of the delicacies of a proper debutante. “Are we discussing the new neighbors? Eloise should know all about them.” She smirked. “She’s the one who met the children today.”

“How did you-”

“I was in your room.”

“Mama!”

“Hyacinth,” her mother warned.

She shrugged. “Eloise has the best view of the street. If anyone wants to learn anything, it’s the best place to start.”

“Stay out of my room,” Eloise hissed. Hyacinth stuck her tongue out at her. Violet glared at them both.

Wickham arrived at the door. “A Sir Phillip Crane has arrived for Miss Bridgerton.” He gestured to the Crane family.

“Sir Phillip?” Daphne murmured as they all stood to greet the Cranes.

“I did not know either,” Eloise mumbled in return.

“Sir Phillip, what a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our home,” Violet warmly said. Ever the gracious hostess, she did not miss a beat. “Thank you for accepting Eloise’s invitation. I am the Dowager Lady Bridgerton, but you may call me Violet.” She held out a welcoming hand.

“It is a pleasure, Lady Bridgerton.” He bowed over her hand. “May I introduce my children?”

Eloise would have glanced behind him to find the twins. However, she could not move past him. Meeting in person confirmed that her initial observation was true. He was large, and it suited him. Sir Phillip. A strong and sturdy name meant for someone such as him.

“Miss Eloise!” Amanda’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Are you glad we came?” The adoration in the little girl before her humbled Eloise more than she expected.

“I am,” she softly said. “Let me introduce you both to my niece and nephew.” She held her hands out. It surprised her how well their hands fit in her own.

~~

So these were the Bridgertons, Phillip thought. He felt awkward in a room full of such beautiful people. Lady Bridgerton made the introductions as Eloise took his children away. Besides herself and Eloise, the other two ladies were her daughters as well. “This is Hyacinth, my youngest, and my eldest daughter, Daphne, the Duchess of Hastings.”

“Your Grace.” He bowed once more. He may be rusty, but from what little he knew, a Duchess deserved at least that.

“Oh, we do not stand for such formality in the Bridgerton household. Please call me Daphne.” She steered him toward a long sofa. “We may still have stragglers. Let us chat.”

Phillip held back a gulp. “Are more guests expected?” Should they have postponed it for another day? “If so-”

“Oh no, Sir Phillip. My mother has an open door policy. With eight children, she stopped counting guests for tea ages ago.”

“Eight?”

Daphne laughed. “Is it possible that we have met the one person in all of London that does not know our reputations?”

Violet gave a sharp glance to her daughter. “We do not have a reputation.”

“Yes, we do, Mama. According to Lady Whistledown, you have four handsome sons and four beautiful daughters. All neatly and alphabetically organized,” Eloise returned to the conversation. She made her way toward the armchair she had before when Daphne tugged her into the remaining space on the sofa. Right in between the duchess and himself.

Alphabetically named children? “How delightful.”

The youngest daughter, Hyacinth, snickered. “Not according to Lady Whistledown. She said it was banal.”

With that comment, all of the Bridgerton ladies launched into a lively conversation. All Phillip could do was watch. He had vaguely heard of this Lady Whistledown, but he did not care much for the musings of a gossip columnist. No, he was far more interested in the young lady seated next to him.

Miss Eloise Bridgerton shared the same coloring as her sisters and mother, but on her everything seemed more. A rich brown hue in her hair, deep blue eyes, and a flush in her cheeks that matched her spirit. From everything he observed, Eloise Bridgerton was far beyond his league. All he sought was a quiet mother for his children. Someone who would not mind him spending more time with plants than the local society. Someone who did not resent him for surviving while his brother did not.

Daphne handed him a cup of tea. “Any sugar or cream?”

“No thank you.” He took a sip. It was a nice blend, and one he had not encountered before.

Hyacinth passed him a plate of pastries. “Get your share in before Colin returns. He is the reason we have two carts,” she said with a grin. “Where is your estate?”

“Hyacinth!” Both her sisters hissed.

It was a neatly tucked question. He rather admired the girl for it. “We reside at Romney Hall in Gloucestershire year-round. This will actually be my first Season in town.” And hopefully last, he prayed.

“Do you have any family in town?” Violet kindly asked.

He shook his head. “Not of my own, unfortunately. My late wife’s cousins do live near here.”

“We may know them. Who are they?”

Before he could answer, two more visitors arrived. One had the first familiar face here in London. He stood quickly to greet her. “Miss Featherington.”

Penelope Featherington had been wrapped in conversation with the gentleman beside her. If he guessed correctly, this was a Bridgerton brother. Lady Whistledown was correct, he admitted. The man was quite handsome.

At the sound of her name, she turned to Phillip and gasped. “Sir Phillip!”

“I am pleased to see you still recognize me after all these years,” he said politely. It was a very slight relation, but it was the only available in the city. It was pure luck that he encountered her in Lady Bridgerton’s drawing-room.

~~

Eloise glanced between him and Penelope, as did every other Bridgerton. How did Penelope know their new neighbor?

Daphne was the first to recover from her confusion. Recognition dawned on her face. “Sir Phillip Crane was married to Miss Thompson,” she whispered, clutching Eloise’s hand.

“Miss Thompson?” Eloise parroted. All the pieces clicked together. “That Miss Thompson?” She covertly gestured to Colin. It had been years since anyone mentioned that fiasco of 1813.

Her sister wore her worry on her face. Eloise watched her brother instead. Obviously, Sir Phillip had no idea who he was in regards to his late wife.

Penelope nervously smiled. “It has been some time since our last meeting. My condolences on Marina,” her voice cracked as she spoke her name aloud.

Violet’s eyes widened at the name while Hyacinth nearly fell out of her precarious seat. Colin showed no particular emotion at all.

To her surprise, Eloise saw Sir Phillip grimace. It was slight, but she was sure it was there. “Thank you, Miss Featherington. Might I introduce you to my children?”

As he went to retrieve Oliver and Amanda, she spied another odd happening. Colin whispered something into Penelope’s ear. Eloise narrowed her eyes. What was going on here today? Penelope spoke quietly to him, and he nodded.

“Colin!” Eloise called out to him. “Have a seat next to me.” Daphne took the hint and moved to a seat closer to Mama.

He complied, swiping two pastries on his way over. Even in this awkward situation, Colin had to think of his stomach.

“I’m sorry.”

Colin coughed at her words. He recovered quickly enough to ask, “Why? It’s not as if you brought him here. Why is he at tea anyway?” Her brother, to his credit, did not grumble or sound put out. He had near a decade to get over Marina Thompson and her actions. From the little Penelope had told her of that summer, Marina did what she thought she needed to do.

“I invited them here,” she admitted. Eloise guiltily looked over to where Sir Phillip stood with the twins and Penelope. Amanda looked like a doll with her sun-kissed curls, and Oliver had a mischievous smile on his face. Some of her guilt melted away when she thought back to the solemn look on his face earlier. No, no matter the awkward situation, she was glad to see that the children had enjoyed themselves.

“Lady Bridgerton, I believe we have spent enough of your time,” Sir Phillip spoke. The twins’ angelic faces turned mutinous at his words.

“Nonsense, you are welcome here,” Violet warmly said.

“Nevertheless, we must take our leave.” He reached to take Amanda’s hand when she backed away.

“No! Can we please stay with Miss Eloise?” She rushed over to sit next to Eloise.

Oliver was not far behind his sister. “Miss Eloise wants us here.”

All eyes turned to look at her. Oh dear, what a situation. Sir Phillip pleaded with the exhausted look on his face. “Amanda, Oliver…” She sighed. “You have traveled a long way. It is a time to relax. Even Ambrose is tired.”

Daphne shot a glance at her son that had him yawning within seconds. It was pleasant to see her sister had not lost her maternal touch.

She took both of their hands. “I enjoyed seeing you both again.”

“You are welcome to come to tea any time you like, dears,” Violet added.

Penelope chimed in. “I must be going as well. Mama will be expecting me home soon.” Eloise resisted raising a brow at her friend. Portia Featherington never expected Penelope for anything. “I can escort you out, Sir Phillip.”

He nodded and held his arm out for her to take. Colin tensed beside her. What was going on with him?

“Come children.” Sir Phillip’s tone brooked no more rebellion. Reluctantly, the twins followed him. Before they fully exited, Amanda turned around and gave a small wave to Eloise. She could not help but smile back at the little girl and give her a little wave in return.

It was a few moments later that Eloise realized that all eyes were on her once again. Hyacinth’s were teasing, Daphne’s warm, and Violet’s motherly as always.

Only Colin seemed reserved. “That was an interesting encounter. Is he the latest in your line of suitors, El?”

“There is no line of suitors,” she shot back, crossing her arms. She loved Colin, but there were times she wanted to strangle him with his cravat.

“If there were, Sir Phillip would be right in front. He could barely take his eyes off Eloise,” Hyacinth added. Maybe she would get the cravat treatment as well.

“He is not my suitor! I barely know him.”

Violet patted her on the hand. “Dearest, they are simply teasing you. Do not take their words to heart.” She heaved a sigh. “Anyway, the ton is a small world. Who could have known of Sir Phillip’s connection?”

“I should have recognized him,” Daphne said.

“Why? When would you have met him?” Colin asked.

“I- um… I contacted the Army on Miss Thompson’s behalf after… everything. It was then Sir Phillip found her.”

“Was he the father of her child? Well, children?” Hyacinth could barely hold her curiosity.

“That’s enough Hyacinth,” Violet sharply said.

Daphne shook her head. “It was his older brother, Sir George. He died in the Peninsular Wars.” She looked at Eloise as she said this.

“It is their own personal matter. It does not involve us.” Violet folded her hands in her lap, signaling the end of this topic.

Her mother was wrong though. After the events of that day, it would involve the Bridgertons personally, whether they liked it or not.

And Eloise was caught in the middle, physically and possibly emotionally.

~~

Later that evening, Eloise sat at her desk and stared at the blank parchment in front of her. She was not sure of what she even wanted to say. All she knew was that she needed to say something.

Sir Phillip,

Thank you for your presence at our house…

---

As always, reply if you want to be tagged in future updates. 

Thank you to the amazing @thekatesheffield​ for the lovely banner!!!

#bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #sir phillip crane #philoise #To Sir Philip With Love #bridgerton fic #bridgertons #lightkeykid writes

[margueritedanjou]

Alternative universe: the story of Margaret Tudor, duchess of Somerset; countess of Rivers; countess of Oxford.

Born: summer, 1440. Dead: winter, 1520.

Mother: Catherine of Valois, Princess of France and Queen of England.

Father: Owen Tudor, a welsh courtier.

Siblings: Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond; Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke and later Duke of Bedford; Owen Tudor, a monk; Daffydd Tudor, a knight.

Wife to: Henry Beaufort, 3rd duke of Somerset; Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers; John de Vere, 13th Earl of Oxford. 

-//-

Summer 1440, Hatfield Palace.

In the first hours of a day of late June that year of 1440, former queen of England, Catherine de Valois, struggled to give birth one last time at Hatfield Palace, usual home place of powerful bishops. It was an experience that she was much accostumed to: she was only twenty years of age by the time she gave birth to her royal son, the current king Henry VI of England. After she took the man responsible for her wardrobe as a second husband, the handsome welshman responsible for capturing her heart, Catherine delivered three healthy sons. Edmund, Jasper and Owen, she loved all of them dearly.

Watch them grow, despite the difficult circumnstances ultimately provoked by her former brother by law Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, was a privilege Catherine had much to be thankful for. She lived a quiet life, away from that troublesome court, every now and then in touch with her oldest boy. 

But now, she grew weaker at every effor as she was told to push the baby. Once she did, though, a midwife held the newborn in her arms and told the french princess that this time... the child was a girl.

“A girl”, whispered Catherine, faintly. “Oh, thank the Lord! I’ve been longing for a girl!”

The midwife smiled upon Catherine and slowly gave the baby, now cleansed, to the dowager queen’s arms. 

“How should be named?”

In return, Catherine beamed.

“Margaret”, she told the woman. “After my lover’s late mother.”

*                                                    *                                                               *

Margaret’s early years were not easy. Her mother died as a result of complications due to her long labour. Her half-brother’s council was outraged because Queen Catherine married without the royal approval and thus imprisoned Owen and had the children as wards to Katherine de la Pole, abbess of Barking Abbey and an older sister to Henry VI’s favourite, William de la Pole, earl of Suffolk.

There, Margaret was raised with her elder brothers, although most of her time was spent with the nuns, receiving a proper education accordingly the will of the king of England, her older half-brother for she was too a daughter of royalty through their mother’s side. But not too long she was destined to remain there even though the nuns held some expectation that she’d take the vows. Once released, Owen took his younger daughter under his care as well as that of his eldest sons, although the third one was sent to the Church. 

Not soon after they were released, they were sent to court. By the time, Margaret was nearly eight years of age and had indications she would become a beautiful woman in due time: she had inherited the french traces of her mother, the golden hair and the blue eyes, although her nose and lips much reminded of her father. She was tall for her age and gracious, of sweet temper and quick wit. To Owen’s delight, Margaret was a curious young lady, which again reminded him much of Catherine.

“Father, does His Grace know about me?” She was already aware that her older half-brother was the sovereign of England. “Do you think he will like me?”

As she was his only daughter, Owen was very much protective towards Margaret. He smiled upon her and said:

“Of course he will. There is nothing to be concerned with, just remember to curtsy and always be kind.”

Edmund and Jasper, who were by his side, smiled. The recently ennobled Earl of Richmond added:

“Our brother is very curious to know you, little sister. We’ve assured you that you are the most pious and graceful sister he could have.”

Margaret beam in delight, but she looked at Owen as if in look for confirmation. Owen chuckled.

“He is telling the truth, Meg.” But he did not say that Henry VI wished that his sister had a life amongst the nuns. A sigh escaped him and the concern in his eyes did not go unnoticed by Jasper, who said:

“What’s wrong, father? What worries you?”

Owen decided to tell the truth:

“I did not wish to see Meg spend her entire life within those walls. I wish she had a good life as you boys are entitled to have.”

Edmund pondered at this:

“Perhaps you could tell the king this, then? I’m sure our brother is not unreasonable if you shared his concerns.”

Aware of Henry VI’s pious nature, Owen smirked.

“I am not very sure about that, son.” 

“Or we could appeal to it through his wife, the queen.” Jasper suggested. “She is fond of us just as much.”

Owen pondered this for a moment. He was very fond and protective to Margaret, but he knew Catherine’s wishes would line with his own: his wife once nearly took the vows in her youth, something she never really wanted to. In order to prevent this, she had to convince Queen Isabeau that a marriage to the king of England would be best for their country. That way, it was Catherine’s sister who became a nun, not her.

“I suppose we could do that, but let’s see how this reunion will go.”

Margaret heard it all, not understanding what were the meaning of the look on their faces. They were at court and about to meet the king. What could possibly go wrong?

*                                                                  *                                                *

Even though she was not beyond eight years of age, Margaret knew how to behave herself. She could not forget her manners even if she wanted to, and after she was being schooled by a lady of the Queen’s choice, it was time to meet her brother... and her sister by law.

That day she was dressed accordingly the fashion, styled in a velvet purple gown adequated to her height and chidish body. Margaret’s golden hair remained loose, but carefully combed. Once the lady dressed her and summoned after her brothers and father, they were all ready to go.

Margaret was aware she descended from a long lineage of Valois kings, amongst whom there were two or three saints, although only one was recognized as king. However, she too knew well that thanks to her connection with her brother, the kind man who ruled England and whose devotion was very known, owed her loyalty to the House of Lancaster. But little Meg feared they could ask her questions regarding Henry VI’s ancestry so that she looked at her father and said:

“Will they ask me about His Grace’s family background? I cannot remember his grandfather’s name or how he became king.”

Owen chuckled and so did his sons. Margaret frowned upon them.

“We are not laughing at you, Meg,” he explained, smiling. “But you are a very sagacious and precocious child. He will not expect you to know that, nor will he ask you such a thing. Calm yourself.”

The court was in a merry mood that day, despite the growing tensions between the factions of the Houses of York and Lancaster. Unaware of this, all Margaret cared for was to please her brother.

Once she was announced, the king and the queen looked curiously at that little girl who was eager for their approval. In turn, Margaret was in awe at how they sat regally on their thrones: the image of the king, who surpassed the twenty’s  but still looked young and handsome, sided by his wife, a redhead french woman with fierce but gentle eyes, had Margaret inspired.

“Step forward, little sister.” The king gently commanded and smiled at her. “Do not fret. I might be king, but I’m still your brother.”

Margaret smiled childshily and the queen found herself at the urge to look after that motherless young girl. The blond little one dropped a curtsy graciously and blushed when seeing the queen smiling broadly at her.

“How should I call you?” The queen asked.

“Margaret Tudor, Your Grace.” She replied, anxiously. “I am most pleased that God thought good for me to be at the presence of both of you.”

Henry and Margaret smiled at her. One very pleased for her piety, and the other for how gracious was her manners.

“We think the same, young Margaret.” Said the king. “You remember me much of our dear late mother, may God have her soul. I lament you have no recollection of her at all.”

Margaret blinked, unsure of what to say. Seeing the matter was a sensitive one for the young girl, the queen thought wise to interfere.

“It is very pleasant for me to see we have same names”, said Margaret of Anjou. “I was named after Saint Margaret, she was good and strong and wise saint.”

At a more comfortable matter to speak of, Margaret smiled at her royal sister-by-law.

“That is true, my lady. When I was raised at Barking Abbey, I’ve read about many saints, she is one of my favourite too.”

Queen Margaret nodded in approval. Henry, just as approving, said:

“It looks to me you were taught well in religious matters, my sister.” 

The conversation did not go too long, but as Margaret relaxed, she found herself chatty again--but never too forward to forget her manners. From afar, Owen and his oldest sons watched as the scene went on. He smiled in relief:

“Looks like the king and the queen took a like on her.”

“How could they not?” Said Edmund, with a proud smile on his lips. “She’s a very sweet little girl. I’m sure that the queen will not allow her to be sent to a monastery life.”

As they predicted, Margaret of Anjou convinced her husband that his sister could not be sent to Barking Abbey. Instead, she would educate the girl herself, for likewise, Margaret Tudor was a french princess. That decision would mark the Tudor’s life for good.

*                                                                *                                                    *

Despite the difficult parting from his children, Owen was most pleased to see how life was developing for his offspring. Edmund, Jasper and Margaret were all serving the king, their older half-brother. Whilst the former two at times went to Wales to perform royal duties on behalf of Henry VI, Margaret was still being educated by Queen Margaret, as part of her household, and was admitted as her dame of honour.

As years went by and tensions were becoming each time more evident at court, Margaret Tudor began to fear that a civil war could happen at any time. Edmund Beaufort rose to proeminence after the fall of William de la Pole, who was killed upon his leaving to exile. Accordingly to what she heard amongst the royal ladies loyal to Queen Margaret, the Duke of Suffolk was held hostage by pirates who assaulted him and when noticing how valuable -but equally unpopular- he was, the man was decapitated and his body was thrown to the sea. He was found at the sands the next day.

This Tudor girl had never been so frightening as the day she saw her royal sister-by-law frantically cry and angrily curse her enemies. Margaret also witnesed the close bond between the dowager Duchess and the queen. Luckily for her, Jacquetta Woodville saw to this matter would not take Margaret’s mind for so long. In fact, it was by this time that Margaret became friends with Jacquetta’s oldest daughter, a beautiful girl named Elizabeth. 

“This can be a lonely place”, Margaret confided her Woodville friend once. “I’m glad that we are able to bond.”

“People can really be ruthless here”, Elizabeth agreed, happy to make a good friend amongs the false ladies whom she had the unfortunate moment to stress herself with. “Or ambitious. I don’t see how these girls are better than us. My mother comes from an ancient house of France and yours was the queen of England herself!”

Margaret smiled at that.

“I give you true to that, but what does it matter anyway? I’m most happy that the queen, my sister by law, took me to her wings. I was afraid I’d live a monastery life. Not that I would mind that, but...”

“...but you want to see more of the world”, Elizabeth completed and here she smiled too. “There is nothing wrong with that, but I don’t think court gives you another perspective of it. We only move from one royal household to another, and there is not much we can do. Although, as ladies of the queen, we have relatively more freedom than others of higher rank.”

“You are not wrong in that.” Margaret contemplated. They were sewing that day as Margaret and her closest ladies were in the chapel, in prayers. “I was wondering, what are your thoughts of marrying?”

Elizabeth rose her eyes to meet her friends’ and Margaret noticed how stormy they could be. Had Margaret been any more observing, she would have seen something... perhaps... ambitious there?

“I confess I’d like to marry for love like my mother did”, she admitted. “But I need to remember that, first and foremost, I must live a comfortable life. If my husband has a good career and looks after me, it’s all well.”

Margaret took notice that she, too, was a product of a love story. Suddenly, she missed her father.

“I think I’d like that too. But I see it’s not impossible to find love.” She thought of the queen and the king, and how they loved each other. Margaret had heard rumours of the opposite, but she could tell they were untrue. She could see the pride, the concern and the love in Queen Margaret’s eyes everytime she spoke with King Henry. 

As if Elizabeth read her mind, the girl with auburn hair spoke gently:

“I don’t think if it is either, but we must not expect too much in spite of our backgrounds.”

“Duty is what matters, I suppose.” Margaret said, almost to herself. “But I’m glad that we have each other.”

And Elizabeth genuinely smiled at her Tudor friend. “I reciprocate the feeling, my friend. I truly do.”

So the bound between them was formed.

*                                                                  *                                                    *

As Margaret grew, it was not a surprise to anyone who met her in her early years that she would become a very handsome woman. In her fifteen years, she was already a renowned beauty like her friend, Elizabeth Woodville.

By the time her father came to court, it was all of her golden locks, her sweet smile and those blue eyes that mirrored cloudless skies that men talked and poets praised. When hearing of it, Owen quickly sought after Edmund and Jasper to share his concerns, but the former was the one to rapidly assure his father that she had a good reputation and was one to be sought by many men of good position at court.

“It is time for her to marry”, he opined. 

“I see you are going to too.” Owen smiled. “I’ve heard lady Margaret Beaufort is to be your bride.”

“Aye.” Edmund smiled. “But I believe I’m not the only Tudor to marry a Beaufort, father.”

Looking puzzled from one to another, Owen questioned:

“Jasper...?”

But Jasper shook his head. “Nay, father. The one he speaks of is our sister, Meg. The queen suggested to marry her to Edmund Beaufort’s son and heir, Henry. That way she becomes duchess of Somerset.”

Owen could not believe what he heard. “Does Meg know of this?”

Edmund smiled, and his father could nearly spot something mischievous in his son’s eyes.

“Nay, but she will soon be told of this betrothal.”

However, far more serious was Jasper, who added:

“It’s safer for her if she leaves court now. Tensions are growing worse each day, and I find more difficult to conciliate both parties”, he said, referring himself to the opposition led by the duke of York, Richard Plantagenet, against the rule of the house of Lancaster.

Owen sighed and lamented for placing his daughter at court in the midst of the confusion. But, he asked himself, could ever there be a different future for Margaret?

*                                                                 *                                                *

A day after Edmund Tudor espoused Margaret Beaufort, it was the turn for Margaret Tudor to have her day. She was very excited, as a lady in her position should be, and by now she confided every little thing to the queen, whom she saw as much as the sister she never had, but also a mother figure that Queen Margaret felt in her right to play such a role.

“He is a nice man, of good character despite his temper”, said the queen. “But Henry has taken an eye of you ever since he was brought to court, I’ve noticed it. His father was a good man and so is his son. I’d not give you away to him if I thought otherwise.”

“I know, Your Grace, and I’m thankful for the concern you display towards me”,Margaret appreciated the gesture. “I hope this match proves to be fruitful for our house.”

The queen smiled, she had really taken a great fondness for her Tudor sister-by-law. “Your loyalty is enough for us, my child. Your brother is very glad for this.”

Henry Beaufort was, truly, a handsome man. Margaret knew she was blessed in that matter, and courtship seemed to have been done well. He was good, kind, and of a gentle heart. The duke of Somerset was tall and often dressed in rich, velvet robes; his face was clean of beard, due to his young age, but still had beautiful features to look at. He had green eyes and a charming smile which enchanted Margaret.

This was a marriage that, despite its arrangements, would prove to be a loving one. For the Tudors, and the Beauforts, this was a perfect timing for rising.

*                                                          *                                                        *

Sometime before 1460, the new duchess of Somerset’s older brother died of plague. Which was as a result of a poorly treatment given to Edmund in his imprisonment during an indirect conflict against the men who were loyal to the duke of York. 

Margaret did not take the news well, and the memories she cherished of the earl of Richmond only broke her heart further. Soon enough, she understood why Henry was so involved in a long-time-seeking vengeance for what was done to his father.

“I absolutely despise the Yorkists!” She cried out as her husband gave them news. “My whole family is at Wales and I cannot offer them my condolences, my comfort...Or anything at all!”

Henry felt for his wife. Unlike her, he was not obliged to leave his home and had his relatives nearby. But he comforted her the way a husband would, and vowed that they would avenge the death of Richmond someday. 

“Time will be in our favour.”

She looked into his eyes and a smile curled upon her lips. “I love you.” Margaret whispered ever so passionately. 

Henry, who was lucky enough to find love in an arranged marriaged, caressed his wife’s face and said: “And I, you, my precious Meg.”

*                                                              *                                                       *

Despite the happiness in domestic affairs, the wheel of fortune seemed to turn again. As both Tudor ladies formed a bound through letters, another tragedy seemed to blow their house: the death of Owen Tudor in 1461 by the forces of Edward, earl of March who recently became the duke of York as his father had been killed in the year before as a result of the clash of Yorkist forces against the Lancastrians. Margaret of Anjou demanded had York and his second son, Edmund’s heads to be exhibited after the battle that resulted in their deaths to prevent enemies for conspiring against the royal force.

The duchess of Somerset was devastated, as her sister by law and her brother were forced to flee at the same time. Edward of York was now declared King Edward IV and there was nothing they could do but to pledge allegiance to the new king.

Those were difficult times for Margaret, who remained in contact with Jasper and Margaret Beaufort, who was now lady Stafford. At the age of 20, Margaret was close to deliver her first born child (she suffered two miscarriages previously) so she could not attend court. But as they could have their lands forfeit for treason, there was nothing they could do except... to fake a swift loyalty to the victor’s side. 

Advised not to remain in contact with Margaret of Anjou by her husband, the duchess agreed and moved to her mother-by-law’s household in her London apartments so there she could give in labour peacefully. It was there that Margaret gave birth to her son, whom she named Owen after her father. 

“It is a very Welsh name, lady Margaret.” Eleanor Beauchamp commented once the healthy and robust boy was born. “But I understand the difficult circumnstances that led you to this choice. I comprehend it too well”, she sighed, in reference to the death of her husband in battlefield.

“I detest wars”, Margaret said, unable to hold back her weeping. “I miss them. My father and my brother. May God bless their souls.”

“Amen.”

In quiet support of each other, the women observed as the midwives looked after their first Somerset heir born in troubled times. But good news would not take long to reach them.

*                                                                 *                                                    *

Edward the Fourth was very keen to forgive the Beaufort’s treason and, after the churching period, welcomed too lady Margaret Tudor, duchess of Somerset, at his court. There, she saw her husband grow to become the new king’s best friend and attract displeasures from the Yorkists supporters, especially the Earl of Warwick who disapproved this new bounding between the men.

The lack of a queen figure at court did not go unnoticed by Margaret, who remembered her french sister-by-law occupying the now vacant consort throne. Under Margaret of Anjou’s watchful eye, courtiers danced and the musicians played sweet tones of music. She could remember the queen instinguing her for dancing with her other ladies. 

But now, not many danced and the musicians changed. The duchess of Somerset felt somewhat at uneasy and lost, and she missed her family dearly. She wished she could have stayed at lady Beauchamp’s apartaments, but her husband asked her not to: they had to earn the king’s favour to survive these new times.

Therefore, there she was, a Tudor-Beaufort lady looking for the best way to survive whilst protecting her family’s interests. But how long was there before something happened?

*                                                               *                                                     *

Despite the early difficulties to produce an heir, Margaret had given birth to a boy whom she named Owen after her father. Another one was to come next, named Edmund after her brother and Henry’s own father. The family seemed to grown quite fast for she was once again pregnant when Edmund was being christinized. As the boy’s godparents, she chose Margaret Beaufort, lady Stanley and her second husband.

“I’m very honoured you have me in your thoughts”, lady Stanley told her the day they met. “Edmund would appreciate that.”

“I know he would.” Margaret smiled. “I could never forget you and nothing pleases me more than looking after you, despite knowing you are able to look after youself.”

Both women chuckled and the duchess of Somerset inquires after her nephew, Henry, the new Earl of Richmond, who is in custody of William Herbert.

“He is doing well, thank the Lord for that. Robust as ever.” The dowager countess of Richmond told her proudly. “He is being well tutored, as he should be. I’ve recently visited him, but I’m hoping to have his ward back again in due time.”

Margaret nodded. 

“I’ll do whatever is in my power to help easy things.” She said firmly, even more aware of the advantages of her husband being a close ally to Edward IV now.

To which lady Stanley smiled, almost thrilled. “Thank you for your kindness, my sister. This shall not be forgotten.”

*                                                                  *                                                  *

A girl was born in 1463 and received the name Catherine, after Margaret’s mother. She gladly shared her thoughts of the birth with her husband when he came for a visit:

“She was named after her french grandmother.” 

Henry grinned.

“I sometimes cannot believe my connections. Our children have the Valois’ blood.” And mischievously he added: “Could you conceal having our Owen becoming king of France some time?”

At which Margaret laughed. “Don’t get me started with another war against France, my dear.”

Such was the blissful scenario of a domestic home.

*                                                                *                                                      *

Right before Edward IV’s annoucement that England had a new queen, Margaret surprisingly found herself pregnant again. Just as important, she received news from Jasper, but also... curiously, from Elizabeth Woodville, formerly lady Grey.

“Henry!” She called out for him: they were at their privy chambers located at Windsor Castle. “I have two news for you.”

Henry arched his eyebrows, curiosity in his eyes. Recently, he had been reconsidering switch sides back to their house again, but Jasper asked him to delay the “treasonous” plans for later. Margaret, despite as supportive of this as any other in her position (she was a Lancastrian in heart, after all), feared the consequences of this. She was no fool to see how peaceful was the realm under the rule of Edward IV and how loved he was by his people. Regardless, she knew the right of throne belonged to Henry VI, not that man.

“Well, tell me, woman.” Henry instigated. “I am curious.”

She decided to share Jasper’s news first. The Scottish decided to support their cause, so it is almost certain they could work on a new invasion soon. He thus expected that his brother-by-law would raise men to his cause. She also told him that Elizabeth Woodville came after her, asking news about court. 

“I find rather odd that she, as a mother of two and a widow, looks for a way to go back to court”, Henry said.

“She wants my help to interfere on behalf of her rights of dowry, as her husband was killed on our house’s side, so the lands were forfeit to the crown.” And she added. “You must delay Jasper’s plan for a little moment until this is done. I promised her I would do what I could do in my power to aid her cause.”

Henry sighed.

“Was she really that good of a friend?”

At what Margaret smiled, recollecting good memories of old days. 

“Yes, she was. She worths the risk, I suppose.”

*                                                           *                                                          *

But Margaret was shocked to see that there was another intent behind Elizabeth Woodville’s letter to her old friend. Seeking Margaret’s help meant she required to know how court actually worked because she was now the queen of England. When news reached the duchess of Somerset, and that she was summoned at court... the timing could have not been worse.

Henry, seeing where this was going to do, reluctantly admitted to Jasper that he could not aid yet. He would wait until the birth of their next child, and the duke prayed that no harm would befall to his wife. Therefore, he did not tell his duchess the plan he had in mind.

Despite her state, she managed to be received by the new queen, completely unaware of Henry’s plan. 

“You look glowing, my friend!” Elizabeth Woodville exclaimed when receiving the duchess of Somerset in her privy chambers. “I know these circumnstances are far from what we have planned long time ago, but the wheel of fortune can be surprising.”

Margaret worked to smile as well as she could. If by one side she was genuinely happy for seeing her friend again, by the other... she disapproved the new queen’s actions. But as the new consort of England said, the wheel of fortune was really surprising and to that there was no arguing.

“Indeed. You are still as beautiful as the last time we’ve said goodbye to each other.” 

Elizabeth smiled. “Why thank you, I could say the same to you.” She stood and moved to hold the other woman’s hands into her own. “I am truly thankful that you are here, my dear friend. I know not many will take me as their queen, so you are the only one I can truly trust.”

Despite the disprobation, Margaret admitted:

“You are like a sister to me and now my queen. I’m glad that God reunited us.”

Much to her surprise, the queen embraced her in a relief. By this gesture, the duchess of Somerset could tell she had enemies enough to rely on her. But will it be enough for them to endure? Margaret could not tell, instead, she only enjoyed her old friend’s company, forgetting they were different in status now.

*                                                         *                                                              *

It was during the difficult labour Margaret went through that King Edward found out about the duke’s treasonous act. He was so enraged that he rode north to destroy him. Henry knew the risks, and went on with his brothers to join Jasper, Henry VI and the queen. Those were difficult days and it was thankful to the queen’s influence that the duchess was spared of the royal’s rage.

Another health child was born, another girl whom she decided to name Elizabeth after the queen. In completely ignorance of her husband’s plans, she invited her friend to be the child’s godmother. But it was only a matter of time before all matters went worse.

*                                                      *                                                             *

“We must talk”. The queen, at first coldly, dismissed the ladies and invited the duchess for a private conversation. “Are you aware of how recent events were unfolded?”

Margaret Tudor could not hide her red eyes for longer. After churching, she was told that she was now a widow. And because of the treacherous act of Henry Beaufort, all lands were reversed for the crown. Their children, though, were under the queen’s supervision. 

“I was not aware. I swear it, Your Grace.” She could not hold back a sob. Another loss. “I was loyal to the house of Lancaster, but I recognize when the battle is lost.”

The queen was thoughtful and silently observing the dowager duchess of Somerset before her. Something about that Tudor woman reminded her of the days spent together, but also... when herself was Lancastrian. A widow with children. This could be reversed, though, and something started to form in her mind.

“Please, my lady”, Margaret decided to kneel. It pained her pride, but there would be no other choice. She was doing what her sister by law, lady Stanley, dId. She had to survive. “Forgive me.”

Elizabeth sighed again, but once the idea was complete, she conceived a smile.

“I forgive you. You are to serve me as my lady in waiting and I can talk to Edward about the rights of your son’s lands. Owen is now the duke of Somerset, is that correct?”

“Aye, he is.” Margaret mumbled. Her heart was broken, but she knew that her children were well looked after. Even if the queen decided to see her as enemy, the former duchess of Somerset knew the children were innocent of their father’s fault. They would survive somehow. 

“He is going to be well educated for a man of his position. I’ll make sure of that.” Looking thoughtful, she smiled. “I think we could reapproch, could we not, lady Beaufort?”

Seeing there was hope in horizon, Margaret smiled weakly. “We certainly could, Your Grace.”

*                                                            *                                                            *

Margaret Tudor, formerly lady Beaufort, was to wed the heir of the Woodville family, the philosopher Anthony. This would be her next wedding, but at the opportunity where she shared the news with lady Stanley, she was so told:

“You should agree to this match”, Margaret Beaufort told her sister by law. “You are being highly favoured by the queen and this is good, despite the past. King Edward granted his blessing and this union should aid our cause somehow.”

“I’m doing whatever I can for my children.” Margaret confessed.

“I know, my sister. God sees what is in our heart. We must pray, for difficult times lies ahead.” 

Such were the words of the woman who was her cousin by marriage and also sister by law. Somehow, Margaret sensed they would prove truthful someday. In the meantime, Jasper decided to cut short their relations: Margaret must survive, he understood it well, as she had four children to look after. For her safety, she could not be seen tangled to his deeds.

Therefore, in the year of 1466, Margaret remarried. Anthony Woodville was a handsome husband, one also gifted with sharp wit for which she was thankful for. He was very knightly in all his manners, but she was aware he was as reluctant for this union as she was.

“This is something of convenience for us both”, he told her on the night of their wedding. “But I’ll be respectful for you and your children”.

Margaret smiled at his sincerity. “I’m thankful for this, my lord.”

Even so the beginning of their marriage was difficult for her. They had not many differences, as she would come to find out--for she too was fond of chivalry and poetry as much as he was-- but she could not relent the past she shared with Henry. There were moments she could not hold her grief. It took some time for Anthony to comprehend that, but thankfully, he never shared his frustration with his sister.

It would take some time for them to arrange themselves in this union and Margaret was not surprised that he sought pleasure elsewhere. Elizabeth, the queen and her friend, one day came to comfort her.

“I know he cares for you”, she said very gently. “A beautiful woman of wit as yourself is all he wanted, and deserved. But give him some time, he was never one to settle easily.”

Margaret chuckled. She hesitated before confiding her sentiments:

“I’m scared, Elizabeth. To move on.”

Elizabeth, whatever people thought what kind of person she could be, had a kindred heart. She was a good christian, and when she held Margaret’s hands into her own, she knew it well.

“Let God heal it, Meg. It’s time.”

Margaret pondered first, before deciding to agree to it. She could not live in the past anymore. For that, she squeezed her friend’s hand and wept for the dead she would not ever see again.

*                                                                 *                                                 *

As it was the case with Elizabeth Woodville, Margaret Tudor was very fertile. It was not entirely a surprise when, a year after her marriage, she gave birth to a healthy child. It was a boy, whom was named Edward, in honour to the Yorkist king. As Margaret predicted, the king was overjoyed with this homage and was deliberatedly the boy’s godchild.

But the wheel of fortune could be cruel too. Towards the end of 1468, her daughter Elizabeth was taken to God’s arms followed by her son, Owen Beaufort. Edmund, her second son, would inherite the dukedom of Somerset and by 1469 he was invested as the 3rd duke of Somerset. 

Yet, stability would be long to last...

*                                                      *                                                       *

The years of 1470 and 1471 were controversial to Margaret for she saw the overturn of events, her brother Henry VI restaured to her throne, the rise of the Tudor-Beaufort-Lancaster again. But not long after, they were definitely defeated.

As the sister by law of queen Elizabeth and king Edward, Margaret and her children of both unions were safe. Still, had not been by Anthony, her husband, she could have done worse.

In matters of her second marriage, Margaret, now Countess Rivers, was finally getting along with Anthony and they were now apparently in happier terms. It was thus not a surprise that she conceived again. In 1473, she gave birth to another girl, whom she named Elizabeth once more. She was followed by a few more: Margaret, in 1475; Richard, in 1477; Charles, in 1480 and the last one, Jasper, in 1482.

The year of 1483 would, however, turn Margaret’s life upside down and she would not know security again for another two years. 

*                                                   *                                                           *

By the time her niece by law was crowned queen consort of England in 1487, Margaret Tudor, dowager duchess of Somerset and countess Rivers, was a survivor. Recently wedded again for the third time, she was now a countess of Oxford by her union to John de Vere, 13th Earl of Oxford. His nephew compensated her and her family for their enduring years under the Yorkist regime.

As the years went by, Margaret saw to it that her children were provided with good marriages. Edmund Beaufort, 3rd duke of Somerset, married Cecily of York, a sister to the queen of England. Catherine was married to Edmund de la Pole. Of her second marriage, Edward, as the new Earl of Rivers, would marry Katherine Plantagenet (Richard III’s illegitimate daughter and a widow of Baron Herbert); Elizabeth would marry John Plantagenet (Richard III’s illegitimate son); Margaret and Richard would both be sent to the church and Charles and Jasper were betrothed to Bridget and Elizabeth Plantagenet, daughters of Arthur Plantagenet, 1st Viscount Lisle and illegitimate son to King Edward IV.

*                                                  *                                                          *

The year was 1520. Margaret was, as Jasper once called her, a survivor. The remaining of the Cousin’s War who outlive most of those she loved and cared for. At the age of 80, she saw the reigns of Henry VI, Edward IV, Edward V, Richard III, Henry VII and went into Henry VIII’s. She was very esteemed by Katherine of Aragon, the king’s wife, to whom she shared many and many stories of her life.

Margaret was also close to Sir Thomas More, who was responsible for writing her memoirs. She was proud even to witness the birth of her grandchildren and helped to raise them. Eventually, though, this thrice a widow, a Tudor woman who became the symbol of the Tudor victory against all odds, was taken to join her family in Heaven in due time.

#au #alternative universe #margaret tudor #owen tudor #catherine de valois

[the-quiet-winds]

Time Goes By and Still I’m Stuck on You (part two)

hello, hello. welcome back to the tiny kat au.

now i know some of you are like “jules what the hell this is the ward au basically” and mine and @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts ‘s response to that is... patience. there will be a large divergence very, very soon.

[part one]

[Part 2: Don’t Wanna Fade Out of My Body]

two weeks pass and jane keeps her ears to the ground and eyes in any book she could find about wardship and guardianship, but the information seems to be limited.

one day in the third week since the case, henry brings up katherine howard over dinner.

“i’ve received word she’s found a living space,” he says casually, as if it hadn’t been eating at jane for weeks.

“where is she?” she asks as cooly as possible.

“the dowager duchess of norfolk, her step-grandmother took in the girl. there’s a school and everything there. i’m sure she is doing just great.” jane can hear the underlying words of ‘stop worrying about it’

jane is pleased to hear katherine is with people her own age at school, but for some reason she can’t shake the concern from her mind.

“i wonder, my dear,” she says slowly, “if you would permit me to pay the school a visit? just to have a look, you see.”

henry gives her a sidelong look, but grunts out his approval.

“fine,” he says, with the unspoken caveat of ‘if it will finally get you to shut up about it’ hanging in the air.

that is how, less than a week later, jane is in a carriage headed to the home of the dowager duchess of norfolk.

the duchess was surprised to hear of a visit from the future queen, and immediately made it her mission to get all her girls in order, especially katherine howard. the girl seemed to have attracted the notice of the duchess’s secretary, and the queen couldn’t know that.

jane arrives at four that afternoon, and is immediately greeted by an immaculate chorus of “welcome, lady jane.” she can’t help but notice, however, the absence of the one girl she’d come to check on.

“thank you, girls,” jane smiles at the assembled children. she then turns to the duchess. “thank you for your hospitality. i was wondering if i could perhaps be given a tour of the school?”

“of course,” the duchess gives a curt nod. “i will happily show you around myself, my lady.”

she takes jane on a small tour, and the whole time jane keeps an eye out for any sign of katherine. whether it was what the duchess chose to show to her, or simply bad luck, jane couldn’t spot her anywhere. as the duchess comes to a stop outside her offices jane gives her a disarming smile.

“thank you, your school seems wonderful.”

the duchess seems to hold herself just a tiny bit higher after hearing the (almost) royal praise, and jane takes this as a sign that she can push the situation further.

“young miss katherine howard,” she begins, “i was told she was a student here. i would be grateful to see her.”

the duchess’s lips pull into a tight line. “miss katherine is busy at the moment, i’m afraid,” she says, trying to sound regretful.

“busy?” jane repeats.

“she works with our secretary, mister dereham. busy as a bee, she is.”

jane frowns. “a few minutes won’t hurt, right?”

the duchess still doesn’t look happy, but she can’t refuse the queen. “let’s go find the little rascal.”

jane could say with full certainty that she was not expecting the sight waiting for her.

dereham has katherine pressed against the desk, kissing her hungrily even as her small hands try to push him away.

jane can’t stop herself from storming into the room and, using a strength she didn’t know she had, grabbing the secretary by his shirt and dragging him backwards.

“you evil man,” she practically spits, “you devil!”

dereham pulls himself free from jane’s grip and turns to face her, surprise and annoyance turning to terror when he realises he’s staring into the face of the future queen.

“lady jane, i can explain,” he stutters out, but jane doesn’t listen. some royal guards had accompanied her on her trip and she calls them into the room with a single word.

“lock mr dereham in a secure room,” she says, voice steely. “he will feel the wrath of the crown for this.” the guards drag dereham from the room as the duchess looks agitated.

“lady jane,” she says, but jane doesn’t look at her. her gaze is fixed instead on the tiny girl trembling against the desk, and jane decides right then and there that she isn’t leaving this place without katherine.

“leave us,” she commands, the steel and heart of a queen in her voice.

the duchess flounders for words, then jane pulls herself to her full height. she may still be shorter than the duchess, but her presence was undeniable.

“go.”

the duchess scurries out, only after glaring down katherine. jane’s anger evaporated as she approaches the small girl.

“hey, katherine,” she says quietly and gently, “it’s jane. remember me? you’re alright now, okay?”

katherine’s eyes are wide open but it’s clear she can’t see jane as she stares directly forwards. jane doesn’t blame her; the poor girl had been through things no child should.

“i promise you, you’re safe now,” she says, crouching down next to her. she leaves a gap, not wanting to crowd katherine after such a traumatic event. “nobody can hurt you.”

there’s a familiar white noise in katherine’s mind, one she had trained to buzz when these things were happening, starting as far back as when mannox had been after her. it was enough to block out the horrid reality of the situation, flood her with just enough numbness to keep her from breaking down.

“i promise you, you’re safe now.”

a familiar voice cuts through the buzzing, making her feel ever so slightly less on edge.

the voice speaks again, and katherine can suddenly barely breath.

does this person, whoever it may be, care about her?

katherine blinks rapidly, trying to bring the buzzing in her mind back down, and slowly her vision returns to her. in front of her, unmistakably, is the future queen, giving her the gentlest smile katherine had ever seen. she speaks again and her voice feels safe, trustworthy, even.

“do you remember me, katherine?”

katherine gives a small nod. of course she remembers lady jane, the only person who had asked her if she was okay after everything happened.

jane’s smile sparkles in her eyes. “good, i’m glad,” she says. “i’ve been searching for you. i wanted to make sure that you were adjusting well your new housing...” she trails off as the girl begins to tremble again, and frankly, jane can’t blame her.

she looks at this tiny girl, scarred and broken and trembling, and jane can’t help herself. “what if you came back to the palace with me?”

perhaps katherine should have thought about it, maybe she shouldn’t have trusted someone who was essentially a stranger so quickly. but jane was the only person since katherine was five years old who seemed to actually care if she was okay. if what jane said was true, if she really travelled all the way down here from court just to check on katherine, then she definitely cared more about her than her father did, and almost certainly more than anybody here did, too. plus, it slowly dawns on her, it was jane who saved her from both mannox and dereham.

“please,” katherine says, and her voice is tiny and broken.

jane gives her a tiny smile, hoping to appear reassuring and show her genuine delight at bringing katherine somewhere she will be safe.

somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows that henry will not be happy at seeing the mousy girl again, especially not with jane raving and ranting about dereham, but she couldn’t care less.

jane slowly stands up and extends a hand. “come on, love,” she says, the term of endearment coming out without a second thought, “let’s go home.”

home. the thought was nice. katherine wasn’t stupid enough to think that the palace would be her permanent home; no, there was no way a girl like her would be accepted at court. but it was a hopeful thought, and as katherine reaches out to take jane’s hand she barely registers the term of endearment.

jane’s grip on her hand is firm and reassuring, but not threatening.

“have somebody collect katherine’s belongings,” jane says to the duchess, not caring if she sounds rude. “i will be taking her back with me immediately.”

the duchess turns absolutely seething. “lady jane,” she begins, fighting to keep her voice neutral, “with all due respect, i cannot let you do this.”

jane turns to her, eyes steely as she helps katherine to her feet. “and why, pray tell, not?”

the duchess sputters a few syllables, then huffs. “you’ve arrested my wonderful secretary, and now are trying to take one of my wards?” she shakes her head. “katherine will benefit from staying here, and we will straighten her out in no time.”

to be quite honest, the duchess really couldn’t care much less about her step-granddaughter, but the humiliation dereham and this wretched girl were bringing upon her and her name were far greater than having to put up one more lousy child in her school.

“with all due respect,” jane says, without much patience in her tone, “katherine has not really benefited from being here so far in the slightest; in fact, she has been actively harmed by it.”

the duchess opens her mouth and then closes it again. finally she says through gritted teeth, “well, it’s up to the girl’s father, isn’t it? not you or i, lady jane.”

jane bites back whatever retort she had lined up. she really hadn’t thought much about katherine’s father. jane knew he probably wouldn’t be too heavily concerned with where katherine lived, especially not after seeing how her education, and her life, were here with the duchess.

katherine’s father did not live that far away, but it would likely be the next day before they received their answer. truthfully, jane was sure that lord howard would say yes; to have his daughter brought to court by the future queen herself would certainly be a sign that he could improve his social standing, and that is all lord howard seemed to care about. jane resolves to stay the night until she hears back from the lord, much to the duchess’ displeasure.

the duchess can’t just throw the future queen out of the residency, however, so she sends some of the other girls to arrange a guest room for jane to stay in.

for the rest of the evening, jane stays away from the duchess, mostly conversing with the guards about how best to deal with dereham.

but she has a shadow.

wherever she goes, she sees tiny, still-trembling katherine out of the corner of her eye, and it just makes her all the more sure of her decision to take in the girl herself.

jane is preparing for bed when there’s a small, timid knock at the door. when she opens it, she sees katherine, in her night dress, looking up at her with scared yet hopeful eyes.

“can i come in?” she asks quietly.

jane gives her the softest smile she can possibly give. “of course, sweetheart,” she says gently.

katherine steps gingerly in, bare footsteps practically silent. she stands looking up at jane for a few moments and jane waits patiently for her to say what was on her mind.

“i don’t want to sleep in the dormitory tonight,” katherine finally mumbles. “the other girls are saying stuff.” she looks down at her hands and her voice gets even quieter. “can i stay here with you?”

the little girl looks impossibly tiny and jane is struck by a sudden rush of maternal affection.

“if you’d like to, i’d very much enjoy the company, darling,” jane says, smiling again.

the light and hope that passes through katherine’s dark eyes makes jane’s heart nearly melt right then and there, and it’s something she decides she’s fight long and hard to keep.

then katherine remembers herself, shyly looking down and tucking some loose hairs back. “thank you, lady jane.”

“please,” jane gently cuts in, “just call me jane.”

the girl gives a small nod. she spots the spare blankets and pillows the older girls had left for jane and quickly pulls them on the floor, concocting an odd sort of nest.

“katherine?” jane asks. “what are you doing?”

katherine flushes. “i need somewhere to sleep,” she mumbles, looking down at the expanse around her, feeling quite dumb now.

jane can easily see the girl’s embarrassment and so she makes her tone as gentle as possible.

“katherine, if you want to sleep on the floor then you’re welcome to, but you’re also more than welcome to share the bed with me,” she says. she figures it’s best to give katherine the choice; she might not be comfortable sharing a bed with a near stranger, and jane didn’t want to push her.

katherine doesn’t respond right away. in fact it takes her so long to process, she doesn’t even recognize jane telling her goodnight and blowing out the candle.

there’s something about jane’s presence that seems safe. warm. katherine enjoys it quite a bit.

so before she really knows what she’s doing, she stands up, peels back the covers, and invites herself in, maintaining a safe distance between herself and jane, not wanting to impose further on the woman who had already shown her so much kindness.

jane gives a soft smile. “goodnight, katherine,” she says, and katherine squeaks out a quick goodnight of her own.

katherine, perhaps surprisingly, falls asleep very quickly and rolls onto her side facing jane. her face is peaceful at last, and jane is struck with a reaffirmation that she wants to make sure this little girl can be happy, safe and relaxed for the rest of her life. she deserves to have a proper childhood, to have a guardian who loves her and cares for her, and jane knows she won’t give up this fight. it’s with that thought jane too falls asleep, and for once both have peaceful dreams.

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tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen@elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 (i’m really sorry to those who your tags don’t work. it’s annoying as hell on both sides)

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #julie and jess write #time goes by and still i'm stuck on you #flipping through my life turning pages

[harryandmeghan0-blog]

'Half-truths and grubby backstairs gossip!': Lady Colin Campbell's new book that claims to provide intimate insights into ...

New Post has been published on https://harryandmeghan.xyz/half-truths-and-grubby-backstairs-gossip-lady-colin-campbells-new-book-that-claims-to-provide-intimate-insights-into/

'Half-truths and grubby backstairs gossip!': Lady Colin Campbell's new book that claims to provide intimate insights into ...

Lady Colin Campbell, the 68-year-old daughter of a Jamaican merchant, is certainly no aristocrat 

At the beginning of her deeply distasteful book on the Queen’s marriage, its author, Lady Colin Campbell elects to dedicate her compendium of half-truths and grubby backstairs gossip to ‘my beloved sons Dima and Misha, with the hope that they will one day enjoy the true blessing of good and durable marriages’.

If her hope is realised, her adopted sons will be doing better than their mother, whose acrimonious marriage to Lord Colin Campbell lasted a mere 14 months, in spite of which she has continued to cling tenaciously to his title, using it to announce that ‘she is connected to all the Royal Families of Europe’. It is a claim utterly denied by her former husband.

For Lady Colin Campbell, the 68-year-old daughter of a Jamaican merchant, is certainly no aristocrat, and she proves it by her latest outrage in subjecting our greatly loved and respected Sovereign, at the age of 92, and her 97-year-old husband, Prince Philip, who is still recovering from hip surgery, to vulgar and tasteless allegations concerning their marital life, in particular their honeymoon. And that is by no means the worst of her attacks. There are also poisonous — and untruthful — assaults on the memory of that revered national icon, the Queen Mother, and particularly horrifying claims about the health of both the Queen and Prince Philip. Could this pretend-historian sink any lower?

‘Many of the most penetrating insights and information in this book were provided by people who had no idea, as they were providing them, that one day their comments would see the light of day in a written work,’ Lady Colin Campbell admits.

I bet they didn’t. Of the 35 people she lists in her Acknowledgements section, 29 are conveniently dead and cannot confirm or deny what they may or may not have said to her.

One of them, who was well-known to me, the late Dame Barbara Cartland would have been unlikely in the extreme to make any contribution to her work. After Lady Colin made a vituperative telephone call to Dame Barbara, accusing her of having ‘the depth of a teaspoon’, Barbara never spoke to her again.

Campbell’s book poses as a serious study of the Queen’s long and happy marriage. I say ‘poses’ because lurid material, which has no relevance to the 70-year union of the Queen and Prince Philip, is constantly dragged in for sensational effect, to spice up proceedings.

Thus we are introduced to the little-known figure of Prince Philip’s aunt, Princess Marie Bonaparte, a wealthy French heiress married to his paternal uncle, Prince George of Greece, and a woman Philip scarcely knew.

The book contains vulgar and tasteless allegations concerning the marital life of The Queen, left, and Prince Philip, right, in particular their honeymoon

She was, we are informed, ‘unable to climax’ during sex. Having attempted to free herself from sexual frustration by various solutions, including therapy and taking lovers, both of which failed, she undertook a scientific study of the role the clitoris plays in orgasm.

She examined 243 women, taking measurements of the distance between the vagina and the clitoris, and came to the conclusion that those who climaxed easily had clitorises positioned less than 2.5 centimetres from the vagina, while those with a greater distance found orgasm more difficult or impossible.

In 1924, she published her findings under a pseudonym, A.E. Narjani, in the Belgian medical journal, Bruxelles-Medical. She then underwent surgery to position her clitoris closer to her vagina. When the outcome did not have the desired result, she had the surgeon repeat the procedure on two separate occasions.

Quite what this has to do with the Queen and Prince Philip is a mystery. But Lady Colin lamely concludes: ‘This was the open-minded world in which Prince Philip grew up.’ He was three years old at the time.

Campbell’s worst venom is reserved for the Queen Mother. Perhaps she is still smarting from the ridicule that was heaped upon her by serious historians over her last opus, The Untold Life Of Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother, released in 2012, by her own ‘boutique’ publishing company, Dynasty Press, which is also responsible for the new book.

The book is full of spiteful attacks on the royal family which the Queen will find distasteful 

In this she alleged that the Queen Mother was the illegitimate daughter of the Earl and Countess of Strathmore’s French cook, Marguerite Rodiere, producing no evidence in support of her claim beyond the fact that Elizabeth’s third Christian name was Marguerite.

She further contended that the Earl of Strathmore ‘confessed’ this on his deathbed to the family doctor. Again the evidence for this was nil.

Both claims are significantly absent from her latest work, but the author again heaps derision on the Queen’s beloved mother — a woman who had royal blood in her veins and was descended from three Kings but is accused by Lady Colin of being ‘viewed more as a figure to be mocked and pitied than one to be emulated and admired’ and as someone dismissed as ‘common’ and ‘arriviste’.

In the most spiteful attack of all, which is bound to deeply distress and offend the Queen, Campbell alleges that the Queen Mother initially found the Duke of York, later King George VI, ‘repulsive’, and cites as her source for this the Dowager Lady Hardinge of Penshurst, widow of the King’s Principal Private Secretary.

But it is in her serious but unproven allegations about the Queen’s psychological health at the time of the Townsend crisis and a claim that Prince Philip has been suffering from a serious illness for the past two years, that Lady Colin Campbell exceeds all bounds of propriety

This is completely and utterly unbelievable. Helen Hardinge, one of the Queen Mother’s lifelong friends, was interviewed by me at considerable length in 1985 for my book, Royal Feud: The Queen Mother And The Duchess Of Windsor. She gave me the completely opposite opinion to that stated by Lady Colin.

I do not think that anyone who has read the deeply touching letters written by the Queen Mother following the King’s death in 1952 could possibly accept or believe Lady Colin’s contention.

Lady Colin even provides details of the royal couple’s honeymoon and how the future Queen ‘had enjoyed her introduction to the pleasures of the flesh’ 

Campbell alas subscribes to the naïve and ignorant view that Elizabeth, when she was Duchess of York, was plotting to be Queen, and became part of a conspiracy to force her brother-in-law Edward VIII off the throne and into exile.

If Lady Colin, who appeared on I’m A Celebrity . . . Get Me Out Of Here!, had done her research more carefully, she would have found the reverse was true. The Duke and Duchess of York were horrified — for themselves and their young daughters, our future Queen and her sister Margaret — at the prospect of ascending the throne.

The Countess of Pembroke, who saw Elizabeth in the days before the Abdication, thought her ‘very depressed’. When she became Queen, she succumbed to an attack of influenza and was seen to weep.

In The Queen’s Marriage, Lady Colin, without citing her source, quotes alleged criticism of Elizabeth as Queen by her sister-in-law, Princess Mary, Countess of Harewood, afterwards The Princess Royal.

Princess Mary, who was devoted to Elizabeth, whose hand she was seen to kiss in public after the Coronation, is supposed to have said: ‘Her delight was too evident. She looked like the proverbial cat that had got the cream. I do wish she’d at least made an effort to conceal her delight. All that smiling simply won’t do.

‘Is she a Cheshire cat or a Scots’ lassie? A bit more of the dour Scot would be preferable to all that skinning of the teeth.’

I seriously doubt if anyone who met or knew the late Princess Royal would believe for a moment that she would have said any of that. Her statements, both in public and in private, were reserved in the extreme. Again I would urge Lady Colin to cite her source.

The same applies to another dubious quotation attributed by Lady Colin to King George VI when Elizabeth, as Queen Consort, was supposedly rooting for ‘Porchie’ — Henry Lord Porchester — to become engaged to Princess Elizabeth in preference to Philip Mountbatten.

‘I’ll be buggered if my daughter is going to marry any ***king butler’s son,’ the King is supposed to have said, an alleged reference to the rumour that the 6th Earl of Carnarvon was not Porchie’s biological father.

But Lady Colin’s attempts to prove that Elizabeth tried to prevent her daughter’s engagement to Prince Philip are again wide of the mark. It was Queen Elizabeth personally who invited Philip to Balmoral in early September 1946, and it was during that visit that the engagement was decided upon. If she was so opposed to Philip as her son-in-law, she would never have done this.

All those who feel love and concern for the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh in their 90s, will feel particularly uncomfortable about Lady Colin’s intrusive details of their honeymoon at Broadlands, the Mountbatten residence in Hampshire, ‘their torrid time between the sheets’ and ‘how patently Lilibet had enjoyed her introduction to the pleasures of the flesh’ — while being interrupted at intervals by Elizabeth’s ever-present old nanny, Bobo MacDonald.

For this couple to be confronted in old age by a sniggering catalogue of servants’ gossip, and by comparisons between the Queen and the lusty Hanoverian sexual appetite of Queen Victoria, seems completely unacceptable.

The death of George VI at the age of only 56 brought Elizabeth and Philip into the roles of Queen and consort 20 years earlier than expected. And I would argue that Lady Colin is grievously in error to suggest that the Queen Mother insisted on remaining centre stage.

Lady Colin is wrong to suggest the Queen Mother wanted to remain at centre stage – she intended retiring from public life to Scotland following the Queen’s coronation 

The truth is the opposite. She bought the Castle of Mey with every intention of retiring from public life to Scotland, an idea that so horrified the new Queen that she prevailed upon her Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill, to call upon her mother unannounced to talk her out of retirement.

It was our Queen’s personal wish that her mother be reappointed as Senior Counsellor of State and should receive from the Lord Mayor of London the same honours accorded to a Head of State.

Lady Colin has not provided ‘one iota of proof’ that Prince Philip was unfaithful to the Queen 

Within a month of the King’s death, the new Queen sent a red leather dispatch box to her mother engraved in gold with the words, H.M. Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother. I also know of no existing evidence that, as claimed in the new book, George VI was having an affair with the mother of his equerry, Group Captain Peter Townsend, with whom Princess Margaret fell in love. And I regard it as unlikely that the King would have allowed his daughter to marry a divorced man.

And contrary to Lady Colin’s allegation, the Queen Mother did not behave ‘appallingly’ over the Townsend crisis. Instead there is clear evidence that the Queen Mother was devastated by her daughter’s involvement with Townsend, and broke down in tears in front of her staff.

But it is in her serious but unproven allegations about the Queen’s psychological health at the time of the Townsend crisis and a claim that Prince Philip has been suffering from a serious illness for the past two years, that Lady Colin Campbell exceeds all bounds of propriety.

In comparison, her dragging out of Philip’s rumoured involvement with, among many, the actresses Pat Kirkwood and Anna Massey (who met him only once) and most ludicrous of all, the Queen’s own cousin, Princess Alexandra, strikes one only as sickeningly predictable.

Not one iota of proof has ever been established that Prince Philip was unfaithful to the Queen.

He certainly shared a friendship with Pat Kirkwood as indeed did I. In one of his letters to her — letters that now are in my possession — Philip wrote: ‘Invasion of privacy, invention, and false quotations are the bane of our existence.’

For me, Lady Colin Campbell’s book is disgusting proof of that.

[getyourgossip0-blog]

'Half-truths and grubby backstairs gossip!': Lady Colin Campbell's new book that claims to provide intimate insights into ...

New Post has been published on http://getyourgossip.xyz/half-truths-and-grubby-backstairs-gossip-lady-colin-campbells-new-book-that-claims-to-provide-intimate-insights-into/

'Half-truths and grubby backstairs gossip!': Lady Colin Campbell's new book that claims to provide intimate insights into ...

Lady Colin Campbell, the 68-year-old daughter of a Jamaican merchant, is certainly no aristocrat 

At the beginning of her deeply distasteful book on the Queen’s marriage, its author, Lady Colin Campbell elects to dedicate her compendium of half-truths and grubby backstairs gossip to ‘my beloved sons Dima and Misha, with the hope that they will one day enjoy the true blessing of good and durable marriages’.

If her hope is realised, her adopted sons will be doing better than their mother, whose acrimonious marriage to Lord Colin Campbell lasted a mere 14 months, in spite of which she has continued to cling tenaciously to his title, using it to announce that ‘she is connected to all the Royal Families of Europe’. It is a claim utterly denied by her former husband.

For Lady Colin Campbell, the 68-year-old daughter of a Jamaican merchant, is certainly no aristocrat, and she proves it by her latest outrage in subjecting our greatly loved and respected Sovereign, at the age of 92, and her 97-year-old husband, Prince Philip, who is still recovering from hip surgery, to vulgar and tasteless allegations concerning their marital life, in particular their honeymoon. And that is by no means the worst of her attacks. There are also poisonous — and untruthful — assaults on the memory of that revered national icon, the Queen Mother, and particularly horrifying claims about the health of both the Queen and Prince Philip. Could this pretend-historian sink any lower?

‘Many of the most penetrating insights and information in this book were provided by people who had no idea, as they were providing them, that one day their comments would see the light of day in a written work,’ Lady Colin Campbell admits.

I bet they didn’t. Of the 35 people she lists in her Acknowledgements section, 29 are conveniently dead and cannot confirm or deny what they may or may not have said to her.

One of them, who was well-known to me, the late Dame Barbara Cartland would have been unlikely in the extreme to make any contribution to her work. After Lady Colin made a vituperative telephone call to Dame Barbara, accusing her of having ‘the depth of a teaspoon’, Barbara never spoke to her again.

Campbell’s book poses as a serious study of the Queen’s long and happy marriage. I say ‘poses’ because lurid material, which has no relevance to the 70-year union of the Queen and Prince Philip, is constantly dragged in for sensational effect, to spice up proceedings.

Thus we are introduced to the little-known figure of Prince Philip’s aunt, Princess Marie Bonaparte, a wealthy French heiress married to his paternal uncle, Prince George of Greece, and a woman Philip scarcely knew.

The book contains vulgar and tasteless allegations concerning the marital life of The Queen, left, and Prince Philip, right, in particular their honeymoon

She was, we are informed, ‘unable to climax’ during sex. Having attempted to free herself from sexual frustration by various solutions, including therapy and taking lovers, both of which failed, she undertook a scientific study of the role the clitoris plays in orgasm.

She examined 243 women, taking measurements of the distance between the vagina and the clitoris, and came to the conclusion that those who climaxed easily had clitorises positioned less than 2.5 centimetres from the vagina, while those with a greater distance found orgasm more difficult or impossible.

In 1924, she published her findings under a pseudonym, A.E. Narjani, in the Belgian medical journal, Bruxelles-Medical. She then underwent surgery to position her clitoris closer to her vagina. When the outcome did not have the desired result, she had the surgeon repeat the procedure on two separate occasions.

Quite what this has to do with the Queen and Prince Philip is a mystery. But Lady Colin lamely concludes: ‘This was the open-minded world in which Prince Philip grew up.’ He was three years old at the time.

Campbell’s worst venom is reserved for the Queen Mother. Perhaps she is still smarting from the ridicule that was heaped upon her by serious historians over her last opus, The Untold Life Of Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother, released in 2012, by her own ‘boutique’ publishing company, Dynasty Press, which is also responsible for the new book.

The book is full of spiteful attacks on the royal family which the Queen will find distasteful 

In this she alleged that the Queen Mother was the illegitimate daughter of the Earl and Countess of Strathmore’s French cook, Marguerite Rodiere, producing no evidence in support of her claim beyond the fact that Elizabeth’s third Christian name was Marguerite.

She further contended that the Earl of Strathmore ‘confessed’ this on his deathbed to the family doctor. Again the evidence for this was nil.

Both claims are significantly absent from her latest work, but the author again heaps derision on the Queen’s beloved mother — a woman who had royal blood in her veins and was descended from three Kings but is accused by Lady Colin of being ‘viewed more as a figure to be mocked and pitied than one to be emulated and admired’ and as someone dismissed as ‘common’ and ‘arriviste’.

In the most spiteful attack of all, which is bound to deeply distress and offend the Queen, Campbell alleges that the Queen Mother initially found the Duke of York, later King George VI, ‘repulsive’, and cites as her source for this the Dowager Lady Hardinge of Penshurst, widow of the King’s Principal Private Secretary.

But it is in her serious but unproven allegations about the Queen’s psychological health at the time of the Townsend crisis and a claim that Prince Philip has been suffering from a serious illness for the past two years, that Lady Colin Campbell exceeds all bounds of propriety

This is completely and utterly unbelievable. Helen Hardinge, one of the Queen Mother’s lifelong friends, was interviewed by me at considerable length in 1985 for my book, Royal Feud: The Queen Mother And The Duchess Of Windsor. She gave me the completely opposite opinion to that stated by Lady Colin.

I do not think that anyone who has read the deeply touching letters written by the Queen Mother following the King’s death in 1952 could possibly accept or believe Lady Colin’s contention.

Lady Colin even provides details of the royal couple’s honeymoon and how the future Queen ‘had enjoyed her introduction to the pleasures of the flesh’ 

Campbell alas subscribes to the naïve and ignorant view that Elizabeth, when she was Duchess of York, was plotting to be Queen, and became part of a conspiracy to force her brother-in-law Edward VIII off the throne and into exile.

If Lady Colin, who appeared on I’m A Celebrity . . . Get Me Out Of Here!, had done her research more carefully, she would have found the reverse was true. The Duke and Duchess of York were horrified — for themselves and their young daughters, our future Queen and her sister Margaret — at the prospect of ascending the throne.

The Countess of Pembroke, who saw Elizabeth in the days before the Abdication, thought her ‘very depressed’. When she became Queen, she succumbed to an attack of influenza and was seen to weep.

In The Queen’s Marriage, Lady Colin, without citing her source, quotes alleged criticism of Elizabeth as Queen by her sister-in-law, Princess Mary, Countess of Harewood, afterwards The Princess Royal.

Princess Mary, who was devoted to Elizabeth, whose hand she was seen to kiss in public after the Coronation, is supposed to have said: ‘Her delight was too evident. She looked like the proverbial cat that had got the cream. I do wish she’d at least made an effort to conceal her delight. All that smiling simply won’t do.

‘Is she a Cheshire cat or a Scots’ lassie? A bit more of the dour Scot would be preferable to all that skinning of the teeth.’

I seriously doubt if anyone who met or knew the late Princess Royal would believe for a moment that she would have said any of that. Her statements, both in public and in private, were reserved in the extreme. Again I would urge Lady Colin to cite her source.

The same applies to another dubious quotation attributed by Lady Colin to King George VI when Elizabeth, as Queen Consort, was supposedly rooting for ‘Porchie’ — Henry Lord Porchester — to become engaged to Princess Elizabeth in preference to Philip Mountbatten.

‘I’ll be buggered if my daughter is going to marry any ***king butler’s son,’ the King is supposed to have said, an alleged reference to the rumour that the 6th Earl of Carnarvon was not Porchie’s biological father.

But Lady Colin’s attempts to prove that Elizabeth tried to prevent her daughter’s engagement to Prince Philip are again wide of the mark. It was Queen Elizabeth personally who invited Philip to Balmoral in early September 1946, and it was during that visit that the engagement was decided upon. If she was so opposed to Philip as her son-in-law, she would never have done this.

All those who feel love and concern for the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh in their 90s, will feel particularly uncomfortable about Lady Colin’s intrusive details of their honeymoon at Broadlands, the Mountbatten residence in Hampshire, ‘their torrid time between the sheets’ and ‘how patently Lilibet had enjoyed her introduction to the pleasures of the flesh’ — while being interrupted at intervals by Elizabeth’s ever-present old nanny, Bobo MacDonald.

For this couple to be confronted in old age by a sniggering catalogue of servants’ gossip, and by comparisons between the Queen and the lusty Hanoverian sexual appetite of Queen Victoria, seems completely unacceptable.

The death of George VI at the age of only 56 brought Elizabeth and Philip into the roles of Queen and consort 20 years earlier than expected. And I would argue that Lady Colin is grievously in error to suggest that the Queen Mother insisted on remaining centre stage.

Lady Colin is wrong to suggest the Queen Mother wanted to remain at centre stage – she intended retiring from public life to Scotland following the Queen’s coronation 

The truth is the opposite. She bought the Castle of Mey with every intention of retiring from public life to Scotland, an idea that so horrified the new Queen that she prevailed upon her Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill, to call upon her mother unannounced to talk her out of retirement.

It was our Queen’s personal wish that her mother be reappointed as Senior Counsellor of State and should receive from the Lord Mayor of London the same honours accorded to a Head of State.

Lady Colin has not provided ‘one iota of proof’ that Prince Philip was unfaithful to the Queen 

Within a month of the King’s death, the new Queen sent a red leather dispatch box to her mother engraved in gold with the words, H.M. Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother. I also know of no existing evidence that, as claimed in the new book, George VI was having an affair with the mother of his equerry, Group Captain Peter Townsend, with whom Princess Margaret fell in love. And I regard it as unlikely that the King would have allowed his daughter to marry a divorced man.

And contrary to Lady Colin’s allegation, the Queen Mother did not behave ‘appallingly’ over the Townsend crisis. Instead there is clear evidence that the Queen Mother was devastated by her daughter’s involvement with Townsend, and broke down in tears in front of her staff.

But it is in her serious but unproven allegations about the Queen’s psychological health at the time of the Townsend crisis and a claim that Prince Philip has been suffering from a serious illness for the past two years, that Lady Colin Campbell exceeds all bounds of propriety.

In comparison, her dragging out of Philip’s rumoured involvement with, among many, the actresses Pat Kirkwood and Anna Massey (who met him only once) and most ludicrous of all, the Queen’s own cousin, Princess Alexandra, strikes one only as sickeningly predictable.

Not one iota of proof has ever been established that Prince Philip was unfaithful to the Queen.

He certainly shared a friendship with Pat Kirkwood as indeed did I. In one of his letters to her — letters that now are in my possession — Philip wrote: ‘Invasion of privacy, invention, and false quotations are the bane of our existence.’

For me, Lady Colin Campbell’s book is disgusting proof of that.

[jenmedsbookreviews]

Well … not the best week to be fair, for many reasons and none of the them related to books. But you don’t want to hear about that. For one thing, it is boring and for for another, if I don’t commit it to a web page I can deny all knowledge if I fainlly snap and commit some form of criminal offence … Highly unlikely but you never know how far your patience can be stretched before you snap.

Anyway – back to the books. Mixed week there too to be fair. I kind of had a bit of a random one to be fair, neither good nor bad. After last week, it was all rather pedestrian. I was at home all week, but was probably less productive than ever when it came to the blog. Funny how that goes isn’t it? By less productive, I mean I read less. I actually managed to prepare ten blog posts yesterday so it’s not all bad. Sort of …

Part of my post prep has been the collation of my bookvent list for 2017. This is where I try in vain to narrow down my favourite reads of the year to a managable list that can be conveyed over the 24 days leading up to Christmas. It has been really hard this year as, with the blog being more established, I have been really lucky to be given the opportunity to read some absolutely stonking titles, many of which would probably have passed me by otherwise. Ive got through 193 books so far this year (18 Mr Men I hasten to add) so how do you narrow that down to a top ten?

The answer is – you don’t. Mine is going to be a top 25/27 or so 🙂 My blog – my rules. Get over it ;p

Book post wise – I had a couple of lovely little packages through my door this week from Avon. First up – Perfect Death by Helen Fields. Can’t wait to get stuck in, but I may have to re-gift the red wine that came with it as I’m tee-total. I also received a copy of The Cover Up by Marnie Riches. Loved Born Bad so I can’t wait to see what Paddy, Sheila, Conky and co have been up to.

Purchase wise I’ve been very good. To my knowledge. I always say that then take a look at Amazon and realise what a complete lie that is. Turns out this week, it is actually true. Go figure. I really am having a slow book week. I pre-ordered The Collector by Fiona Cummins. High on my tbr this one, I have a physical copy from Harrogate, but needed a copy for the kindle too … I also ordered The Crime Writer’s Casebook. Saying nothing in the hope you don’t spot this … And finally I pre-ordered Last Cry by Anna-Lou Weatherley. I like a good pre-order, me.

NetGalley wise it was just the one –  While You Sleep by Stephanie Merritt. It’s not out until March so there is even a small chance I’ll have read it by publication date 🙂 IN my defence it did sound really good…

No new audio. I know – I’m slipping. But I did promise myself a bit of an end of year wind down so I guess this is the start of it right here.

Reading wise, a bit of a mixed bag. Finished an audio bookHe I had started a few weeks back and read three new books. Not my greatest week, but not the worst either.

Books I have read

Her Best Friend by Sarah Wray

You couldn’t have done anything to save her. Or could you?

Sylvie Armstrong has been running from her past for twenty years – until her mother’s death forces her to return to her home town, along with her newborn daughter.

Overwhelmed by grief in her childhood home, Sylvie tries to block out the memories that surround her – but then someone leaves a gift on her doorstep: a gold necklace with a heart-shaped locket.

This locket belonged to Sylvie’s best friend, Victoria Preston – and she was wearing it the night she died. Now it’s back in Sylvie’s life…and it soon becomes clear that somebody knows what really happened to Victoria.

Sylvie has to know the truth. But is she in terrible danger?

An intriguing and engrossing psychological thriller which sees Sylvie faced with a few terrible home truths when she returns to the town in which she grew up, the one where her best friend Victoria lost her life. I’ll be sharing my full thoughts on the book as part of the blog blitz tomorrow, but you can order a copy of the book here.

…

Without Trace by Simon Booker

YOUR DAUGHTER IS MISSING. WHO CAN YOU TRUST? A gripping psychological thriller for fans of Tom Bale, Harlan Coben and Angela Marsons.

Morgan Vine has devoted her years of her life to campaigning for Danny Kilcannon’s release, after his dubious conviction for his wife’s murder. 

At long last, he’s released.

With nowhere to go, Danny comes to rely on Morgan and her impetuous teenage daughter, Lissa.

Then Lissa goes missing.

When it’s your own child on the line, who can you trust?

This is my token audio book fo the week. This is quite an addictive story, where you never know quite who to trust and, in fairness, will be completely blindsided by what comes to pass. It wasn’t as I was expected at all, and I must have goen through a dozen possible scenarios of what had happened before finally discovering the truth. No wonder Morgan didn’t know who to trust. I had no scooby either. I’ll be sharing my review very soon, but in the meantime you can order a copy of the book here.

…

Cold Christmas by Alastair Gunn

In the small village of Cold Christmas there’s a church that faces the wrong way . . . What has it to do with the three dead men found in a London flat?

DCI Antonia Hawkins has a killer to catch. Only she can’t predict what is waiting for her at the end of the chase.  Nobody remembers the young men entering the abandoned London flat a few weeks ago. Nobody cares if they left.

Until the unbearable smell of decay.

DCI Antonia Hawkins is called in to view the dead men; three, lying neat in a row. There’s no damage to the bodies, no obvious cause of death. Is this a suicide pact? Or is that just how it’s meant to look?

If there is a link between the three very different men then Hawkins needs to find it, and fast. Because unless she does, more are going to die. And they might not all be strangers.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Gah. This book! That ending. Just no. Argh. Faced with a potential triple homicide with no clear cause of death, DCi Antonia Hawkins is faced with her toughest case yet, one which will push her, and her relationship with Mike Maguire, to their limits. Drugs or something worse, this is just another reason for Hawkins to hate the festive season. I’ll be sharing my thoughts at the end of the week but you can buy your own copy here.

…

The Usual Santas – Short Story Collection

Finally: the perfect stocking stuffer for the crime fiction lover in your life! With a foreword by CWA Diamond Award-winner Peter Lovesey, these eighteen delightful holiday stories by your favorite Soho Crime authors contain laughs, murders, and plenty more.

This captivating collection, which features bestselling and award-winning authors, contains laughs aplenty, the most hardboiled of holiday noir, and heartwarming  reminders of the spirit of the season.

Nine mall Santas must find the imposter among them. An elderly lady seeks peace from her murderously loud neighbors at Christmastime. A young woman receives a mysterious invitation to Christmas dinner with a stranger. Niccolò Machiavelli sets out to save an Italian city. Sherlock Holmes’s one-time nemesis Irene Adler finds herself in an unexpected tangle in Paris while on a routine espionage assignment. Jane Austen searches for the Dowager Duchess of Wilborough’s stolen diamonds. These and other adventures in this delectable volume will whisk readers away to Christmases around the globe, from a Korean War POW camp to a Copenhagen refugee squat, from a palatial hotel in 1920s Bombay to a crumbling mansion in Havana.

Includes Stories By (In Order of Appearance): Helene Tursten, Mick Herron, Martin Limón, Timothy Hallinan, Teresa Dovalpage, Mette Ivie Harrison, Colin Cotterill, Ed Lin, Stuart Neville, Tod Goldberg, Henry Chang, James R. Benn, Lene Kaaberbøl & Agnete Friis, Sujata Massey, Gary Corby, Cara Black, Stephanie Barron and a Foreword and story by Peter Lovesey.

A perfect collection of festive crime short stories. Some of these stories really did make me chuckle, especailly Mick Herron’s short story, The Usual Santas. That one had me chuckling so hard on my flight to Dublin, I’m sure I saw the woman next to be shuffling away in her seat. I’ll be reviewing very soon but you can bag a copy of the book right here.

…

That’s it. Not too shabby but not too clever either. Blog wise, it was another busy ish week with posts every day. You can catch up on the links below.

#BlogTour: Hell To Pay by Rachel Amphlett

#BlogTour: The Perfect Victim by Corrie Jackson

#FestiveReads: The Advent Killer by Alastair Gunn

#BlogTour: CWA Short Story Anthology – Mystery Tour

#BookLove: Jill Culiner

#Review: Give Me The Child by Mel McGrath

#FestiveReads: The Deaths of December by Susi Holliday

The week ahead is equally busy. Blog tours through until Wednesday for Kierney Scott’s Now You See Me, Sarah Wray’s Her Best Friend and BK Duncan’s The Last Post. I also have a Q&A’s with Chris Whitaker and Louise Jensen in the countdown to December’s First Monday Crime panel and the start of my #bookvent countdown. I can’t wait.

There will be less reviews from me over December as I’m planning a little bit of a slow down and catch up with real life. That doesn’t mean I won’t be around as I’ve some fabulous blog tours planned, as well as my #bookvent countdown. And keep your eyes peeled later this week for a special Christmas competition. Even when I’m on a go slow, I can’t quite stop. It’s genetic I think …

Have a fabulous week of reading all. I’m going to go and lie in a darkened room. Well … at least until Wednesday. I’m off to a Christmas market on Wednesday. Go figure …

JL

Rewind, recap; Weekly update w/e 26/11/17 Well ... not the best week to be fair, for many reasons and none of the them related to books.

#Rewind Recap #Weekly Round UP

[the-quiet-winds]

Take Out Every Wasted Honor (part one)

the one you’ve been waiting for...

the long-awaited (like...two days) second installment of hold onto me, you’re all i have, a massive clusterfuck story by me and @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts.

if you haven’t read ‘clouds of rain and sun’... this will make zero sense so here’s a link to my master post of writing so you should read that!

this story isn’t as dark as the first one, but there are some people being assholes and saying asshole things.

[Part 1: Good to Know it’s All a Game]

it took the predicted two weeks for katherine to be able to get out of bed after the incident in the dungeon. once egert had officially cleared her, she and jane set off in arranging for katherine to legally become jane’s ward. to both of their delights, it was much easier than they thought.

only one week later, jane’s personal tailor is with katherine, building some casual dresses, as well as a formal one for the upcoming celebration.

yes, jane is throwing a party.

she claims she’s so excited about formally taking in katherine that she feels there must be a celebration, and katherine can’t bring herself to quash jane’s (her mum, she reminds herself) enthusiasm, so she lets herself be celebrated.

the tailor is a brisk, efficient woman who manages to create the foundations of katherine’s formal dress in merely a day, and the day after taking katherine’s measurements she returns to the royal chambers to have katherine try the dress on. despite the fact the tailor had an assistant, jane insists on helping lace up the dress at the back, and katherine lets jane fuss over her with a small smile. it’s nice to have someone take care of her, and even nicer that she gets to call that person her mum.

“how does that feel, love?” jane asks as she laces up the dress. “not too tight?” she was still concerned about katherine’s lungs, after all, and didn’t want to put any unnecessary pressure on them.

“feels good,” she murmurs unconvincingly.

jane gives a quiet sigh and katherine fears, as much as she hates to admit it, the worst. but she then feels jane releasing some of the tension in the laces and suddenly the dress feels perfect.

“better, kat?” jane asks.

katherine gives a timid nod. “yes, thanks.”

jane smiles, and the tailor bustles over to record some more measurements and where the laces were cinched.

katherine retreats behind a curtain to changed back into her casual wear and the tailor looks over her notes.

“a slight thing, she is,” she absentmindedly murmurs. then she looks to jane and speaks slightly louder. “shy as all get out, too, huh?”

jane gives the tailor a tight-lipped smile but doesn’t reply; she didn’t really want to discuss the reasons for katherine’s shyness with her. the tailor scribbles something else down on her notes and then turns back to jane.

“i’ve been meaning to ask, your highness, what jewellery will she be wearing? i assume something with a symbol from the seymour family? it will help with my embellishment designs, you see,” she explains.

jane suddenly smiles brightly. she’s been meaning to give katherine her gift - her ring.

she describes the ring just in time for katherine to come back over, unknowing about the surprise. she shows the tailor her locket, the one she wears nearly every day.

“come love,” jane says, tugging at her hand and pulling her into the hall. “i have something for you.”

katherine is immensely curious the entire time, but they slow to a stop inside jane’s chamber.

“i have a gift for you,” jane says, offering her closed fist. she uncurls her fingers to reveal a silver band, very simple and plain.

“it’s tradition,” jane explains, “that the eldest seymour daughter inherits the ring. it was mine, and now it is yours.” she gently slips it on katherine’s right hand ring finger, it fits perfectly. “and if you ever have a daughter, it will be hers.”

katherine stares at the ring for several moments, speechless. jane feels a tinge of worry and searches katherine’s face for signs of what she was feeling.

“i’m sorry it’s so plain, love, i know it doesn’t look much-”

“it’s perfect,” katherine says quietly. “I- thank you.” she looks up, and jane sees the tears in her eyes. “thank you,” she says again.

truth be told, this felt like the nicest thing katherine had ever been given in her life. it was a symbol that she was a seymour, a permanent reminder of jane’s love for her, of katherine’s love for her mum.

jane gives a soft yet radiant smile. she raises a hand and lays it on katherine’s cheek, wiping away the few escapes tears and stroking over her cheekbone. “you don’t need to thank me, love. you’re my daughter,” she enunciates carefully. she lowers her hand and takes katherine’s, looking at the ring that was once hers. “it’s your birthright.”

katherine’s eyes widen slightly and she pulls back. her fingers come to fiddle with the ring, twisting it in nervous circles.

“kat?” jane asks, concerned.

“how could it be my birthright?” katherine quietly asks. “i’m not...you didn’t...” she looks helplessly at jane, hoping her mum understood her meaning.

jane thinks she does understand and concern crosses her face.

“i know, love, but that doesn’t make you any less of a seymour.”

“but... birthright...” katherine repeats, chewing anxiously at her bottom lip. “i... wasn’t born a seymour.”

“the Lord works in mysterious ways, love,” jane says gently. “and I truly believe we were meant to find each other, and that i was meant to be your mother.”

the words don’t necessarily soothe katherine; she often wondered how a so-called benevolent god could have allowed those things to happen to her, and if He did have a plan for her then she doesn’t understand why those things had to be a part of it.

jane can see the calculations taking place behind katherine’s eyes. she gently catches katherine’s chin between in her index finger and her thumb, and brings it up so they’re eye to eye.

“i know you don’t believe in that, love,” says jane, “if i were you, i may have lost my faith too. but hear me now, yeah?” she takes katherine’s hand again, bringing it up so the girl can see the ring she’s wearing. “this ring is more important than blood or law to me, and i wouldn’t want to see it on anyone else. because you, katherine seymour, are my daughter, no matter how that came to be.”

the way jane speaks is just so honest, so full of unconditional love, that katherine can’t help but believe her despite her reservations. she gives a nod, the sudden lump in her throat stopping her from speaking.

jane pulls her into a gentle hug, not too tight to be careful of katherine’s lungs.

“i love you, kitty-kat,” she murmurs softly. “and you’ll always be my little seymour, okay?” she presses a kiss to katherine’s forehead.

all katherine can do is give a weak nod.

jane gives her a light smile and smooths down her hair. "that's my girl," she says absentmindedly. then she takes both of katherine's hands. "now i think you have a baby brother who could use a visit from his sister and his mum."

katherine lights up a bit at the thought of edward, and allows herself to be led to his room down the hall.

"my beautiful boy," jane coos, lifting him up. he gives at hearing his mother's voice.

"look at you," katherine whispers. "getting so big already."

“he’ll be taller than me soon,” jane laughs, kissing the top of his head. “won’t you, edward?” edward makes a cooing sound in response and jane smiles.

“here, kat, do you want to hold him?”

katherine nods and lets jane place edward in her arms. “hi eddie,” she murmurs, looking down at her baby brother. edward lets out a sound that could almost be a laugh as he tries to grab katherine’s thumb with his tiny hand.

jane watches them both, a warmth filling her chest she hadn't felt in a long time. she pulls katherine close and kisses her cheek.

"as long as i have the two of you," she says under her breath, so low that katherine can barely hear her, "i will never ask for anything more."

katherine smiles and feels the ring on her finger, then leans into jane. "love you too, mum."

---

two nights later is the celebration. the room is brightly lit, the band is hopping, and katherine never leaves jane's side. there are plenty of people katherine doesn't know, but she recognizes eleanor, sir percival, and egert, all scattered around the room.

she crosses to go see percival when she hears the whispers.

"what a party," one courtier says. "the queen really put a lot out for this."

katherine smiles at hearing that. jane did put a lot of work into this night. the night for her.

"possibly too much if you ask me," the other courtier responds. "a lot of work for her little charity project."

katherine practically freezes. she didn’t want to believe the courtier meant what she thought he did, but then he continues talking.

“i’m surprised the king let this party happen at all.”

“he wants to keep the queen happy,” the first courtier waves a hand. “that’s the only reason he let the little orphan waif stay in the first place, i’m telling you.”

“she’s not even an orphan,” the other courtier scoffs. “i hear she’s still got a father out there somewhere. i’m sure he’ll be turning up soon, trying to get a handout from the queen. that branch of the howards have always been a money-grabbing bunch.”

katherine tries to put the words out of her head, she really does. she tries to tell herself that they are just gossiping little weasels, content to make their own pathetic lives better by dragging others down.

still, she thinks, what if there is truth in what they are saying? what if her father did show up? katherine gives an internal shudder at the thought of her father turning up, maybe even trying to take her back to get more money out of her.

katherine shakes her head. jane would never allow that, not in a million years.

she goes to move on, when two female courtiers nearby steer their conversation to the young ward.

"did you know her grandmother is the dowager duchess?" one asks.

"i must have heard something about it, why?"

the first gives a sly smirk. "lots of things went on in that house." she gives a lewd shake of her hips. "heard the girl isn't even a virgin anymore."

katherine feels humiliated tears form in the corners of her eyes and she wants to head as far away as possible from the women, but some morbidly curious part of her makes her stay. she soon wishes she hadn’t.

“that certainly isn’t proper behaviour for the ward of the queen,” the other woman laughs. “i wonder if her majesty knows?”

“i doubt it,” the first says. “i don’t see why she’d want to take her on as a ward if she was aware. she certainly wouldn’t want her perfect new daughter if she knew the kind of behaviour that girl got up to.”

katherine feels a heat behind her eyes. they were tears, of course; tears of shame and humiliation.

a small part of her knows the women are wrong. jane knew all about her past, all the horrible things that mannox and dereham had done to her, but jane still took her in.

but why, katherine wants to know.

then it hits her. all the courtiers’ words mingle in her head until she sees the answer clearly: she was a charity project, a broken little girl for jane to put back together.

this realization makes her want to throw up, and she darts from the ballroom to outside and empties her stomach by the tree line.

once she’s finished katherine takes a deep breath, trying to clear her mind with the fresh air, but the curdling in her stomach and the ache in her heart won’t leave her alone. she spends the next few minutes trying desperately to pull herself together but she can’t, and when she hears footsteps behind her she already knows she looks as bad as she feels.

“kat?” jane’s concerned voice sounds from somewhere behind her, because of course jane noticed she wasn’t in the ballroom. “are you alright?”

katherine finally turns around, tears in her eyes and face incredibly pale. “i don’t feel very well,” she mumbles, and it’s not technically a lie. jane’s gaze darts from katherine’s face to where she’d emptied her stomach on the grass several minutes ago and her features soften slightly, although still worried.

“oh, love, you poor thing. do you want to go back to your room, sweetheart?”

katherine hears the sympathy in her voice and it hurts, because all she can think is how it's fake. it's all part of jane's little game with her.

she wipes her face on her sleeve and stands up. "i'm okay," she says shakily. her legs nearly give out beneath her, but jane swoops in to hold her upright.

"i can tell you aren't, love," jane says. she takes a closer look at katherine, and can see something was troubling her daughter. "what's going on, kat?"

katherine doesn't answer, so jane uses that voice, the one that means no more nightmares and only love. "kitty-kat, please talk to me."

“i don’t want to,” is all katherine can manage. her voice is small and sounds so childish and pathetic, but she can’t even bring herself to care. it hurts even more because of the voice, the one that makes her feel safe and protected, and katherine just knows that it’s all a lie.

a strange surge of anger rushes through her. how dare jane take advantage of her loneliness and desperation for affection like that. jane looks at her, eyes wide and caring but with confusion running through them at katherine’s response, and katherine can’t take it any more. she rips the ring off her finger and drops it in the grass, staring jane down and trying to stop her own heart from breaking.

jane takes a sharp and confused breath as the ring lands in the grass. she drops to her knees and immediately searches for it. she stands back up with it in her fingers, reaching out for katherine's hand. but katherine is backing away, tears in her eyes and an angry, upset hunch to her shoulders.

"kitty-kat, where is this coming from?" she asks in that same gentle tone.

"stop!" katherine yells, holding her hands by her face. anger and insecurity course through her blood. "stop pretending that you care! stop pretending that this means anything to you!"

jane looks at her, sad and confused. "kat...you mean everything to me." she reaches out to katherine's cheek, but the girl backs away more.

“you’re lying,” katherine chokes out, voice thick with anger and distress. “how could I possibly mean everything to you? admit it, i’m just some little charity project!”

the words stun jane and she blinks, confusion running through her.

“wh- kat, love, no!” her voice is still that soft gentle cadence and katherine just wants her to stop. she covers her ears with her hands desperately as if it will prevent jane’s voice from reaching her.

“charity project?” jane repeats, absolutely shocked. she sees katherine frantically covering her ears and steps forward, trying to remove her hands.

the girl pulls away roughly.

jane gives a tiny sigh. “i don’t know where these thoughts are coming from, kat, but they couldn’t be more wrong,” she says, raising her voice just enough so the girl could hear her. “i love you, katherine, and i don’t care if i have to tell you ten times a day, because i will, if that makes you happy.” she holds up the ring. “i think this belongs to you,” she offers softly.

there’s a part of katherine that wanted to believe her, that craves love and safety and security as family so much, and that loved jane and hoped beyond all hope that jane loved her back. but there’s a horrible dark voice in the back of her head that tells her, no, she’s been in this position before too many times, thinking somebody genuinely cared about her when in reality they didn’t.

she feels incredibly light-headed and she suddenly notices her breathing had been rapidly speeding up, to the point now where she was nearly hyperventilating. her lungs ache from the lack of air and she stumbles back.

jane had seen the whole thing unfold - katherine’s breathing was getting faster, her knees wobbled as she stumbled back and ultimately gave out onto the grass.

jane immediately moves in, pulling katherine into her hold, but the girl wrenches away.

“kitty-kat,” jane says firmly yet gently, “let me help you.”

katherine shakes her head, unable to speak. through her tears, she sees the ring. the ring so much like the one dereham has presented her with, wound with empty words of love and false promises of security.

as shaken as she is, she grabs the ring and hurls it as hard as she can. it disappears into the dark woods, then all is still.

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #jules and jess write #take out every wasted honor #hold onto me you're all i have