A Formulaic Romance
This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.
It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. They’ve made their way to the house in the distance, but not without slipping in the muddy lane.
The Master was introduced here. He was somewhat annoyed at the disturbance, but willing to see that his guests were properly entertained. The housekeeper, Mrs Hobbes, leads Rachel and Lucy to their rooms to prepare for dinner The carriage wright makes a cameo appearance in a previous snippet.
Last week saw the arrival of Rupert’s Uncle George and a hint at the complicated family history – a history that was not completely … harmonious.
After a peek into Rupert’s history, George makes a somewhat unusual proposition to Rachel which was continued. The rain finally scuds off to the North Sea leaving a fine day – for riding and other things. Rachel, unsure of her own feelings, arranged for her companion to use the only sidesaddle. Meanwhile Rupert and Rachel discover a shared interest in music, which leads to a proposal. George has just returned from finding a magistrate to deal with a mob. At the ball a slippery character from the past makes his first appearance. George disposes of him, for the time being, in the this snippet. Rupert explained about his previous work in chemistry and Mr Oliver returned equipped with a search party.
Rachel gets a start on clearing the mess, in the library, because she can actually read the titles. George’s fiance helps her. The evening ended with an excursion. George has just closed the door on his mother at her morning toilette. After George works on his declensions, they decide to visit the army encamped in Pontefract. They returned empty handed.
“He was gambling on that being well after he had left, or that he’d have the time to copy it out. We interrupted him.” George smiled at the thought then laughed as he said. “Shall we find the light of my life, my Charity?”
Having knocked on Rupert’s workshop without success, George found Mr Brindle, “Ah Edward, have you seen Miss Deacon?”
Austere at the informality and disapproving of the intelligence he had to bring, Mr Brindle’s habitual frown deepened when he replied, “Lord Bedlington.”
“Lord Bedlington, Miss Deacon and the Master have gone for a walk on the downs. I believe they are hunting Lepidoptera. At least, they had nets and a collecting box.”
“Sounds a wholesome activity. It sounds like Gas is taking after his parents after all.”
“It was not clear that they were chaperoned.”
George cocked an eyebrow, “I shouldn’t worry about that. Charity’s a rock. Trust her with my life, you know.”
Mr Brindle’s expression indicated he thought that might be a misplaced trust, but as a well-trained servant, he kept his opinions to himself.
George continued, addressing Rachel, “Ma’am” he bowed, “Perhaps you and Miss Holloway would care to find his Lordship. I, on the other hand, am dreadfully tired. Need to write a missive to my friends in London. Let them know the good news.”
“If you’re taking your letter to the post, I should write to my cousin once more. To let him know I’m still on my way.”
“Yes … there is that. I was thinking of a faster, somewhat more expensive missive.” He gave her a smile, “More than a shilling a sheet, if you must know.”
“Oh. That. I’m sorry, must seem so very dense.”
Mr Brindle coughed, “Ma’am, I shall have a page carry your letter to the village for posting.”
Rachel smiled at him, “Thank you Brindle.”
I have to apologize on being a little remiss at replying and various social obligations. It is surprising what a broken ankle will do to your energy level (Even after several weeks, it’s mending but a royal PITA).
Lepidoptera are butterflies, which Rachel must be feeling by now. Bees are hymenoptera, but the subject of this Gilray cartoon. Various wasps, representing everything from Catholic emancipation to the radical republicans are raiding the treasury. Pitt the younger is by now (1808) no longer involved in politics (in the poetic French phrase he is eating dandelions from the roots). Other less memorable members of government (including one who looks suspiciously like a Wellesley – probably Arthur’s older brother) are defending the hive.
Amelia reminded me to put a link to our book page. We actually are preparing books for publication and have some sort of plan – amazing as that seems.