Talk of the Ton | S. Basset DoH

The Promenade and The Queen's Letter

The Promenade and The Queen's Letter

Shock and Delight - Part I

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        There will forever be just two words that come to this author's mind the morning after any good party...

        "Shock" and "delight."

        Well, dear reader, the scandalous accounts from last night's soirée at Vauxhall are quite shocking and delightful indeed.

        Emerging, phoenix-like from the ashes of irrelevance, is one Elena Bridgerton. The illustrious debutante was seen dancing not once, but twice with the season's most eligible and most uncatchable rake, the Duke of Hastings.

    I'm sitting in my rooms at my vanity allowing Poppy to place her finishing touches on my hair. When she finishes she she leans down next to me telling me something that makes my cheeks flush...

}~~~~~Danbury House: the Duke~~~~~{

    Jefferies has just arrived and knocked on Simons bedroom door. Opening the door without and answer, he see the Duke still sleeping. He walks strait to the windows and throws open the curtains, effectively waking his master. "Your Grace, it is time to awaken. Your Promenade with Miss Bridgerton will be soon."

    Simon opens his eyes before grimacing at the bright light. When his eyes finally adjust, he could not help the smile that formed across his face at the thought of seeing Elena again. With that he throws his covers off of himself and begins to get ready.

}~~~~~Promenade With the Duke: Elena~~~~~{

    The Duke and I are walking along the river. We have paused to take a rest. "A pig?!" I ask incredulously. "However did you get a pig into his dorm room? Better yet, how on Earth did you get it out?" I cannot help the boisterous laughter that leaves my mouth.

    The Duke, who was laughing along with me, answers. "It was not an easy feat, for both, and a tale I wish to not relive. It truly wasn't pleasant." This only caused me to laugh more, doubling over slightly. Oh, how I wish to hear more of these stories.

    I sober up, and start speaking. "I suppose we should discuss the arrangements of our ruse," I offer as we begin walking again. "That is if you choose to continue it. If you do, we need to create a plan."

    "Yes we should," he answers.

    "Okay then, eight balls," I suggest.

    "No."

    "Eight balls," I insist, putting emphasis on 'eight'. He doesn't respond. "You do want our plan to succeed, do you not?" I look and smile at him.

    "The purpose of this ruse is to keep the marriage-minded mothers and misses of the ton at bay, not throw myself directly into the lion's den," he impresses.

    "You are mistaken, Your Grace, the purpose of this arrangement is to ensure I marry my very first season," I say. "So, eight balls."

    He merely laughs. "I shall grant you four."

    "Fine," I give in. He smiles thinking he's won. "Six balls."