𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 difference between a sin and a clandestine longing? A yearning that pulses silently beneath the surface, sheltered away from a place where love is tightly defined and drawn by ancient hands. Can a heart so full and so p...
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୨⎯ ༻♛༺ ⎯୧
THERE IS NOTHING QUITE LIKE the sweet-scented smell of success. But after taking in the scene from last night's festivities, it is clear the season won't be quite so fragrant for everyone.
Getting comfortable on the sofa beside Patrick and Bianca, as they indulge themselves in light conversation with the sound of Harriet's piano behind them, Siena smiles giddily with the latest Lady Whistledown pamphlet gripped between her skinny fingers.
The Viscount Bridgerton's own mama may have loudly declared her eldest son's lofty intentions to marry, yet I cannot be the only one wondering if this former Capital-R Rake is, indeed, ready to flourish.
With a rather audible scoff and a sly smirk, Siena readjusts herself against the armrest of the sofa, letting her head dangle over the edge as she holds the paper up before her intrigued blue eyes.
Perhaps the viscount, like the rest of us, is simply waiting for the queen to finally name her diamond. Or perhaps this author should take matters into her own hands.
This time, her mouth produces some sort of distorted cackle, one sounding between surprised and amused, earning the attention of her family with more potency this time. Heads turn, and Harriet stops the gentle melody product of her delicate fingers to look at her youngest daughter with a tilt of her head.
"Siena," she calls out, making the girl lift her head and raise her eyebrows at her, "Perhaps you might want to be less... expressive in your reading?"
The girl chuckles, dropping her head again, "Apologies, mama. It is just so comical to see how confident this lady has become. She is challenging the queen now, is that not outrageous?" She looks between Bianca and Patrick, earning a scowl from the girl and a small laugh from her husband.
Though, of the many purportedly well-trained and bred hothouse flowers on display this year, this author must wonder if a more surprising choice might still be in store. Whichever darling miss receives such high esteem, let us hope there is a suitor available of only the sharpest wit, lest his dry musings leave a young lady wilting like a parched rose.
Closing the pamphlet with a huff and placing it on her chest, the girl looks up at the ceiling in thought, "Plant puns? Penelope is going to love those," she raises her head back up and jumps back into a sitting position, shaking her head off the momentary daze and flattening the chest of her dress, "Well that concludes today's issue. I think Eloise was right, she does repeat everything so constantly..."
"You are just rooting on your own torment, sister. You wait on the issues like a dog awaits a bone and end up equally as discouraged every time. Why don't you save yourself the trouble?" Bianca asks, distracting herself with her embroidery as Patrick reads an old pamphlet on boats.
