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Chantarelle
Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2018
- Location
- USA
My overall hope for this story is that it will be above all a romance whether that romance falls under fantasy (low to medium) or historical (ish or otherwise). It’s setting right now is in England late 1700’s. I’m open to edits and ideas of all sorts. So bring me your kings, your vampires, your dukes, your demons just bring me you and let us plot together...
A woman descended from Irish nobility sent away at a young age from her home setting of rolling fields of green and fences made of stone to be raised in England by her Aunt and Uncle, the Duke and Duchess of Kettering as the girls raven hair had become a sore point of contention back home in Ireland. If only the girl had come out traditional, if only her locks had been red as a heated poker like her sisters before her it would not have created such a stir nor shined such a bright and condemning light on her mother’s integrity. Maybe even a freckle or two would have helped but as it was the girls existence had fated her mother eternally and so too it seemed Morrigan’s own fate was sealed along with it.
Her English upbringing seemed to temper what might have been otherwise a feisty spirit and what discipline did not crush the grey weather subdued as the girl grew to womanhood never once questioning what was expected of her as a Lady. She would marry well, she would bear a son and she would live until she died and as quietly as she could accomplish these three important tasks the better...
Chosen for her was the Marquee Augustus Crane lV, nearing mid-fifty he was practically swamped with daughters yet he could boast no sons and it shamed him. His previous wife deceased and within certain circles one might add under mysterious circumstances though this was never mentioned to the Lady Kelly and alas, neither was the Marquees temperament nor his carnal inclinations, those she would have to find out the hard way.
They say what does not kill you makes you stronger and this is true and good because life requires a sort of hardness to fortify you against its ravages and so perhaps the Lady Kelly should have at some point before his death thanked the Marquee for making her so strong. Indeed, with every insult, bruise and inch of torn flesh she was made like marble, like granite. She was a veritable mountain after him, a current laden river, a torrential downpour. Her strength after him was the type that could step on glass and not feel a thing though blood may flow in streams and pool up to her ankles she would not wince for she felt nothing and it was counted by her as if not good, very acceptable since strength was life’s requirement especially for a woman. So yes, Augustus made her very strong. He also made her very rich.
Called the red widow for the fact that after her husbands death she wore nothing but crimson, Lady Kelly was a staple at every party and grand event as something of a necessary piece of whispered about art. The rumor was she had killed the Marquee herself and versions vary as to how but one fact rang clear as a bell that no one was sad about it least of all the Lady herself as hatred for that particular Lord seemed to saturate everyone who met him like the evil dripped noticeably from his corpulent frame and filled the room with its stink. “So, bully for her if she did do him in.” They would joke and raise their glasses to her carelessly whenever they spoke about it to each other. “Still, it was a shame though.” They would be sure to add under their breaths because they all knew that to be a widow was likely a forever thing and to be a childless one at that...and such a rare beauty to top it off? Damn shame.
Her English upbringing seemed to temper what might have been otherwise a feisty spirit and what discipline did not crush the grey weather subdued as the girl grew to womanhood never once questioning what was expected of her as a Lady. She would marry well, she would bear a son and she would live until she died and as quietly as she could accomplish these three important tasks the better...
Chosen for her was the Marquee Augustus Crane lV, nearing mid-fifty he was practically swamped with daughters yet he could boast no sons and it shamed him. His previous wife deceased and within certain circles one might add under mysterious circumstances though this was never mentioned to the Lady Kelly and alas, neither was the Marquees temperament nor his carnal inclinations, those she would have to find out the hard way.
They say what does not kill you makes you stronger and this is true and good because life requires a sort of hardness to fortify you against its ravages and so perhaps the Lady Kelly should have at some point before his death thanked the Marquee for making her so strong. Indeed, with every insult, bruise and inch of torn flesh she was made like marble, like granite. She was a veritable mountain after him, a current laden river, a torrential downpour. Her strength after him was the type that could step on glass and not feel a thing though blood may flow in streams and pool up to her ankles she would not wince for she felt nothing and it was counted by her as if not good, very acceptable since strength was life’s requirement especially for a woman. So yes, Augustus made her very strong. He also made her very rich.
Called the red widow for the fact that after her husbands death she wore nothing but crimson, Lady Kelly was a staple at every party and grand event as something of a necessary piece of whispered about art. The rumor was she had killed the Marquee herself and versions vary as to how but one fact rang clear as a bell that no one was sad about it least of all the Lady herself as hatred for that particular Lord seemed to saturate everyone who met him like the evil dripped noticeably from his corpulent frame and filled the room with its stink. “So, bully for her if she did do him in.” They would joke and raise their glasses to her carelessly whenever they spoke about it to each other. “Still, it was a shame though.” They would be sure to add under their breaths because they all knew that to be a widow was likely a forever thing and to be a childless one at that...and such a rare beauty to top it off? Damn shame.
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