Form
Name & Last Name: Lady Iolanthe "Ettie" Armistead
FC: Heida Reed
Age: 25
Traits: Affable, well-spoken, intelligent, eidetic, perceptive // pragmatic, sharp-tongued, single-minded, discomfiting
Interests: Lord Ambrose Brandon, General Thomas Craddock, Dowager Duchess Persephone Warwick
The Hunt // The Masquei. dear doctor, you have read my face
There was cause to rejoice in the Armistead estate: Isabella’s debut had gone smoothly, all things considered - even if Her Majesty the Queen’s announcement took most of them by surprise. Flowers had obligingly arrived for Isabella, enough that Mama had to arrange for extra vases to be placed and fretted as to whether their house would still be pretty with so many flowers. There were cards too - calling cards, lovely letters, poetry, all for her little sister. Iolanthe ought to be proud. And pleased She really would.
She would be more pleased, however, if she didn’t have to sneak out of her rooms to her study, as if it were some clandestine rendezvous. For Iolanthe’s body had very different plans to Iolanthe’s mind, and celebrated Isabella’s successful debut by giving out on her and falling inconveniently, incomparably ill. The doctor had informed her family it was simply a trifling cold, nothing to be concerned about - “epidemic, Viscountess, thank God it was not the putrid kind” - and prescribed bedrest.
Mama had chalked it up to over-excitement and lack of rest. Iolanthe saw it as an inconvenience. Woe to Iolanthe, then, for she laid up in bed surrounded by sweet-smelling flowers and Mama playing her role as hostess to full tilt. All while she had to slowly go mad from boredom and lack of work as the errant chatter from maids passed by her door.
The first few days had been more bearable, when she could still go to her own study. Then some errant maid had left out the day’s works and papers on the table, whereby Iolanthe had picked it up and found them to be enquiries from their family solicitor. Easy, straightforward enquiries that really could be taken care of in perhaps less than fifteen minutes. So she pulled out the pen and the inkpot, tutted at the state of its nib, and got to work writing a reply.
These letters were easy - trivial. Truly. Simple replies, simple requests, sorting them into piles. The only issue was the occasional cough that wracked her body, but those could be ignored. Set aside. Perhaps another ten minutes, and she could creep back to bed.
Unfortunately, she’d done what she always did and forgot to keep an eye on the beautiful clock nearby, steadily, faithfully ticking the minutes, hours away. So by the time Beryl found her, with Mama hot at her companion’s heels, Iolanthe had cleared away most of the papers and her throat felt like it was on fire. That had been the start of the matter then, Mama beside herself with uncharacteristic worry and ushering Iolanthe back to her bedroom. And from there, she found herself - well, her study was off-limits. As were her papers. Her work. Her books. She had to tell Adda to try and retrieve at least some semi-productive reading material so she didn’t wither away.
And each day, she sat there in her bedroom, torn between appreciating the momentary reprieve and her mind spinning up exactly how much work she had left outstanding, who she had left to reply to, whether Mama was doing alright, if Idelia had gotten into trouble, if Isabella was being properly chaperoned on her promenades. Too many things. Too many problems that were sat outside her bedroom door, all while her body had decided to take a vacation and in such dull, unstimulating circumstances.
To top things off, she couldn’t even leave London to hide in the Armistead country house. Something about travel, distances, and the fact that the London season was in full swing. So she had to lie in bed or sit with a book on her lap or a blank embroidery hook on her table as she stared blankly at the window outside, her mind going miles a minute.
So here she was now, forced to sneak through her own house while Lady So-and-so came over for tea with Mama and while Mrs. Gregory and the scullery maids prepared their lunch down in the kitchens. Beryl, for a brief, blessed time, had gone to accompany and keep an eye on Isabella in her stead, having noticed her mistress’s discomfort and promised to be her eyes and ears for a while. Creeping through her own house like some common burglar, except this burglar had her own keys and was looking to at least steal back some of her correspondence to take back to her rooms so she could at least have some peace of mind.
Peace of mind. The physician had recommended bedrest to Iolanthe on the grounds that it would give her peace. What the physician had clearly overlooked was an estate could not run itself, widowed Dowager Viscountess or not, and that Iolanthe was not getting much rest or peace worrying about the said estate.
Part of her was trying to remind herself that Mama’s grief was now a mostly soft, subdued thing compared to those early years, that all she needed was time and a gentle, comforting hand without half a legion of suitors battering down her door. Part of her knew that Mama still had some sense in her, that she could be trusted to manage the household in Iolanthe’s illness. The even more rational part of her told her that if Iolanthe actually stayed in bed and rested, it would pass in a week or two and she could stop worrying and go back to what she did and knew best: making sure the minutiae was in place, that if anything came to Mama’s hands, all she needed to do was to look at the macro-view safe in the knowledge that the household and the details had been taken care of.
But practicality won out. It always did. Iolanthe secreted away at least a few ledgers and two more books, and brought it back to her with a few pencils and more paper. It would not do to use a quill on her bed - she was not a heartless monster that suffered ink stains on her own bedside table. So she sat up at her own armchair, careful not to tip over any of her tinctures or water and did what she did best: calculations, reviews, and made notes in the margins all the while.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Iolanthe looked up to see Isabella cross the threshold, smiling winningly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Iolanthe said, her voice still croaky. “It might be epidemic cold, but it is still contagious.”
“Oh, bury that, it was either me or Idelia to come up, and Idelia would have eaten this before it could even make the threshold.” Then Isabella took in Iolanthe’s set up. “When did you - how did you even manage to bring in the papers?”
“I have my ways.” Iolanthe had been trying for imperious, but she suspected with her wan face and the likely dark undereye circles, the effect was less impressive than she’d hoped. “Eat what?”
“You have gifts, sister dearest,” Isabella sing-songed as she crossed Iolanthe’s threshold, and Iolanthe’s first instinct was to glance desperately around and see if she could at least open a window for ventilation’s sake. Beryl was behind her younger sister, carrying what looked like a wicker basket and -
“Miss Armistead, where would you want me to set your flowers?”
“In the corridor. Mama mentioned how the southern corridor was looking somewhat bear, so -”
Iolanthe had gotten halfway through the sentence when her mind caught up with her mouth and came to a screeching halt. She looked up from her paperwork, and blinked at Beryl blearily. “My flowers?”
“Yes Miss Armistead. There are flowers for you.”
Her bemusement must have shown, because Isabella clapped a pretty hand to her mouth and laughed.
“Is it so hard to believe? You had suitors too when you had your seasons.”
“But I am decidedly not in the marriage market for the overanxious mamas and the courting gentlemen this season.”
“Well, you have danced with a few, and your absence has been noted.”
“The ton needs more gossip then, if they have time to fret about a spinster.”
“Ettie!”
“You know it’s true, Bella,” Iolanthe said finally, and she rather hoped her weak smile was sufficient to convey that she was not annoyed at either Isabella or Beryl. “I care for naught, save that you find a suitor you favour this season. And if my absence has been noted, then there isn’t much scandal… likely to the Dowager Duchess’s disappointment.”
“Persephone?” Isabella said, coming round to sit across Iolanthe’s armchair. “She sent flowers! Asked after your health, but she was the first to spot that you were missing.”
By this point, Iolanthe had given up all hope of getting any work done, not with Isabella across her and Beryl looking rather expectantly at her with two bouquets of flowers and a basket hanging from her arm. Persephone sending flowers was understandable - appreciated, very much so. She’d make a note to send something reciprocal when she was allowed to get out of her room, ask for someone to send an appropriate gift back. Flowers. Something more practical, like a lovely hamper with teas and wines. Ledgers? She’d heard the bookbinders had a few in good condition…
“That explains one bouquet of flowers.” Iolanthe gestured to the other items. “What of the other bouquet and the wicker basket?”
Isabella’s smile was exactly one Iolanthe had seen on one of their mousers. A pretty-looking Russian Blue had presented Mrs. Gregory with a little mouse once, very very pleased with its kill. Iolanthe had caught sight of the kitten marching past, kill in its mouth, and was horrified and charmed at once.
“General Craddock and Lord Brandon send their regards,” Isabella said, and her smile was a little terrifying. Iolanthe stared blearily at her little sister, mind not quite catching up.
“I fail to see how that is relevant to the bouquet and wicker basket.”
"For someone that runs such a tight ship, you really are dense.” She prodded Iolanthe in the arm. “Lord Brandon sent the basket. General Craddock sent the other bouquet. Quite an achievement for someone vehemently out of the marriage market.”
“We’ve had this conversation before, I am not repeating it especially when ill.”
Isabella sighed, tossing her pretty fawn-brown curls with a shake of her head.
“You can’t stay around Mama forever, Ettie.”
“Who said it was just for Mama?”
Isabella went quiet, and Iolanthe watched her sister’s eyes soften. “Ettie, I might not remember much, but I do know we’re not as we used to be. Mama smiles more now, and we can keep up with the newest fashions.” Then, even more softly, “Delly and I can take care of ourselves now, Ettie. No one would begrudge you a spot of happiness yourself as well.”
“Bella,” Iolanthe said finally, smiling gently. “Trust me to know what I want out of my life.”
“You’re just stubborn, Iolanthe.”
“Right now, I’m just ill.” She reached wearily for the wicker basket, no longer willing to pursue that avenue of conversation. “What’s inside this one?”
Isabella looked like she wanted to say something more, but obligingly passed the basket from Beryl to Iolanthe. Immediately she caught the scent of sweet sugar and rum, and blinked down at it. Then back up.
“Oh go on, it won’t kill you.”
She unwrapped it with a raised eyebrow, and found a golden-brown Bundt cake staring up at her, smelling very strongly of rum and spices. Judging from the still-soft warmth from the cloth, it was fairly fresh too.
“Do not tell me the physician forbade you from it, because it’s for you,” Isabella said, interrupting her. “Idelia smelled baked goods and asked if she could have some, but then Mama said there was rum and I said it was up to you…”
“She can have a small slice,” Iolanthe said. “She’s had stronger with some of the desserts she’s had.”
“You’ll have made her day with that.”
“I know. Anything else?”
“There’s a card with the flowers,” Isabella informed her, retrieving a beautifully gilded cream card from the back of the bouquet. “Persephone’s came with a letter, but I am under strict instructions to not let you see any letters.”
“I’m sure.”
“And I have noticed the paperwork on your table.”
“Light reading.”
“God preserve us, Iolanthe, any more and you’ll be bedridden for a full month!”
“I should hope not. Out you go, sister dearest - it’s all fine and well I’m ill, but if you catch your death from me, it would put a damper on this season’s proceedings.”
“You will have the cake!”
“I will not leave a gift unattended,” Iolanthe answered.
“And you will go back to bed.”
“Spare me the bed, I’ve been either lying in it or sat at my armchair or limited to the library in my corner of the room.”
“Beryl, could you make sure…”
“Of course, Miss Armistead.” Then, to Iolanthe, Beryl said, “I will bring up your lunch later on.”
With one last knowing smile, Isabella departed, taking the basket of rum cake while Beryl wandered back out, telling Iolanthe she’d be back with whatever spare vase she could find. That made Iolanthe smile. With both of them gone, silence returned to her room. Silence, and sunlight streaming through the windows.
Cake and flowers? She almost felt like she was eighteen and full of hopes again. She shook the thoughts out of her head, and rifled through the letters, finally, finally spotting a missive with a familiar script. With a letter opener, she slit open Persephone’s letter, and began to read…
ii. courses of clear winding rills
Another agonising, mind-numbingly dull two weeks later, the physician pronounce Iolanthe well enough again. The very least, she could hold a conversation without something scritching at the back of her throat, or without de-evolving into a cough mid-sentence.
Which was just as well. Isabella received her next invitation to, this time to the hunt held at her Majesty the Queen’s lodges - where, Iolanthe noted, the invitation made clear it was exclusive. And exclusivity meant whoever mattered - well, mattered. Chaperones were permitted, of course, but it mattered little: Mama had her invitation, as had Isabella. Iolanthe, however, was equally surprised to find one invitation of her own waiting for her at the breakfast table.
So here she was now: alighting a carriage with Mama and Isabella and Beryl, Idelia tagging along with Mama as her guest and people coming to take away their packed luggage for the week. Iolanthe winced at the bright, glorious sun spilling over the greens, and wondered at the lush treeline behind the property. She hadn’t been outside London since the season started, and she was eager to get started, wander around, explore the estate. The very least, Her Majesty the Queen had given permission for them to do so.
The hunt, of course, had yet to take place in the first day or so. Her Majesty the Queen had graciously arranged a luncheon for everyone involved, and then left each and every one of them to their own devices. Or at least, gave the appearance she was leaving each and every one of them to their own devices, but Iolanthe had not forgotten the Queen’s pronouncement. Or had she pronounced the Diamond already?
The Queen had said a month. She couldn’t quite keep track if a month had passed this point.
So while Isabella laughed and flirted prettily and Mama and Idelia wandered the gardens, Iolanthe arranged for some of the correspondence to be forwarded to her at the Queen’s estate instead. There were some matters she had to keep an eye on, after all - if the gentlemen of the ton could manage their affairs while away, why couldn’t she?
These working moments were - stolen, for most part. Either she stuck to her own room, or if she needed a change of pace, the lodge’s own drawing rooms or libraries made for suitably quiet places where she could withdraw for a brief spell.
The very least, that was where Lord Brandon found her, tucked away in a quiet corner in the estate, her vantage point overlooking the vast gardens leading out towards the stables, towards the forest.
“Ah, Miss Armistead.”
She’d clocked footsteps and looked up to catch sight of Lord Ambrose Brandon heading towards her, so she was prepared this time. She arranged her skirts and tried her damndest best to tidy up her correspondence and stood to greet him.
“Lord Brandon. Good morning to you.”
“And to you. I am glad to see you have recovered.”
“Not quite fast enough,”she replied. “I’d have hoped I wouldn’t be gone for so long, but life had other plans. You have been keeping well?”
“Well enough.” Lord Brandon looked like he was trying to fight a smile. “Is that stack of letters personal or business?”
“A little bit of both.” She gently stacked them up, careful to leave her freshly written letter out to dry. “Fortunately, there isn’t much that needs my attention, so I can breathe a little easier. But one never stops fretting when you have a household to run.”
“I do understand that sentiment.” Lord Brandon glanced towards the lovely garden outside, then refocused his attentions back to her. “Would you care to join me for a stroll? The weather is pleasant, and I would be glad for your company.”
Iolanthe agreed. With a nod, Beryl tidied away the letters and handed them to a nearby attendant, promising to have them set down in her room at once. The man inclined his head to her, and Iolanthe went with Beryl trailing behind. They were used to this, Beryl and Iolanthe, even if Iolanthe had to re-learn the steps and re-learn her etiquette, even if she were simply presenting her sister to the world at large, holding her family together.
“T’was a pity you fell ill so quickly after the Queen’s Ball,” Lord Brandon said, as they headed out towards the gardens. “Your absence was fairly noticeable.”
“I was surprised to be noticed at all. I do have to thank you for the rum cake, Lord Brandon - I enjoyed it greatly.”
“Against the physician’s orders?” There was a touch of mischief in the gentleman’s voice.
“I was tired of pottage by the fourth day. The cake was a welcome surprise - which patisserie?”
“A personal favourite. If you wish, I’ll have my secretary send you the address.”
“I would appreciate it - as would Idelia. Some sweets are off limits to her, but she’s always enjoyed them.”
"Has she come to this picnic?”
“Mama brought her as her guest. So the Armisteads are all present - for better or for worse. Your younger sibling is here as well, I presume?”
“Oliver would not miss this for the world. He does enjoy the company.” There was a touch of exasperation in his voice.
“And you do not?”
Lord Brandon gave her a sidelong look, but she felt no malice - just affection. “Some company I enjoy more than others - present ones included. But alas, someone has to look out for the young ones.”
“If you do not mind me saying, you are a mite too young to speak like a man of forty summers.”
“Siblings can age you,” Lord Brandon replied, a mock-seriousness coming into his voice. “I sometimes feel more like a parent than a brother - a sentiment I think you would share.”
“They are a handful, but I would not change it for anything. Mama says it is excellent preparation for when I am to bear children of my own.”
“How is the Dowager Viscountess, might I ask?”
“Well. Gladdened to be away from London - something I concur. The city is too stifling in this time of the year, though she has no taste for the hunt itself.”
“Ah, yes. The hunt.” Something changed in Lord Brandon’s expression: a grimace that Iolanthe did not miss. “Will you be participating?”
“For the horse riding. I am a poor shot, and while I appreciate the game I have no taste for bloodsport.”
“You and me both. But I am expected, so I will attend. The exercise would be good for my horse, the very least, and it will be good to have another friend along.”
Friend. That stayed with Iolanthe after they parted, having traded no few stories about their siblings and the latest news they’d heard with regards to business in the Americas. Of course, Iolanthe had been careful to couch it as she always had: secondhand tidbits from Mama, from the solicitors, from the myriad of advisors who streamed through their houses with Iolanthe in attendance. He escorted her back to the main house, bowed very gallantly and made his way to where he needed to be.
Iolanthe watched him go, and turned to Beryl.
“Well. Do we know where Mama is now? Perhaps it would be ideal to seek out her and Idelia and see if they would like a game of cards.”
iii. by soft winds
Hunt day was every bit as chaotic as Iolanthe had remembered it to be, when she was younger and more desperate to marry to secure her family’s fortunes. She was unsuccessful with the former, and comforted by her family’s more even footing in the latter. It did not mean, however, that Iolanthe enjoyed it - she had spoken truth to Lord Brandon, after all. It was a cacophony of baying hunting hounds and well-mannered horses and men preening and comparing guns. And most clearly not overcompensating for anything.
Isabella had chosen not to join, instead staying with her lady’s companion and sending off her suitors with her best wishes. Her younger sister caught Iolanthe’s eye and winked - one that Iolanthe returned with a half-smile. What a pair the two of them must have made: Isabella, dressed in soft blues, and Iolanthe in her darker, autumnal red and stood by her horse, a bay mare with a side saddle. She would not be able to keep up, but she could at least ride some distance.
As she was gently petting her steed, she caught sight of General Craddock, already dressed in full hunting gear, gun over his shoulder and striding across the greens. He had an air of - authority, that much Iolanthe could tell, unlike some of the younger gentlemen who seemed to treat this whole thing like a game. For a moment, her fancies took her and she could almost imagine him going across lines of tents and barking orders at shoulders. She quickly quashed that thought - in time for the man to spot her across the lawn and begin heading towards her.
“General Craddock,” she greeted, dipping her head in a brief greeting when he reached her. “Good morning to you.”
“Miss Armistead.” The cool mask he’d put on for the day cracked briefly, and a warm smile crossed his face. “Joining the hunt, I see.”
“I wanted some fresh air,” Iolanthe answered. “And riding out has its appeal, even if the actual hunt itself does not.”
“That makes one of us.” General Craddock’s face returned to its impassivity, as if he were reluctant to show anything more than was given. “I would have avoided this entirely, but it is beyond my decision.”
A simpler woman might have simpered and asked for his reasons. Iolanthe didn’t need to read between the lines to understand what he meant, but respected the General too much to give him her platitudes. He had no need for those things, and those words had likely long outstayed their welcome.
“The rest of the week seems more promising.” Iolanthe, now satisfied with the fit of the bridle and that the bit was not too tight, turned her attentions back to General Craddock. “It promises to be restful, and the view of the lake is spectacular, I’m assured.”
“I will keep it in mind for our picnic then,” the man answered mildly, and that brought something fairly important to mind. Specifically, she’d been paired with General Craddock for the official picnic, the court-approved, very much society-sanctioned gathering meant to pair prospective matches together. Isabella had been paired off a while ago with some newly landed mercantile heir, but by all accounts the man had better taste than some of the nouveau riche. Iolanthe had been paired with General Craddock, and she still had yet to make up her own mind whether she considered it for good or for ill. General Craddock was handsome, Iolanthe knew - anyone with eyes could see for herself. Certainly affectionate and a doting father. She was at ease in his company, that much she knew. But enough for someone to pair them together?
But that was enough of the thoughts and the memories - she’d only smiled and told him she was looking forward to it, and then they parted.
During the hunt, Iolanthe rightly predicted she was not a good shot. Or a particularly good hunter. Once they’d ridden out the appropriate distance (painfully sidesaddle, and she mourned the fact she could not wear pants), she’d sequestered herself away from the general public, looking and taking in the green, the beauty around her, punctuated by the occasional gunshot or the barking of the hunting dog in the distance.
The hunting party did eventually come back with two deer - both of which would be prepared for dinner. The choice cut went to Her Majesty the Queen; the ones who felled the creatures were given their next-best choice. Then it was off to clean-up and dinner, and Iolanthe met with Isabella who spared her a smile and a very cautious “Not gotten shot?”
“I’m still here,” Iolanthe answered, gently grasping Isabella’s hand. They were cooler than Iolanthe had expected, and she gave her sister’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “Remind me not to attempt something like this again.”
“The parks were perfectly serviceable if you wanted greenery and fresh air.” Isabella led Iolanthe away from the gathering, half-frowning at her. “And I’m sure you had no shortage of pretty men to look at if you wanted some gallantry - though I don’t think you’re interested in that.”
“I think your sister would be much more interested in competence,” Persephone’s voice broke in, and Iolanthe did a half-turn to see the Dowager Duchess smiling at them. Isabella and Iolanthe curtseyed, but Persephone’s smile was warm and welcoming as she embraced Iolanthe. “Isabella is right though - I did not expect to see you ride out sidesaddle today.”
“Better that I sit astride, but I have neither the clothes nor the correct place for it.”
“Always with propriety.” Persephone’s tone was affectionate. “Well, walk with me for a while. It has been a while.”
“It has - and I never properly thanked you for the flowers and the letter.”
“Yes, I know.” Persephone’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I know you got my letter since your illness despite strict orders to the contrary - but we’ve both been so preoccupied since. You don’t mind if I steal your sister away for a moment, do you Isabella?”
“Better you than some others, Lady Persephone,” Isabella answered. “Go on! I shall survive without my sister for a while.”
“One might say thrive without her fussing,” Persephone answered, and the two women shared a small laugh as Iolanthe fought every bone and remembered every proper custom to not roll her eyes. And then Persephone had taken Iolanthe’s arm, letting an attendant take her gun before wandering out to the general direction of the parks.
“So. You’ve taken ill, and now you’re back with aplomb - and in the company of certain gentlemen, I must note.”
“Just two, and even then it’s not quite what people imagine.”
“Truly?” Persephone’s eyebrows went up, a teasing smile appearing on her face. “You are still young and unmarried, and the Armisteads are still well-regarded and with sizeable assets.”
“I should hope so, otherwise Papa’s investments would have been for nothing.” Iolanthe almost forgot herself and barely kept the scandalised voice out of her tone. That got Persephone to properly laugh.
“Trust someone like you to worry so much about it.” The Dowager Duchess squeezed her arm lightly. “A little bird has told me you were caught doing correspondence - it wouldn’t kill you to relax a little bit at the hunt.”
“I try. It is… difficult.”
“But if it weren’t, then you would not be you Iolanthe.” They made a turn at one of the beautiful hedged gardens, where Iolanthe could see some gentlemen and younger women giggling as they sat around tables, politely speaking to each other. “But above all, you would be a prudent wife. Men have tried and fared worse in handling their affairs - do you remember what happened with Lord Avington?”
“During our season, or the year before?”
“What happened to him a year before?” Persephone looked mock-affronted. “Iolanthe! You said there was no gossip in my absence!”
“It was tiresome.” Iolanthe waved her free hand in the general direction of the trees. “Lord Avington fell in with so-and-so from France to set up either an art dealership or jewelry store - one of the two, at any rate. He managed to seduce his business partner’s daughter, and then promised himself to another lady. Of course, when the news came out, he was welcome neither here nor France and his new business plans went to ruin.”
Persephone processed the information with due solemnity, then turned to Iolanthe. “I would trust you on matters of business, but gossip? Your estimations of interesting and not are very, very different.”
“It was amusing for the first week. Then everyone was trading the story and it lost its novelty by the second. What was more interesting was Lord Avington’s business partner was not as reputable as the lord had stated.”
“Would you have the name? I’d like to ask around so I know who to avoid.”
Iolanthe looked at Persephone, and remembered the woman’s words last time they took tea: about a printing press she wanted to work with, of the journalists and newshounds under her employ.
“I’ll have to go back - I can’t recall off the top of my head. Do you have someone to ask?”
“A Mr. Sinclair - oh, I should introduce you two if there’s an opportunity. He’s an art dealer himself - not the most principled man, but he is discreet and always with an ear to the ground.”
“Sinclair - hm. The newcomer to court? Isabella mentioned him during my enforced bedrest.”
“I’m surprised your sister would have noticed him and mentioned him.”
“She keeps me appraised of what was going on. Stops me from going mad. Although if we are on the topic of newcomers and meetings… I thought I saw you with Count Musgrave earlier?”
“Oh, him!” Persephone smiled, and the warmth reached her eyes. “Just a friend - and he has a good sense for business. Hard to find, harder still to find someone who would take a widow seriously, but fret not - I would never trade your lovely company.”
“You can pick up on all the tidbits I may have gathered over the years,” Iolanthe deadpanned, “And I will trade you what I have heard from Mama’s letters and correspondences.”
They rounded back round to the main building, still contentedly trading little tidbits of information and catching up on each other’s past weeks. The Dowager Duchess’s sense for news and people still hadn’t changed, and Iolanthe let herself be swept away with the woman’s observations throughout the seasons as well as who to avoid - and who to be aware of. There were other parts of gossip to: news of overdue stays, people coming and going from questionable places, or where they should or shouldn’t go.
By the time they parted, Iolanthe felt like she’d spoken for an age, but was much refreshed for it - and now, back to her chambers with Isabella on one side and Mama and Idelia in the other, it felt a little quieter and a little more bereft than she’d expected.
iv. the landscape with the quiet of the sky
General Craddock was a man of his word.
He was waiting patiently for her when Iolanthe exited the premises, not a hair out of place and cutting a striking figure in his suit. The cravat, much to her relief, was not one of those dandyish, foppish ones favoured by the ton, and there were no gaudy embellishments anywhere. A military man, she remembered, and accepted his arm as he led her from the property towards the appointed picnic location. Much to her delight, it was overlooking the lake, shaded and away from the glare of the sun, grasses rustling gently in the breeze.
“With luck,” the man told her as she arranged herself on the picnic blanket, “The wind won’t pick up until later in the day. I doubt it would.”
“I had not taken you to be a meteorologist, General.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “No - it’s a habit when you’re on the field. To our mutual benefit today, it seems.”
“I would be grateful if we were not windswept today,” Iolanthe answered, and the smile she had on her face when he sat down came easily - too easily, much to her surprise. “The view is beautiful, but I doubt we would want lakewater in our faces.”
“It would spoil the mood.” When everything was finally, finally settled and the attendants had brought out what was meant to be their lunch for the day, Iolanthe was seated across General Craddock. For the first time in a while, something caught in her throat: she was thoroughly, completely unused to being at the centre of anyone’s attention. And yet here she was, amongst so many other courting couples, not quite sure where she was positioned. She was comfortable with General Craddock, yes - but it had always been with others. Out of practice, she reminded herself. It would be fine. There were no traps here, no worries. Just two people enjoying a picnic out by the lakeside.
“How are you,” General Craddock said, when the attendants had stepped tactfully away. Iolanthe watched them go, wondering if they’d gossip amongst themselves later on. But there was better - more interesting - company here, and she would be remiss to neglect him.
“The week has been promising, and in any event, I am glad to be away from London for a spell. And yourself? Did you come alone?”
“Yes.” The man winced a brief moment. “Annie - Annette - is with her governess this week, and while I am assured all is well, it is difficult.”
“I know that too well. Mama brought Idelia as her guest, having been reluctant to leave her behind.”
“I remember. You mentioned you were the eldest, last time at the Queen’s Ball.”
“And they’re all here this time,” Iolanthe said, and it pleased her oddly he remembered. “But thankfully, her Majesty the Queen has provided for most, so I can - relax? Is that even possible?”
“Perhaps. If you make an effort to do so, I shall match the same.” General Craddock seemed to be eyeing the selection laid out for them. “Certainly no expenses were spared.”
“None at all. It’s unusual to have this sort of leisure to myself.” The man across her looked up, and held her gaze.
“I take it that picnicking is not something you do often.”
“No - I’m often informed I stay indoors far too much, actually. I’ve been… persuaded to leave the house more often lately, usually due to my sisters’ bullying.”
General Craddock did laugh then. “Miss Armistead, bullied? Pardon me if I say it is difficult to believe.”
“You have not had the pleasure of being with my sisters for long stretches of a time - they are fully capable of doing so. I have heard you’ve only returned to London recently though.”
“I spent some time away in the country with my daughter. London is vibrant, but there is a charm and comfort bringing her up in our country home. It’s familiar to her - and to me.”
“What did they say? About a man’s home being his castle?”
“And I have heard that the Armistead estate is yours.”
“What? No, Mama manages the household, I simply assist where I can.”
“And have you been assisting her for long?”
“Oh, since Papa’s death.” She kept her voice as light as she dared, hoping she hadn’t crossed a line into flippancy. “When she needed it, but for most part the major decisions are hers.”
But either Iolanthe had not quite managed to convince General Craddock she was unaffected, or that her tone was a smidge off. There was no pity in his eyes. Just as well, for Iolanthe could not stomach pity, not after having sat through two seasons of suitors coming up to her and enquiring after her wellbeing. But she saw reflected in them an alarming amount of knowing. Like he could see what it was like and understand.
“You mourn him still.”
“I would not call it mourning. I just remember his - absence, at the best and worst of times.”
General Craddock was silent, and for a moment, Iolanthe was compelled to steer this away from whatever quagmire she’d foolishly wandered into, hope her deflection skills were still reasonably honed. When he spoke again, his tone was gentler - kind.
“I was much the same, after my wife first passed.”
And now Iolanthe wanted to bury herself in the closest hole, because of course he would. Everyone in London would know - had known - of his wife’s passing. And if anyone could understand grief and be touched by it… well. The man sitting across her had the deepest impressions.
“Did it get - better?” Iolanthe asked despite herself. The man was smiling again - a small, barely-there thing, but it seemed natural. Relaxed.
“As you said, you do not forget. But there are other things to take care of - and other people who depend on you. But I think you know that as well, perhaps better than most by this lake.”
Here, now, Iolanthe’s breath was caught in her throat. She could not speak, for fear of disturbing whatever this was when around them were courting couples, trying to pretend they were not murmuring sweet nothings to each other, drinking in each other’s company. But this - she would have taken whatever this was over platitudes and romantic sonnets. There was a comfort in knowing that beyond her own family, there was at least one other person here - now - who… knew? Understood?
“It is… a timely reminder,” she said finally, but her voice sounded strange and faraway to her own ears. “Thank you. Though I do apologise - I had not meant to take that conversation so far.”
“It is no matter - unless you would prefer to make observations of the lake and the hunt thus far.”
“Truthfully? I see nothing on the lake.” And that got another laugh out of the man, lifting (or shattering?) whatever strange mood had settled over the two of them. “It is still, peaceful, yes, but I would rather learn more of what you have been up to as well.”
What General Craddock had been up to, as it transpired, was managing affairs, catching up with friends - though he did mention paying a visit or two to the library on the property. Something Iolanthe had regretfully overlooked, knowing how much of a distraction books and quiet studies were. But he’d offered to visit there with her, when they had a spare moment, and it was an invitation Iolanthe accepted gratefully. There would be time - before the week was over, and perhaps to swap book recommendations, spend a little time together.
And much to her own surprise, she found herself looking forward to that as well.
v.
If I can cram in the masquerade before anything goes up, I will - but for now, count this as complete. Pretend Iolanthe showed up at the masquerade and had a grand old time.
COMPLETE
Sort of...
Last edited by Jadis (06/10/2023 at 20:42)
