The Songstress and her Lord (Malina & Sure)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Sure on 07-08-2009, 18:37:42</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>07-08-2009, 18:37:42</strong>
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				The snow was thick and white and got everywhere. It got into the most tightly bound clothing to keep out the clothes, it pilled atop your head even as you shook it to shake it off from your hat, and it blocked the road. James was glad he had a master who had bought a sled carriage along with the proper horses so he could go through this snow quickly and less burdened than the rest of the traffic. All the same, he couldn’t see far ahead of him and even that seemed to give off an eerily blue glow, the effect of light reflecting off of the snow, the master had guessed. James didn’t know, he didn’t really care, either. He couldn’t help but think it looked kind of pretty, though.<br><br>Then he saw something flutter before the horse and fall. He stopped the carriage. It was cold and dreary and he wanted to get straight home, but he didn’t know who had just fallen in front of the carriage and if it was someone of quality, a noble, and he hit them or just left them there he could get in major trouble. And if he saved them he could get a major reward. With these thoughts on his mind, he quickly dismounted from the carriage and scurried forward to see what it was. What it was, was a poor girl… or was she old enough to be a woman? He couldn’t tell. Regardless, the girl was dressed in rags and nobody special. James couldn’t help but note that the blue of the snow reflected prettily on her skin.<br><br>All the same, she looked dead, and a dead woman lying in the street was nothing special. In fact, James thought she was probably a whore. He looked over her, trying to find anything of value. There was nothing. That was just his luck, he thought, as he prepared to turn and leave. Then she quivered and let out a sound and tried to move. He looked down at her and watched to make sure it wasn’t just a dead woman convulsing. But something told him it wasn’t. She seemed to be trying to grab his leg. He went back to the carriage and put out blankets and other things to make sure she didn’t dirty up the carriage, then he scooped her up and put her in. It was somewhat warmer in the coach.<br><br>He then started to drive to the master’s home. It was still far away from this poor slum of the city and some time later he pulled in and started to unhitch the horses, two other servants struggled to get the sled and horses inside. No one wanted duty outside, and everyone pitied whoever was supposed to be the gateman. James, when nobody was looking he went into the carriage and bundled her up in all those blankets and towels so it looked like she was just some kind of package he didn’t want the snow to reach. Then he took her around to the back and brought her into the kitchen where Mary was cooking. He knew Mary had a soft spot in her heart for the poor, she always collected the scraps and unused drink and gave it out to the beggars whenever she got the chance.<br><br>He entered and she looked at him questioningly. He had made some awkward advances at her a few months back and though they still worked together she always seemed afraid that he would try again, or try something more. James had to admit he looked scruffy and suspicious by nature, but, outside of a stint in which he served as a soldier, he had never harmed a fly. At any rate, she was beautiful, and young, and it was easy to see why he wanted her. He thought he had a chance because she was no longer intact, but she didn’t speak about that much. At any rate, when he put the bundle by the fire whomever the girl was seemed to sprawl out. Mary quickly adjusted it so her private areas and legs were covered. After a short conversation in which James explained what had happened, Mary agreed to take care of her and rewarded James with a small kiss. James left for his room smiling.<br><br>Mary spent the rest of the time tending to her, which mostly consisted of making sure she didn’t roll into the fire or catch on fire as Mary herself cooked. Mary was collecting scraps and taking bits of various drinks left over and mixing them together into a brew that, while not exactly good, was better than the nasty water most people drank. When she saw the girl, it was a girl in her mind since she was so short and malnourished, seemed to stir, and Mary walked over near her. Then the door cracked open and she looked to see who it was. Another servant probably wouldn’t care, at most they would ask for something small like an extra tart, but the master sometimes came into the kitchen to make sure she was making exactly what he wanted.<br><br>The master wouldn’t like them sneaking a poor girl in. He would be afraid she would steal something and run away, or take advantage of their kindness, and he wouldn’t like that it was done without telling him. As the door opened, her fears were confirmed, but she managed to move quickly and in a moment she was kissing him in the doorway. This took him by surprise, obviously, and she started to push herself against him, both seductively and trying to move him out the door, saying everything was fine, and she’d see him later tonight. Then, as fate would have it, she fell, and he caught her. But that lowered her head enough he saw the young girl.<br><br>After a moment of panic on Mary’s part, she started to babble a bit and he seemed confused. But he just walked over and looked at the girl and said to Mary, “If she steals anything it comes out of your salary, and if she makes a mess you clean it up. And the same goes for James.” He turned to face Mary, “And for the love of God, feed her, she looks like a stick.” If he knew she was conscious, he didn’t seem to pay much attention to her directly.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>07-08-2009, 22:11:47</strong>
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				Winter had come early, promising to be merciless and long, a reign of frost and sharp winds few in the girl's position would survive. She was desperately aware of her predicament, but did not abandon the fierce determination with which she clung to life. She would find a way, she always had, singing and begging for alms. Soon, she would leave town for the surrounding hamlets.<br><br>There, carols sung in the Christmas season would grant her better hospitality than she could hope for in the city where people were accustomed to seeing paupers die in the streets. Here, they had many gaieties, theatres and musical evenings, the court and a thousand dissipation, whereas the simple, good people on the farms would welcome her voice as a thing of rare beauty.<br><br>This day, though, was not a good one. Again, she had earned nothing. She felt weak from hunger and the cold bit her shivering body. She had to leave the tavern, the crowd had become dangerous. She was only welcome in that warm, dimly lit place when there were guests willing to listen to her songs. These men were not, they were out for trouble, for some cruel amusement the poorest had to provide, having none to defend them. <br><br>Sure enough, one of them, almost a boy still, watched her leave, sneaked out behind her. She was just the kind of fun he felt man enough to take up with, a skinny, small thing that had tried to get away unnoticed. He had been staring at her earlier, out of pale, blood-shot eyes, ever since one of the man had pulled him off a wench he had wanted. She knew why he was following her. So, she did not fall for his false smile, but went right into the fight when his arm shot out. Soon, they were locked in a silent, fierce struggle, scratching, tearing, grabbing. <br><br>He punched her in the stomach, the kidney, pulled her hair and bit her lip, she tore and twisted his ear, scratched his face, aiming for the eyes. He hissed in pain but did not loosened his grip, so she could not kick him. Instead, her hand slipped down, grabbed his cock, which she twisted and pulled at with all her strength. He howled and let go, she ran. Ran, but slipped, falling hard on her back,&nbsp; in the middle of the street. With dread, she saw horses appear out of the blinding snow storm, but could not get on her feet, the brawl had taken the last of her strength.<br><br>But the coach did not run her over. Instead, soon the driver stared down at her, then turned to leave. She reached out, trying to grasp his leg, to speak, but the fall had knocked the air out of her. Still, he hesitated, then bent to lift her up and carry her into the coach. Past his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the mean fellow, doubled over, his hands cupping his crotch. He would have killed her for this, she knew. Now, he could not, did not dare approach the broad driver.<br><br>As she realised she was safe, her head rolled back and darkness swallowed her. From time to time, she came round, to the rocking of the coach, the cold that made her fingers ache and immobile, creeping up her limbs, nearer and nearer to the centre of remaining warmth she had curled around, hugging her knees. When the driver halted, she had sunk back into unconsciousness, all tension leaving her exhausted body.<br><br>The next time she took notice of her surroundings, she was lying in a warmth so intensive it hurt her fingers and feet, a terrible pain she nonetheless welcomed, as it was saving her fingers and toes, her life. She made weak, futile efforts to move, to turn her head and look around. She smelled the fire, heard it crackle, and , oh, she could smell food. Every now and then, the beautiful face and comely figure of the cook, for a kitchen it must be, and a rich person's, too, came into sight.<br><br>She struggled, sat up and bent over, coughing, her head numb, all kinds of aches and pains greeting her awakening senses, dull and sharp, piercing, burning, stinging. She wiped her hand over her lip, then rubbed the blood onto her skirt. She reached up to feel her head, there was a lump, but no blood. A strand of grimy hair now stuck to her fingers and she wiped her trembling hand on her skirt again.<br><br>It had not been the first assault she had fought off, she knew not why it unsettled her like this, each time. She tried to shake off the memory of the expression she had seen in his watery eyes, the hatred, how he had tried to force her lips apart, his wet, hard mouth, his breathing, the disgust and rage, the panic she had felt. She wiped her mouth again, with a corner of her shawl.<br><br>Only then, the commotion caught her attention. She looked up, saw the cook with a man, surely the master of the household. She must have been trying to distract him, Flora realised, before he would see the filthy, stinking thing in his kitchen, but his eyes were right on her, he was heading towards her, never heeding the cook's hasty apologies. <br><br>Flora stared up at him, her eyes still glazed and wide in response to the events. Her arm rose in defense, she flinched, expecting the worst. Surely he would kick and beat her out. Nobody wanted a pauper in their fine house, leave alone a very dirty, stinking, smut smeared beggar like herself. She would have expected anything but his following words. Too stunned to react, she just looked on and listened to what those two might say next.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>07-08-2009, 22:54:55</strong>
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				Mary was shocked too. All the same, she obeyed, and soon there was a plate of various scraps of food and an oddly mixed swill for her to eat and drink. They were what remained of the meals of the house, and even the scraps were probably finer food than she was used to. Then Mary smiled and moved over to the master and kissed him full on before releasing him. The master seemed used to it, which was mostly because Mary kissed just about everybody when they did something that pleased her. Then Mary returned to Flora's side and stood over her, watching to make sure she was okay.<br><br>The master, in the mean time, looked at her and put his hand in her hair, pulling it up. He picked up her skirt slightly, feeling it. The entire spectacle seemed to disgust him more and more. Mary smiled at her and then asked, "My lord, what will you do with her once she's done eating and warmed up?" The master continued his inspection, finding new aspects to find disgusting with every new probe. He responded, "I won't have anything so dirty in my house."<br><br>Mary's expression changed, "But, my lord, if you send her out into the cold she'll die. My lord, it's Christmas soon. In the name of merciful Jesus Christ, please..." The master gave her a look, "Are you daft or something? What do you think I am? When I eat, I dirty plates, what do you do to them? You clean them. Clean them." He said it once again for emphasis. "I'm giving you this job personally. Scrub her down, and find her some new clothes. Nothing fancy, servants dress. And burn what she's wearing now." Mary gave him a questioning look and, as if reading her mind, he said, "Yes, I'm serious. Burn it." That wasn't the part Mary was finding unusual.<br><br>Mary opened her mouth, but as if fearing asking more at this point would cause him to retract what he had already given her, closed it again. Then he stood up and walked over to a basin of water and washed his hands, obviously finding the grime utterly disgusting. He looked over at a rather fancy mechanical clock. Mechanical clocks had been around for a long time but were a sign of wealth, and furthermore, this one, with minutes and seconds hands, was a relatively new invention. Still, it was catching on very quickly. All the same, he looked at it and said, "This is cutting into my reading time."<br><br>Mary nodded and said, "Don't worry, she won't tell anyone either." It was a gentle reminder that talking openly about reading wasn't completely acceptable. He seemed to be only slightly embarrassed and nodded, thinking no one would believe the pauper anyway. He walked away towards the door, opening it. Just before he disappeared through it, he said, "What's a matter, girl? You're half dead so I can forgive no bow or curtsy, but no thanks, no introduction?" He shook his head and with that closed the door.<br><br>Mary put a hand on the girls shoulder, the grime seemed to bother her less. She said, "Don't mind him. He's noble born and all that, never been out in the streets like you. He's a decent enough sort, though. What's your name, dear? I'm Mary Whitechapel. Why'd James find you out in the road? Do you have any family?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>08-08-2009, 00:56:42</strong>
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				Disbelieving, Flora watched the cook follow her master's instructions and kiss him on the mouth. Just like that! A cook, kissing her master in front of a beggar girl. Never would she have thought servants would dare this, or that masters might allow for it without as much as a reprimand, no matter how lovely the cook might be. <br><br>The girl's eyes darted this way and that, incredulous and deeply impressed. They never darted towards the master, the tall man with his proud, sharp features was too intimidating to take such a liberty, not unless he was looking away from her. When the two returned to her side, she felt cornered, knowing herself helpless in this state, and hating it. It was dangerous to be weak, unable to defend herself or run. <br><br>When he reached out, she almost pulled away, both from fear and a strong sense of shame, deeming his touching her matted hair utterly inappropriate. Why would he want to touch it, why come so near, feel her skirt? She very obviously disgusted him, and rightfully so. Masters just should not be in the kitchen, it was below their station. But to touch a ragged pauper? Unheard of. Throughout his inspection, her eyes had been cast down, her expression tense and fearful, but she had not moved. Only her face had twitched when he had lifted her hair, the brutal pulling it had suffered earlier had left its roots painfully sensitive. <br><br>Never had anyone payed such attention to her appearance. She would have been glad if he had treated her as if she was not there, as other people of his station would. Her face grew hot and she could hardly follow their talking back and forth. Of course, she did not want to be turned out of the house, she did not even know where she was, and the wind was howling worse than ever. Her thoughts were racing when she understood she would be allowed to stay.<br><br>The rest she could not quite believe. In her numb, confused mind, she tried to find the part she must have misunderstood. Meanwhile, the master had stood up. Now, he was scrubbing his hands, and again she wondered why he had touched her. She would not have done it, if she had such clean hands, if she would smell as good as he did, or even just of food, wood-fire and woman, like the cook.<br><br>The meaning of reading in this household escaped her, why it should not be mentioned. While pondering this, the master's words upon leaving made her start, she looked round at the kind woman, pale now. She had not known she was expected to address him, would have been allowed to, since he had spoken about but never to her, not until then. Someone as low in station as herself, should she have dared utter a word unless he had requested her to do so? <br><br>When the door had closed, the cook surprised her even more. <em>Don't mind him?</em> How could a cook speak like that of her master? Hesitatingly, but encouraged by the woman's friendliness, she replied in a crude language, accented by a strange assortment of Scottish seeming dialects and faulty grammar. "Sorry! A' the toil 'cause of me... Name's Flora... T'was just 'cause ae rogue widnae leave me be is why I's ta'en ae fa... None I'd want stayin' wi'."
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>08-08-2009, 02:29:21</strong>
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				Mary had seen a lot of poor paupers in her day, living in the streets and in homes worse than the streets even. She understood the accent with some difficulty, she wondered why a Scott was here. She said, "It's no problem, really, Flora. I'll probably get out of some harder chores in order to clean you." She smiled and gave her a small pinch, "You're my ticket out of scrubbing down the bathroom or something, think of yourself like that." She wasn't sure what to comment on the rest of her story, about someone trying to do something to her. It was a common enough story, the strong picking on the weak down in the gutter. And she would go back to the gutter soon enough, and that made Mary's heart swell with sympathy. She continued, "There isn't a rogue alive that could do an evil deed in Lord Shropshire's home, believe me, you're safe here."<br><br>Mary looked towards the door and looked around. They were alone, no sounds came from the hall. She brought a chair over near the fire and sat Flora on it. Then she got out a plate, it wasn't a nice one but it was what servants ate off of. Then she brought out some bread and meats and a few other things from the servants store, things that wouldn't be missed. It wasn't a feast but would be better food than a pauper would be used to. She brought out some of the servant's drink as well and placed what she had prepared for her earlier back to be given to other beggars later. Then she added just a small crumb of chocolate, a very expensive rarity the master had procured to pass out on Christmas. She slipped it to Flora and said, "Our little secret. Nobody will notice a few slices gone, or an extra plate to be washed. Lord Shropshire won't miss a few pence either."<br><br>Then she got back to her chores, cleaning things, placing the scraps in a pile for beggars, and other kitchen tasks. Then she got an idea in her head and smiled, glancing over at the pauper. She had a plan. It would both be revenge on Shropshire, a way to possibly get him to spare some more charity for the girl, and a way to reward Shropshire, all at once. She called over while she was cleaning, "Flora... some beggars have something they do to try and earn a few alms... do you have anything like that? Anything you're good at?" Anything she could impress Lord Shropshire with? She wouldn't say it but the girls beauty wasn't something that could be used at the moment. Though she could see potential for the girl to fill out.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>08-08-2009, 04:10:40</strong>
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				Flora flinched slightly at the pinch, not because it hurt, it did not, but because she was not used to any such gestures. She was not very comfortable with being touched. Life for her had been rough, people reaching out for her usually did so to either slap, punch, grab her or shove her aside. Not being touched was the friendliest kind of treatment she had known in a long time. But already, with the master gone, her spirits were on the rise and her strong will and readiness to adjust to any given circumstance were returning. "There'll be mair scrubbin' ma dirt than yon bathroom o'yours's a-needin'. Ae scutterie. 'Tis dirty or deid in t'street."<br><br>She did not comment on the reassuring words. Her eyes followed everything Mary was doing so stealthily, wondering whether she would eat a morsel, too, until she replaced the old plate and cup with the new. "Och, thank ye, Mary. Dinna get yersel' intae trouble ower a beggin' lass!" Her eyes met the woman's, which was enough to tell her the other would have things her way no matter what Flora might say. Seeing how rare a treat bread and meat were for one like her, her worried expression gave way to a smile that soon grew into a grin, revealing straight teeth that looked very white in her grimy face. "I winna e'er forget, Mary, t' kindness o'ye."<br><br>With this token of her gratitude, she began wolfing down the food, putting her strong teeth to good use. She had almost forgotten the encounter with the drunk, her accident, the terrible cold. It was against her nature to linger on misfortunes. Here and now, she was surrounded by all the creature comforts and more than she could even have dreamed of. With a lot of stuffing and shoving all but the strange brown lump disappeared in no time. <br><br>Licking the plate clean, she eyed the small morsel Mary had treated so reverently. What could it be? She was about to sniff it curiously, when Mary spoke again. The grin flashed up again. Right! She could sing for Mary, that was at least a small thing she could offer in return for the cook's generosity. "Aye. Gies ae song ye like, ye shall hae't!"
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>08-08-2009, 05:37:42</strong>
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				When Flora said there'd be more work to do on her than the bathroom, that it would be more difficult and it would be awkward and time consuming. She just smiled and shook her head, turning and scolding her with the brush she was using to scrub. "Well, then, if you're convinced to make yourself a chore, I will say that my lord has ordered me to do it and I would do anything for my lord. You really can't win. I'm going to give you a bath and I'm going to enjoy it." Then she made a small mock-menacing motion with the brush. "And you'll get clean. So I suggest you enjoy it." Even if Flora would be dirty and in the street tomorrow... it was better, in Mary's mind, to know there was something greater. To have memories to keep one going.<br><br>She just shook her head when she said not to get into trouble. She was going to tell her to eat, she got into trouble when she wanted to and that Lord Shropshire had not been so specific as to tell her that she should give Flora scraps. Then Flora grinned and smiled and thanked her and began to eat. She said, "See, there's the right attitude, Flora." She smiled back at her, she had her own reasons for wanting to help out this poor wretched beggar and she wanted the girl to have at least some time in her life where she was taken out of the street.<br><br>She began to wolf down the food, and Mary could see Flora was forgetting her misfortunes as she became entranced in eating. Knowing the streets, it was possible that was the best meal she had ever had, and that thought disheartened Mary. Then she started licking the plate. Mary stifled a laugh, remembering when she had done that as well. She started to sniff the chocolate and then she said she could sing. That was perfect. Mary nodded no, and said, "Later, you'll sing later. Eat that. It's good, and expensive enough you may never get another chance to eat it. Don't worry, Shropshire was going to give parcels of it out to the servants anyway." Mary encouraged Flora. "Then we're off to the bath."
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>08-08-2009, 18:57:10</strong>
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				Flora was none too fond of the prospect of her being scrubbed. It was widely known that exposing one's skin to air or water made weak and opened the body to cholera and other pests. That was how these diseases were spread, people said. Flora was not sure what to think of it. She had seen people fall ill and die who had never washed in their lives. People in this household did bath, apparently, if they looked this handsome and healthy, could bathing really be that dangerous?<br><br>His Lordship wanted her to take a bath. It had pleased the Almighty to make him a noble and herself lowly. Hence, it was her place to do his bidding, whether she liked it or not. She did not like it, she shuddered at the thought. Just when she was feeling warm again, she would have to go into the cold water, then sit around with dripping hair for hours on end. But there was nothing she could do but obey or leave to freeze in the storm. She was filthy and she smelled, she knew it. <br><br>So, she smiled, nodded and followed Mary's request without further protest, even a little curious. Now, she needed to rescue her possessions. She was worried. Would they burn her shawl, too? Her plaid? She needed those to keep warm. New clothes for a beggar, she had never heard of such generosity, but what good would it do her to freeze in them? She folded the shawl and plaid, put them aside and placed on them her few things. <br><br>An old needle. Knitting needles. Two battered looking wooden spoons, a horn comb, a small mug. Her little knife. A small box, in which she kept her most beloved possession, a penny whistle, a low flute, a recorder. A few buttons, and hooks, a flint, some string. "Ye maun spare it a', Mary, or wid ye hae yer beggar deid?" With this, she peeled off her rags and tatters, dropping them at her feet. She fumbled with the bits of string she had used to tie her hair.<br><br>Finally, she stood naked, shivering, with her hair reaching down to her knees, and her teeth chattering again. Uneasily, she stepped out of the heap of rags and rolled them into a tight bundle. She burned it herself, so the good woman did not have to touch it. With her free hand, she parted her grimy hair and pulled it over her shoulders to modestly cover her breasts and crotch. Although her dirty face might have indicated that her skin was of a darker colour, it was indeed very fair and not at all coarse. <br><br>There even was a shapeliness in her frame, a promise of beauty, despite her being far too thin. This was owed mainly to the harmony of her proportions, an overall symmetry, and the straightness of her rather delicate bones. No hard work had ever strengthened and thickened them as she had grown up. Her breasts were small, firm and high, her hips and legs were shaped as a woman's, not a pubescent girl's. There was very little hair on her limbs, it was so fine and light it was hardly visible unless it reflected light. Far down, where her hair had been exposed to less sud, dirt and grime, it looked a fair, maybe a golden colour, with a hint of red dancing in it, here and there.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>08-08-2009, 22:23:43</strong>
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				Mary pulled out a tub and had it filled with water. Water wasn't in short supply at the moment, because they had fire and more snow than they could ever want, so she filled it as much as she could without it splashing over. She also placed it as near to the fire as she dared, not wanting the wood to catch fire but wanting the heat to seep into the water as much as it could. She saw none of the conflict in Flora's mind. Mary was the sort who paid no attention to modern medical wisdom or modern habits. She had her own, she had what her master told her to do, and since the master got the final say, what did it matter if a doctor contradicted him? Better to believe the master right than misinformed.<br><br>Mary took Flora's possessions, the ones she didn't pick up and burn, and placed them on a separate table. Mary was glad Flora had done it herself, she didn't like the feel of the grimy clothes, but she would have gladly put up with it. When she said she might spare her clothes, Mary said, "Lord Shropshire said to get you servants clothes. I'll give you enough of them to make sure you're warm, a new shawl and plaid." She took them and put them in the fire as well. They burned along with the dress, turning the smoke a different color for a bit before most of the grime had burned. <br><br>She looked at the knife, wondering just what the girl used it for. A knife had legitimate uses, but those were rarely what they were used for on the street. Then she put it down, and walked out of the room, returning a bit later. There was a plaid, a shawl, and a servant's dress, as well as a second neatly folded dress. The servant's dress, plaid, and shawl, were old but well taken care of. There were several stitched holes, all of them completely closed. She also had various items for scrubbing and cleaning.<br><br>She let out a small laugh as she used her hair to cover her breasts and crotch, modesty tended to be something that lacked down in the street and the idea of a pauper guarding herself like a gentlewoman was amusing. She did notice the girl had a nice shape, and thought she might fill out well if given the chance to eat, but doubted that chance would ever be offered. She did notice that the hair that had been under the clothing was a different color, blond. Another beauty trademark.<br><br>Mary guided Flora into the water and began with the hair, running the water through it, combing it, running soap through it, until it was it's color, she repeated this with all her hair, even that in her crotch, until it was all clean to her satisfaction. Then she soaped up a brush and ran it all over Flora, scrubbing until the skin was pink and raw and completely clean. Once the process, which took quite some time, was complete, she took Flora out of the now dirty water, and sat her down and began to untangle and comb her hair, getting out all the knots. As she did this, she said, "If you want, I can cut your hair down, and shave the hair off of everywhere else so you'll be less likely to get lice or, if you do, it'll only be on your head."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>09-08-2009, 00:28:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Watching her clothes catch fire made her sad. How often had she wrapped into the shawl and plaid, had even fought hard over the thick woolen plaid, when it had still been a temptation to others, worth stealing. Seeing it smoke, burn and crumble filled her with a sense of loss. Avoiding the sight of flames consuming most of what she had called her own, she turned her eyes on Mary. She briefly wondered why Mary was looking at her knife that long. Surely, she did not think Flora wanted to use it on any of the household? She would have hidden it then, would she not? <br><br>When Mary slipped out, Flora examined the bruises from her fight. Her stomach and sides showed huge, crimson, dark spotted marks. She pressed against them carefully and hissed. "Deil!" Had he not been drunk, or stronger and faster, it would have ended badly for her. As it was, apart from a few other bruises and scratches, she was fine. She looked up as Mary came back, dropping her curtain of hair. When the cook laughed at her, Flora blushed. Sure she must look a sorry sight, but would Mary have done that much better in such a fight?<br><br>"Right, hae yer laugh, I didnae fight'm half bad is a' I say." She muttered, hurt in her pride. That Mary might be laughing for another reason did not occur to her. A woman would cover herself, especially on the street, unless she wanted to have to fight the men off or put her goods on sale. And here? Who was to say who else might come in any time, if even the master of the house had turned up in the kitchen. Allowing Mary to guide her in the water, Flora clenched her teeth against the cold.<br><br>The water running through her hair made it worse. Nonetheless, she was impressed that the cook even wasted god soap on her. So, no sign nor sound of complaint escaped her, until – well, until the woman's hand slipped to where one did not touch any other, ever. "Mary, dinnae! Tak yer hand awa!" She cried out, pushing the cook's hand aside, blushing angrily and turning aside to do that part of the washing herself. After a while, she muttered. "Sorry. But ye maun ken, right, it's whaur ye dinnae touch, ye just – dinnae, e'er!" <br><br>She felt guilty for having almost yelled, so she smiled ruefully at Mary, although still a little upset and rather wary, now, of her hands. She was glad when Mary took the soapy brush, the scrubbing hurt on the scratches and bruises, but the brush kept a save distance between the woman's hands and Flora's fiercely defended skin. The cooks next words almost made her temper flare up again. Her exposed, uncomfortable situation put her on edge. She was friendly, often quiet, as long as she was left well alone. "Nae cuttin' and shavin', please. It's men gie ye crabs. I hae none." Which was true. Not a single tell-tale bruise showed beneath the reddish-golden curls. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>09-08-2009, 03:25:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Mary didn't understand her reaction about a fight or her muttering. She simply shrugged it off. When Flora reacted strongly she pulled back surprised. She blushed and washed the part herself, and said that it was where you didn't touch ever. Mary said, "I'm a woman, you know. I've seen it before. You're quite a squeamish one." Mary had been to a few public baths, and while men were strictly forbidden from the woman's side, the woman had not seemed to care about seeing each other. Some noble wives even had women servants dress them. Then again, Flora might never have been in that sort of situation. She might have always been alone.<br><br>When she turned down her shave, Mary simply said, "Lice get everywhere, Flora. They can live in your clothes and migrate down. But it is your decision." She finished brushing out the hair and put up into a hair style common to the time, with the hair resting on the head instead of hanging down and with a few flourishes. Mary wasn't the best hair dresser but her job was passable. Then she patted down Flora with a towel until she was dry and handed her a chemise, not a French one so technically called a frock, and then handed her the better of the two dresses she had brought. She said, "This isn't the one I'm giving you, it isn't practical, but you need to be presentable."<br><br>Mary let Flora dress herself and then said, "Think of the song you'll sing." Then she took Mary and moved her through the house, down a few hallways, past several people who seemed to take no notice of them, up a flight of stairs, and around a corner until they were at a grand ornate door. Mary looked at Flora and fussed over her, adjusting things here and there until she was satisfied and said, "Curtsy, thank him for what he's done, and sing for him." She didn't elaborate any further and before Flora could ask she opened the door and pushed her in, coming in along with her.<br><br>Inside Shropshire was looking up at the door from a book, he had heard it opening. He looked up, confused for a moment and said, "Who is this, Mary?" He seemed confused, she looked somewhat like the girl in the kitchen but there were differences enough that they seemed different people to him. Mary smiled and said, "Flora." She gave Flora a small squeeze on the shoulder in encourage and then disappeared out the door, closing it behind her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>09-08-2009, 05:16:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>"Tae see insnae tae touch." Stung by the remark that claimed her to be squeamish, she tried to explain herself to Mary. With a gesture that described her whole body, she said. "'Tis ma ain, 'tis a' I hae." Her body was hers alone, the one thing truly belonging to herself. As long as she could help it, nobody would ever touch her unless she wanted it. This was even a stronger motive for covering herself as much as possible than her sense of modesty. No temptation, no invitation would come from her. She knew that for one in her station, it could lead to nothing but trouble.<br><br>"Crabs ye get frae men, frae, och, ye ken...." Flora insisted, just to make sure Mary would leave her hands off her crotch. She would have preferred not to know about crab lice at all, but she had heard her share of talk from the wenches in taverns. She had even seen what they looked like, those small, dark bruises they caused. Only when she was dry and dressed, she began to feel at her ease again, warm and comfortable with her clean body and the fresh clothes. But soon, she grew suspicious about this dress she had to be presentable in. <br><br>She frowned, her eyes questioning Mary who seemed determined not to tell her more. Why dress up to sing for a cook? She already knew what she would sing, a lively, saucy song that would make her laugh. But by now, Mary had taken her arm and was leading her through this magnificent house at which, in passing, Flora could only stare, so splendid was it all. But could this be the way to the servants' quarters? Impossible. Flora grew nervous, beginning to suspect what Mary had in mind, and she protested as they halted in front of an imposing ornate door. "Nay, Mary, dinnae! Please, tak me back doon..."<br><br>But she was pushed into the room. There sat the master, reading. In a haze, she heard Mary answer his inquiry, felt her squeeze her shoulder and leave. Following the cook's instructions, she raised her eyes to the stern man as she sank into a deep curtsy. Hesitatingly, she addressed him in a soft voice, trying to speak more clearly and to use the right words, although she knew not how to speak to one so high above her in station. "Yer Lairdship, I... am most grateful for the kindness bestowed on masel... Mary - she said tae sing for his Lairdship?" No, she did not trust Mary's judgement, she doubted he would want to hear a beggar sing. Mary might get away with such caprice, but certainly not Flora.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>09-08-2009, 05:54:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire watched the girl with curiosity, the name Flora meant nothing to him. Then she deeply curtseyed to him and then she spoke, and he recognized the voice and accent. It was the poor girl that had been brought into his home earlier. She thanked him and said that Mary had told her to sing for him. Lord Shropshire sighed, he guessed Mary's game. She knew that if she got him to sympathize with the girl enough he would become incapable of throwing her out in the storm, that he simply wasn't that cold hearted. She was playing on his kindness and it bugged him, but he had his own ways of getting back at her.<br><br>He took a small chair next to him, more bare than his but it still had a cushion, and pulled it up next to his chair and patted it for her to come and sit down. After she had, he said, "I'm not sure how you paupers are able to keep time, or if you are able to, but it is very soon Christmas. I'll be gone Christmas and Christmas Eve. When I come back your fate will be determined. Until then you will stay with Mary, sleep in her room, and help her perform her chores. You will not receive wages but you will be fed. You will not leave Mary's sight, you will not steal anything, you will not break anything, you will not harm anyone, or so help me I will whip you till you wish you were left on that road, understand?" He hoped he would be gone Christmas and Christmas Eve, the snow might pile up far too high. And what he didn't add was that there would be a celebration of Christmas when he got back for the staff. They would hold prayer on the actual day but delay the merriment until their master returned.<br><br>Lord Shropshire had been facing her, and he returned to his book. He had noticed her form had potential, no doubt part of the reason Mary had chosen the dress. Mary really had no problem using looks as a weapon with him, and apparently that extended to other people's looks as well. He said, "Now, you will never tell another soul of this kindness or I'll get half the beggars in London on my doorstep and that would be a poor way to repay me, Ms. Flora." He turned a page in his book and said, "And if you're any good at singing, I'll hear your song." He expected little except a bit of entertainment, but it was the least he could get in return from her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>09-08-2009, 21:13:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				From his sigh Flora gathered he understood the cook's whim better than herself. She had not risen from her curtsy, but when he patted a chair, there was no misunderstanding his intention, so she rose, moving carefully in the unfamiliar 'presentable' dress. Before she sat down, she curtsied again. She was nervous, this close to a Lord, torn between an urge to read his face and the wish to keep her eyes lowered, her face averted. As he spoke, her eyes came to rest on him attentively, but deeply troubled. <br><br>Nimble, she had always been, fast and enduring, but never strong. She could hardly lift the things a kitchen aid must hold and carry, hour after hour in the heat and fumes. But what would a noble know of such problems. She was at Mary's mercy, could only hope the cook would set her to such chores and tasks as she could handle. So, it was a grave nod she gave. "Yes, yer Lordship." As he turned his eyes to his book, she lowered her gaze and turned slightly, to give him the privacy she felt such an occupation warranted. "I widnae daur displease yer Lordship." <br><br>At his request to hear her sing, she had a song in mind right away. He had mentioned the Christmas season, also, he was reading, which she did not want to render difficult by choosing a song that was demanding much attention of the ear or might stir strong emotions. The Coventry Carol it was to be, a song pleasing to the ear, calm and beautiful, ideal to sing in a low voice as would contribute to the tranquil, contemplative occupation of reading. <br><br>Soon, her voice filled the room, a gentle, unobtrusive presence. Hearing her voice, there could be no doubt of her being a woman, nor of music being her true and natural element. She had a range, a richness and ease that was as unusual as the way in which she seemed to offer her whole self, body and soul, to the song. This particular song did not warrant or show it, but her voice would reach and float between an alto and a high soprano flawlessly. <br><br>A voice like hers was most rare, a generous gift nature had bestowed, along with perfect pitch, an innate understanding of music and its laws, the secrets of its greatest beauty and its harmonies. No tune she would not pick up and improve upon first hearing it, no mood, no feeling she could not express. She did not merely sing, through her, music sprang to life, to open hearts and render hardships and sorrows forgotten. <br><br>Thus singing, her face had a faraway expression, she was lost in the song. Only when it had ended, she noticed the occasional cold drop of water falling onto the bare skin below her nape to run down her spine, tickling. She dared not shift or wipe it away, though, only looked at the noble from the corner of her eyes to see whether he might want her to sing more or leave. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>10-08-2009, 01:35:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire reflected on how polite Flora was, curtseying again and again. And also how nervous she was. But he was more engrossed in his book than the beggar that was sitting next to him. As far as he was concerned he had paid her a kindness and her lowered face and averted eyes kept him from reading her expression. He could not tell if she was happy or sad and he assumed the later, that anyone would be glad to be out of the storm and fed in exchange for a bit of work. When she gave her grave nod and solemn answer, he took it as her either worrying about why he was keeping her and his intentions or her feeling that this was something more serious than she was used to dealing with.<br><br>She promised not to displease him, and that was enough for him. He wasn't sure if he would whip her, but betrayal was something he took poorly. He reflected on this and returned to reading his book, expecting her background noise to be something either fitting the book or an annoyance which he would dismiss. As he turned the page again, she began to sing a Christmas song. It didn't fit the book at all, but he stopped reading to listen.<br><br>It was lovely. He had heard great singers of opera and many aspiring singers who had tried to ply themselves at the courts. She was not the most lovely among those voices, but she was also a pauper from the street. What she had was raw talent, used and experienced, but lacking experience. It was something he had never expected to come out of the street, the gutter. Despite the fact the music was gentle and something he could have read to, he put the book down to simply listen, staring at her the entire time.<br><br>He may have just found a jewel. He would have to call an instructor. Of course, he couldn't do it until the storm passed, but if the instructor agreed with him she could be something. If she filled out well, became a beauty, she could aspire to even more. And, with him as her patron, he would share in all the rich bounty she brought in. His thoughts turned away from the greed of what she could do for him and returned to the girl herself, and he noticed she had a faraway expression.<br><br>He said, "A gift from God." After a moment, he explained, "That voice of yours is a gift from God, I think." He refrained from telling her his plans. It was best not to get her hopes up if she didn't make the mark. He scribbled something down on a loose scrap of paper, and handed it to Flora. He said, "Give that to Mary." He returned to reading and said, "You may leave."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>10-08-2009, 02:43:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Christmas had drawn near and come at last, and the household was brimming with expectations and merriment. So was Flora. No longer did the house and every single inhabitant intimidate her to some degree, she had come to enjoy being looked upon differently. Here, she was not the unwelcome, dirty pauper people would, were it not for her voice, despise entirely. By now, she looked as trim and pleasant as any in the household. She prided herself in keeping her appearance neat and being clean and well groomed, as much as any servant could. <br><br>Mary had been kind, she had not expected the impossible. Flora suspected she might as well have let Flora do no work at all, had the girl herself not insisted on being a help as much a she could. It had not been long until her nimble, sure hands and her eye for beautiful details had made her useful in the kitchen. When there was no such work to do, she would sit and sow or embroider, or mend the servants' clothes, darn socks, polish crystal or table ware until her hands hurt. <br><br>In the evenings, she would often play the flute and sing for the others, unless the master of the house wanted her to sing for him. This was the one place and the one person which still intimidated her almost as much as on her first evening. Once, the lord had even asked her to sing before one of his guests. The man had listened with much attention and asked her to sing this song and that for him, complex songs, challenging ones. All this, she had enjoyed very much, despite the imposing presence of the master. <br><br>All the rest was as light and merry as her life had hardly ever been, not for that long a period of time. To her delight, she had quickly found a way into the hearts of many servants through her singing. There was no song she would not learn and sing or play for them, no occasion when she ever said no, which made her popular among the love-birds as much as the home-sick, the ones who favoured a rough, saucy song that made them laugh as well as those who simply wanted something to brighten up their days or give rhythm to some chore they were doing. She had learned how to take most of them, how to get along. <br><br>She enjoyed herself and the other's company, but hers was a careful, modest way. The attention she had for others and the eagerness with which she learned something new were not the least of the attractions of her company. In one aspect, the difference between her and Mary could not have been greater, though. Nobody was welcome to take any liberties with Flora, nor would she kiss anyone but the good old souls of the household, who had long passed the years where a peck on the cheek might arouse passion or be taken for an invitation. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>10-08-2009, 03:35:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It was Christmas Eve and the snow was piled outside, covering the windows and making the roads all but impassable. The master was still in the home, as were all the servants. The gate was no longer guarded, no thief would dare raid the outlying houses in this weather. And even if the guards had been left there, the corpses from the frost could have alerted nobody. And even if they could, nobody could have made it. So they were all in the main house, and the animals were kept in the basement or attached stables so as to be kept warm and near the house.<br><br>Christmas day had its own tradition in Lord Shropshire's house, an effect of the fact Christmas had been underground under Oliver Cromwell who had had it outright banned. So, each house had their traditions drift slowly apart from each other. The Lord Shropshire had kept the traditions that were not quite normal, though none were extremely unusual. A simple prayer session took place in the morning, there was no priest since one could not reach them. No meals were served during the day but the house was decorated, only on the inside this year.<br><br>Unusually for a noble, the master gave his servants gifts. Though masters often gave their servants gifts of money, Lord Shropshire gave them actual objects. And the servants, in turn, had, over the years, started a tradition of giving gifts in return, even if they were not as grand as what he could give them. They came up, gave him a slight bow, and he bestowed his gifts. The servant then asked him to accept this small token of appreciation, whatever the gift was. <br><br>As much as the servants loved their gifts, they wanted it to end. None had eaten all day and they were eager for the feast which Mary had been working on all day, and much of the day before. She was second to last. He gave her a new dress, some other baubles, and in turn she gave the sexiest rendition of asking him to accept the small token of appreciation, ending up in his lap and giving him a long kiss on the cheek. Then she giggled and handed him a small colored box and got off. A few groans could be heard from the group at her immodesty.<br><br>The last one of the day was Flora. Lord Shropshire waited for her to approach, to curtsy and the he said, "Flora. For you I have a new set of clothing, a few pretty baubles, and some womanly items to match your new figure. I also have another gift. I offer you a deal: From this day forward, you shall receive instruction in the arts of singing, in the arts of music, and of being a lady. In exchange, you will accept me as your patron and defer to my authority over you. I expect you to always be loyal to me. No matter how high you climb, never forget where you came from and who lifted you to your present station. " He looked down at her, waiting for her answer. And for her gift in return.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>10-08-2009, 05:11:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The frost beleaguered the house and held nature firmly in his grip. People claimed they had seen birds fall from the branches of the trees, frozen. But in the mansion, the cold was hardly felt, nor was the darkness allowed to linger in many places. Lamps had been lit, bright fires in almost every room and even candles in some, smelling heavenly of beeswax. Mistletoe adorned some places, to Mary's delight, and many garlands of ivy and holly. <br><br>From the kitchen, all day the smell of Mary's cooking had risen and tormented the poor souls less accustomed to fasting. Some empty stomachs' loud growls had already caused giggles among the silly girls during the morning service. Flora did not mind the fasting, her cheeks were glowing, her eyes bright, the atmosphere of festivity and the excitement of the others, the many preparations, it all had left her no time or thought to even notice her growing hunger.<br><br>She followed the customary exchange of gifts with more attention and fascination than any of the others. In a crowd of the younger girls, all of them whispering eagerly, showing their presents, she still would almost have missed her turn to approach the master. Hastily, she disentangled herself from the group and walked over to curtsy before the Lord. The familiar unease befell her the moment she felt his cool gaze on herself and had to look up into his stern face. <br><br>All her faults seemed to dart into her mind whenever she felt his attention on her, joined by an echo of the deep disgust he had shown the first time he had seen her. Suddenly, she felt half as neat and trim, was worried the girls might have untidied her hair, uncomfortably aware of her dress, his gift, having become too tight in some places over the past weeks. She swallowed and listened to his level voice, her eyes growing first incredulous, then almost scared.<br><br>A gift of such magnitude, such weight, it was the obligation and chance of a lifetime. Not ambition was what caught her, not the prospect of rising high in the eyes of others, not even the possibility of living in what to her was unimaginable luxury, but the music. Oh, the music, to have a singing master, an instructor to teach her! Hers would be a life away from poverty and dirt, from the daily misery, but also from the freedom and adventures that waited out there. But a life filled with music, dedicated to music, her one true love, could there be a better life, for her? Was it not the least she could do, to show gratitude and loyalty to whoever enabled her to spend her days like that? <br><br>"Yes, your Lordship."<br><br>Her voice was no more than a whisper, would not obey her, and she found no words at all. Her eyes though, still on his, showed that she fully understood and meant to keep her side of the bargain, of that life-long bond of patronage, that she knew her duty to repay him as best she could through loyalty and acting in his interest, to his advantage, especially if she should indeed, one day, climb as high as he seemed to think possible. With a trembling hand, she held out her own little present, placing it in his hand, careful not to touch him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>10-08-2009, 05:37:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire listened to her answer, and all the weight behind it. He found himself believing her. He held out his hands, firm and unwavering underneath her trembling ones, and took her gift. He brought it in front of him and opened his hand. Inside was a small wood carving of a cat, it was all one color but different colors were represented well in the actual patterns on the design. It sat on its hind legs, staring straight at whomever held it with a slightly tilted head and a questioning look. <br><br>It was Abby, the cat that followed him around everywhere. He loved that cat. He made sure to pay attention to all his animals, but there was something about Abby that made him love her the most. Perhaps it was the way she would choose him over the food or toys other animals scampered after, even when it meant she got the worst cut. Or maybe it was the way she would sometimes try to help her master, trying to help him push a door knob even if he didn't need the help, rubbing against his hand. He had picked Abby up off the streets and never regretted it since. <br><br>In fact, the cat emerged from underneath the chair Shropshire was sitting on and sat curiously on the arm chair. Shropshire placed it in front of Abby, who made a motion as if she was going to pounce and then knocked the figurine on its side, looking up at Shropshire for approval. Shropshire placed it upright again, and Abby imitated the pose, then turned to Shropshire and imitated the pose exactly. She still managed to knock over the statue with her back feet, though. Shropshire gave Abby a pet and scratch.<br><br>All this made Shropshire oblivious to the inevitable whisperings among the servants. The common consensus was soon she had been spending too much time around Mary, her dress was too tight, and she had traded her virginity to Shropshire for this reward. Mary was the only one who moved up to her, giving her a hug and saying, "When you're some big whig, remember old Mary, hm? See if you can't send her a sweet or a dress or two? You're going to be great." She smiled genuinely at her. This worsened the rumors around her, but before it really reached a pitch, James rang a bell signaling the feast would begin.<br><br>They all moved into a room with a large table laid out with foods. There was a separate table at the head for Shropshire and the food was first given to him then passed down the table so everyone could take some. There was one seat next to him which was the Server's Seat, the best seat a servant could hope for. The Server handled the food for Lord Shropshire, serving him so he wouldn't have to serve himself, and the Server got second pick at the food. Today it was marked out for Flora.<br><br>As they moved in, a few conversations continued. James said, rather loudly and with a hint of anger, "Well, her food doesn't taste too bad, do it?" He had meant it for his friend, but had gotten a bit angry. All the same, it served as a rebuttal to those who had been, up until this moment, vilifying Mary and her succubus protege, Flora. The whispers continued, but softer. Most everyone agreed Mary was a bad influence, but there were plenty who disbelieved that Flora had done anything more than have an ideal singing voice and that Lord Shropshire was a merciful and great lord.<br><br>As Flora entered the room, Mary pointed out to her a strategically placed piece of mistletoe between Lord Shropshire's place and her own so they were both under it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>10-08-2009, 06:36:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Had Flora heard them slandering her, she would have found it difficult to hold up to her promise never to harm anybody in the master's household. Too strong would have been the temptation to break the peace on earth, even on this holy day. Flora and the others were lucky their words never reached her ear. Nonetheless, she felt the sudden change in their behaviour towards her. She, who had never been envied, except perhaps for a bit of bread or her good old plaid, knew little of the animosity with which an upstart such as she had become in their eyes, was faced.<br><br>But Mary was all over her again all too soon and all too close, as was her habit, forever fond of touching and hugging, no matter how little Flora responded to it. She was not unkind or ungrateful, not ever cold towards this woman, but she usually freed herself quickly, with a smile or a few light pats on the cook's shoulder. That night, though, she was thunderstruck by what had just befallen her, so she only nodded as if in a trance and smiled back rather weakly.<br><br>It was the bell that brought her back from wherever her thoughts had vanished to, and she grinned and shook her head a little at the words that had been so typical for Mary. Following the others into the dining hall, she could not help but hear the angry reprimand James had given his friend. There it was again, the hostility of those who knew a woman had fallen, had given what was to be a husband's, only, away to some man who had not wed her. Even on the street, it was no better. Like a pack of dogs they would sniff out such things and bark about it, half waiting for a chance to tear the one who had broken the rules to pieces.<br><br>Mary, of course, never made a secret of her loose morals, she flaunted them merrily along, right under their noses. Flora wondered whether Mary knew just how much she owed to the master's protection and James' willingness to stand up for her. She hoped Mary would marry James, settle down and be spared the shame, as rumours would eventually die down once the cook was under the bonnet. Flora liked Mary, her good-naturedness and kindness, although she did not at all approve of her endless kissing and touching and her many schemes and plots. <br><br>Like the one she seemed to have set into motion on this evening. Why else would Flora be seated next to the master? Why her, the begging girl, the latest arrival in the household, why not the most trusted, most deserving of the servants, as was the custom? When Mary grinned and pointed, Flora was more than wary. She looked up, saw the mistletoe and could, for the first time ever, have slapped the cook across her silly mouth. How dare she, what an incredible cheek, what insolence! Resolutely, Flora jumped up high and removed the offensive branch, before either the master or any other was underneath it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>10-08-2009, 07:02:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As she jumped up, Lord Shropshire sat down. He looked at it and as she held it, took it from her gently. He stared at it as if it was some foreign object then walked down the table until he was at Mary's place. He knew who had done this without proof. He put it in her ear, the implication was obvious. She was now eternally under the mistletoe. She simply smiled at Shropshire and gave him a wink. He turned and strode back to his seat easily enough. The courses waited for him, he being the master of the house. After he sat back down people went back to chattering, but Flora was isolated up there with Lord Shropshire as the only one for her to talk to.<br><br>Flora was handed the plates and she was expected to serve Lord Shropshire first, putting it onto his plate, then to put it onto her own, then to pass it down to the general population. Lord Shropshire was not ashamed to take the best parts of the food and it was considered Flora's right to take the second best. The meal was large, Mary being a superb cook, despite the fact almost none of what she had started with qualified as fresh. It was a testament to her ingenuity and skill, a delicious meal made from less than prime ingredients. It didn't stop a few people from muttering about her, but it did make a few others defend her.<br><br>Lord Shropshire, after eating a bit, said, "You shall also be getting a new room, you won't have to share Mary's any longer." After a pause, he said, "I really must apologize for Mary. My weakness and indulgence is, in many ways, responsible for her. Were I smart I would take the switch to her or some such thing. However, before you think this entire thing was her affair, I did set it so that you would be the Server. I shall be teaching you how to be a Lady and that means you will be treated like one after tonight, eating with me here and being taught proper manners. And once you are a Lady I shall see to it you have the benefits of one, though, with any luck, you will establish a name as a singer and provide for yourself many times over. I wanted you to ask me any questions you might have tonight. For tomorrow I would tell you you are holding your fork wrongly." His face remained a bit stern despite the humorous slant of his last comment.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>10-08-2009, 08:08:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When the master took the mistletoe from her, Flora curtsied again and stepped aside to let him pass. Had he not taken it, she would have given it to James, so he could put it to good use in his courting. She waited for the lord to take place, then sat down herself, careful, once more, not to touch him, neither above nor beneath the table. She was still a little baffled by the manner in which Mary dared to try to manipulate her own master. When the general chatter could be heard again, Flora felt a pang of regret, she would have loved to sit among the others, laugh with them, join in their merriment.<br><br>She felt helpless and awkward next to the lord, with her utter ignorance of table manners, etiquette, still hardly able to speak more than a few words of proper English as was used in this household. Not so long ago, she had been proud to have learned 'English'. She had grown up with Gaelic and French, the languages her parents had spoken. French had died with her mother. Nothing but the language of the clans had been heard around her for many years. Then, she had learned what turned out to be, once she was in England, a crude hotpot of Scots dialects few understood and most looked down upon. Hence, she was struggling once again to learn the language of the English.<br><br>She was glad she had been asking so many questions before the feast, about the way Christmas was celebrated in this place. She knew what to do with the plate that was offered to her, and carefully chose the best for the master. It was a good thing she had worked in the kitchen, so she knew what to pick for him. For herself, she simply took what lay most convenient, she did not want the others to think she was already acting as if she was in any way better than they were. She smiled after she had tasted the food, Mary would be proud of herself. Flora had already forgiven her the cheek.<br><br>Which was just one more reason why she was surprised when the master not only spoke to her, but first told her she was to have her own room, and then made excuses for Mary, blaming himself for the cook's behaviour. Flora could not help but agree with him, it was in part his indulgence that made the cook this daring, but to find a way to check her without making her unhappy seemed impossible. As soon as Mary's spirit would reach a high again after some punishment, so would her cheek, of this Flora was sure. It simply was her nature, too much so to overcome it. Her answer was low, but came with conviction. "My humble thanks, your Lordship, for this generosity. Your Lordship widnae hurt Mary, she means well and cannae help hersel'."<br><br>She thought in silence about all else he had said, looking at his hand to copy the manner in which he held the fork. Then she bit her lip, looked at him, and once again, her eyes were troubled and very serious. She was worried, very worried by what he had said. She had no doubt she could become successful, very good indeed, as a singer, but a lady, her? "Your Lordship, a lady? How could I become a lady? A lady is born a noble, which I was ne'er. I'm coarse, wee, ignorant and hae ae wicked temper."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>11-08-2009, 01:44:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire simply nodded at her thanks and when Flora defended Mary, Lord Shropshire said, "She can behave herself. She's never once embarrassed me in any public way, though she seems to care little about the other servants knowing what she's like." He paused and ate a bit more before saying, "It is a pity she rejects James. The man would accept her despite it all, and has said as much to her face. But he is not madly in love with her and if she does not return his affections I think he will move on. You cannot blame him, truly, for he has tried more than any man can reasonably be asked." Lord Shropshire, like most nobles, was an incurable gossip. He refused to let his servants gossip about him, but loved all kinds of gossip they could bring him.<br><br>Then she asked about becoming a lady, listing her bad qualities and saying she was not noble born. Lord Shropshire didn't even blink before he began his answer. "You are mistaking a lady and a gentlewoman. A gentlewoman is born to an estate and is also a lady, unless their family fails in that particular. A lady is a woman well schooled in etiquette, in manners, in art, in everything that should be good and proper for a woman as well as those darker arts a woman may need both behind closed doors, behind her enemy's backs, and behind the curtains of a large bed." He took this time to look at her, pleasantly noting the areas her dress was tight in before returning. "In short, a gentlewoman is born while a lady is taught. However, a gentlewoman is more or less guaranteed her place while a lady may end up as just another whore in a high class brothel."<br><br>He took out a napkin and wiped a hand that had gotten slightly dirty, "So, you do not need to be a noble. Your coarseness can be smoothed through education, your ignorance illuminated through the same, your small size means little and you have a very shapely body which will, in the right dress and with the right hair style, turn many heads. As for your temper, I think we shall be able to handle that, and if not, it is not a fatal flaw though it is a serious one. All the same, I have yet to see you lose your temper or receive any report of it."<br><br>He looked her over again, realizing what a lovely lady she was blossoming into, and said, "Don't worry, I think you'll go far." He continued to eat, meanwhile, below, James was talking to a servant not much older than Flora who was laughing hysterically and smiling. Mary didn't seem to take notice. She was chatting with a girl who seemed serious, though Mary didn't seem to take it seriously himself. Meanwhile, a few servants had broke out into a small song on the far end of the table, clanking mugs together. The women were attempting to modestly blush but were having trouble restraining their laughs.<br><br>As this happened, Abby jumped on the table with the figurine of herself in her mouth. She set the figurine down in front of flora and then put it upright, so it was staring towards her. Then she imitated the pose in front of Shropshire. Shropshire sighed and petted Abby before picking her up by the scruff of her neck and putting her on the ground. Then he took a thin plate and poured some milk onto it, which was technically Flora's job, and placed it down with Abby who meowed in thanks and started to lap it up. He said, as if melancholy with his own weakness, "I'm allowing all sorts of bad behavior tonight."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>11-08-2009, 03:21:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"He is a good man. They'll say she's a fool not tae tak him, in her position. But here, she can be ae cook all her life, your Lordship protects her, she needs nae husband, she's free. For James, there'll soon be some tae try their luck. Perhaps 'tis best." Flora looked down the table at James and smiled. Of course she had a soft spot for him, more than for Mary. The man had saved her life, he had picked her up, he had not known her, there had been no gain in it for him. "Without James, I'd be dead." <br><br>It was the plain truth not even James was aware of. In the lord's household, they all thought of the cold as the danger she had been in. She knew better. She had heard the pale eyed man had killed another that night, that it had not been his first, nor his last. They said someone held a hand over him, that he could not be touched. None of his victims ever spoke up, though some had survived, nor had all of them been mere paupers, whores or servants. She had kept her ears open, Flora. The thought of him still chilled her to the bones. He was a fiend. <br><br>She noticed she had not moved or spoken, her fork half-way between the plate and her mouth, and resumed eating, trying to appear calm. She would never speak of it. Every night, she would pray never to see the man again. For the sake of politeness as much as her need for a distraction from the bad feeling the thought gave her, she turned towards the Lord to listen to his explanation. Her face was ashen. When her next question burst forth, her voice was a whisper. She suppressed the urge to cross herself and make a gesture to protect herself from evil. "Dark Arts?" <br><br>Was it true, then? The curse that lay upon her? The predictions the seer had made, that had haunted her all this time, were they all coming true? Flora never allowed herself to betray how deeply superstitious she was. The circumstances of her life had made her even more so. But then, the master's next words cut into her thoughts and through her heart. "A brothel? Would his Lordship mak me ae whore?" Her eyes, very clear and a shade greener now than usual, almost bore into his. Had he used the promise of music to trick her into becoming a whore? Was that his promise, his grand offer, the deal? Teach her manners to do what she might as well have done in the gutter had she but ever sunk that low?<br><br>His next words washed over her, meaningless. A whore was a whore no matter the dress. The food had lost its taste, the feast its brightness, the happy season had come to an end. Life as it was for one like her had her back. Tempted by her love for music, lulled into a false sense of security and making herself believe, for a few brief weeks, that life could be like this, with laughter, warmth, comradely, for her, too, she had walked right into the trap, into the open knife. Fool! She hated herself at this moment. Hated him, too, but not nearly as much, he was just another noble, the same kind as they all were, they would take what they wanted, destroy it and move on. <br><br>"Your Lordship, please forgive my insolence. It... doesnae matter." Mechanically, she ate another bite. Her eyes came to rest on the scene down at the table. It felt as if it was miles away, the laughter, the song. She was no longer one of them. Her thoughts drifted away. She was back in the highlands, hearing the murmur of the seer's voice, felt the sharp, salty wind in her face. It was the cat that brought her attention back to the present. She had never seen such a clever cat in her life. Did she know the figure was representing her? How could she? Her fears had made her so tense already that even Abby made her nervous. <br><br>She wanted to laugh at herself, wipe her irrational suspicions away, look at it with a calm mind, with reason to guide her, but she could not. She watched the lord pour the milk out and feed it to the cat, watched the pink tongue dart out again and again, spraying drops of milk everywhere. At his words, she looked up at him, a small, melancholy smile on her lips. Her eyes, though, said something else besides, something she would not allow to slip out. It was what she felt, had often felt before, but never as acutely. This night, there was nothing else around her she could blame for it, no obvious danger, no misery, no hunger. 'I am scared. I am all alone and I am scared.'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>11-08-2009, 04:37:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire nodded along as she talked about James. He had nefariously bad luck with women, his face had little to compliment it, and in fact would lend itself well to being that of a villain. However, he was not the violent or intriguing sort. He had a love of horses and a gift for riding them, though, which he had picked up in His Majesty's service. He had served well through his years as Shropshire's driver well. But Shropshire owed him nothing like Flora did. When she commented she would have been dead otherwise he said, "Did you thank him properly, then?" He noticed Flora's discomfort but could not quite mark it.<br><br>When she asked dark arts and he saw her discomfort he gave a small laugh and said, "Nothing so dramatic. This is a Christian house I assure you, but the truth of this world is that you must prepare to backstab people and use methods that the moralists might not approve of. " He went back to eating his food and moved from one dish to the next, eating them all politely despite the fact Mary could not possibly be offended by his tastes.<br><br>He felt something but did not notice the subtle change, however, when she spoke those words, questioned if he would make her a whore, and said it didn't matter, he looked at her and noted that everything was wrong. She was mechanical, she looked downcast, and there was a look in her eyes. Lord Shropshire stopped eating for a moment as he stared at her and even Abby sense something was wrong, though she only deemed it important now that her beloved master was perturbed by it as well.<br><br>He, on instinct, grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye. His voice lost a bit of its levelness. "You fail to realize something. I am your Lord and patron now and that carries all the weight of responsibility as being a servant does. You will never be a whore so long as I have the money to support you, and so long as you remain with me. I will always be here for you, I will protect you, I will help you. I ask in return you follow my commands, and work for my benefit, and never betray me. You're not a poor pauper in the street anymore, you have an Earl as your patron. I may die but until that point, provided you keep my faith, you will never be alone, and you need never be scared."<br><br>After a moments pause he let her go, and after turning back to his meal said, "I am sorry for blathering on. No, I will not have you a whore. A whore has no use for her voice and that is what I seek to primarily cultivate. Your insolence is forgiven." Then Abby, who had long since left her milk, jumped up onto Flora's lap and used her hind paws to stand up, pushing her front paws against Flora's chest, and, after shooting a glance at her beloved master, tried to lick at Flora's face as if to say she would be there for Flora too, as long as the master was as well.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>11-08-2009, 06:12:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"No, your Lordship. There hasnae been occasion. Words wid ne'er do. James, he isnae a man o' words, either. I'll find a way..." Her voice trailed off into thoughtful silence as she once more watched the man who had saved her. Should she tell him? He had not seen the man, so he was in no danger. Nobody was, unless she opened her mouth. Nobody here, hopefully. She would not draw the man, here, she knew, but with that fiend around, who was safe? Where did his influence, his protection end? How could she tell, when one of his strengths was that terrified silence, when, the higher up in rank and station, the less likely a surviving victim was to talk of what he had done?<br><br>The master's laugh dispelled her more fanciful fears. No dark arts, no witchcraft or magic, he had meant something completely different. She laughed a little, too. "I understand. It was foolish of mae." She was so lost in this new, this overwhelming position, that she was like one afraid of her own shadow. It was true more literally, even, she was afraid of something that lingered on her, unchangeably, would fall ahead of her or follow her, inseparably. Fate. Was it all true? Or nonsense? How much of her future was written out? <br><br>When he took her hand, unexpectedly, she froze at first, startled. She looked up and met his eyes. As she listened, her expression changed, became searching, her hand relaxed in his, and by the end of the speech, she even returned the pressure. More even than his words, the fact that his voice was not level, but showed some feeling, some urgency, convinced her that he spoke the truth. She knew he meant them, would be true to them. She had seen his kindness, his circumspection, in the way he treated his servants, even his animals. It was her life that had taught her not to trust others, that had caused her to expect the worst. It had made it seem so impossible that something this good could really happen to one like her.<br><br>Yet this man who seemed so cold and stern meant to protect her, more, he had sensed her fear, had reached out to give her a hand to hold on to, literally and in a much deeper sense. "Thank you." Her lower lip trembled a little, as she attempted to smile. Then, remembering who he was, she hastily added. "Your Lordship." She looked down on their hands, fully realising that, for the first time after she had come here, he was touching her. She bit her lip, blushing a little, and looked at him again. This time, her smile carried more conviction. It also was the first time she genuinely smiled at him, not out of politeness, not with the sense of deep intimidation that had stood between them since her arrival. <br><br>His gesture had crossed the distance his rank and her utter lack thereof had created before. She sat in silence, too, until he withdrew his hand. "We must make sure, then, that your Lordship doesnae die, not before me." She said, giving her words a light, playful tone, to help him return to the aloof composure he preferred. She wanted to cheer his mood up, and her own likewise. It did not do to spoil the feast for both of them with her fears. He had more than enough seriousness as it was, too much, maybe, for his own good. Watching him for a moment as he ate and spoke again, she answered. <br><br>"I'll need a lot o' that forgiveness, your Lordship. With that wicked temper and ma ignorance, I'll say mair foolish things ere long, I fears. But not ae one as foolish as that again, I trust." Which was her way, the only she could find, to let him know his words had reached her and she wanted to trust him, did trust him. When Abby leaped onto her lap, stood at her hind legs to lick Flora's chin, she laughed and looked over at him. "Look here, yer Lairdhip, she isnae a' that clever, after a'!" With both hands she gently stroked the cat, a grin on her face. "'Tis Mary got the mistletoe, Abby, ye little fool, not I." <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>11-08-2009, 07:16:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire reflected on what had just happened. He had just reached out to Flora and attempted to reassure her and for a moment their class difference had vanished. He remembered an old philosopher, who had said the souls of Princes and Cobblers were made in the same mold. It appeared the philosopher had been right, he reflected, and for the first time he appreciated her not as a servant, not as a potential source of cash and prestige, but as a woman. That meant appreciating her both as a person, and looking at her and noticing she was filling out nicely and quite attractive in a more personal way.<br><br>When she thanked him he saw her trembling lower lip and her smile, then she quickly added his rank and stared at where she had touched, and realized the sheer oddity of what had just transpired. He didn't regret it, though. As embarrassed as he felt, as unpleasant as this aftermath felt, like he had just broken down, he knew he would have done it again. She blushed, and she smiled at him, a warm genuine smile that made him realize all the smiles he had gotten before were fake. He managed to keep his face in stern composure but it felt wrong to, somehow, despite his need for control, including self control.<br><br>Then she made a playful comment, allowing him to return to his composure. He appreciated it, and thought that if she could do this with anyone he had found quite a catch indeed. He said, "I have no intention of dying, Flora, but few men do. We shall see what God has in store for me, I believe." He began to eat again, trying to take his mind off things. He wanted the meal to be over, he wanted to be away from her, and yet he did not regret seating her here, he would never have dreamed of calling off or not attending the meal. He was conflicted, but not an ounce of it showed on his face. He simply continued to eat in his polite way.<br><br>Then she claimed she would need a lot more forgiveness and he said, "You will find me most forgiving if I believe you are putting forth honest effort and do not violate the few things I cannot forgive. Saying foolish things is something I can forgive, but still a bad habit to be expunged." When she laughed at Abby's antics and said Abby wasn't so clever and that Mary had the mistletoe he said, "Perhaps Abby is more clever than all of us, for she kisses who she pleases and gets away with it. Mary would be jealous, I think."<br><br>Meanwhile, Abby stopped at her words and looked over at her master and got down off of Flora's chest and solely into her lap. Then Abby jumped over to Lord Shropshire's lap and gave Flora a look as if to say that here was a Human that appreciated her and looked away. However, a few moments later it was revealed to be an act and Abby blinked at her slowly a few times, a sign of affection, before burrowing into her masters lap and curling up. Shropshire gently placed her under his chair and if Abby noticed she gave no indication.<br><br>Shortly thereafter, more time having passed than it seemed, desert was being served, also made by Mary. People began to stand up and chatter. Desert was laid out on the table and people served themselves, moving around, and were free to leave any time they wished. A special group of sweets were put upon Lord Shropshire's place for his consumption. Shortly thereafter, everyone received a cup of drinking chocolate, another gift from Lord Shropshire. Many enjoyed it along with their sweets and tarts. When Lord Shropshire got up, everyone took desert standing it seemed, he put his hand on Flora's shoulder, "I would not order it, but I would like it if you stayed up here with me. You may, of course, share in on my table." He took a small cake and bit into it while awaiting her answer.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>11-08-2009, 21:05:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Unaware of his conflicting impulses, Flora sat at her ease, caressing the cat. The nervous tension had left her, she trusted his good intentions now. Abby's whiskers tickled Flora's throat, who giggled softly. She never suspect the effect her appearance have, had never seen herself in a looking glass. She only knew her hair was pretty and her figure no longer so thin it was outright ugly, both pleased her not nearly as much as her being clean and tidy. Her main concern was not to give offense, as she had done for so long. <br><br>"May God protect your Lordship." Simple, honest words. Nothing witty or charming came to her mind, not when he insisted to answer in earnest, would not smile. Stroking the cat with one hand, she ate only with the fork, table manners quite forgotten, although she held the fork correctly now. "I dinnae wish tae disappoint your Lordship." His seriousness was very infectious. It was a good thing he said something more lightheartedly next. <br><br>"Nae cat is mair clever. 'Tis only right Abby should hae her share o' kisses if ae fool like Mary is stealing them whaur she can." With this, she poised her lips, lightly kissed the cat's forehead and watched her settle in her lap. She ran a hand over her decolleté where Abby's fur had tickled her and tucked her dress up that the cat had pulled down with her claws, and brushed cat's hair off the curves of her breasts and dress. "Were ye givin' yer Flora a fur coat for Christmas, Abby?" <br><br>Flora a watched Abby give the master his share of her fur. She waited for her to look back, answering the blinking in kind, smiling. She resumed her meal in silence, savouring the excellent taste and her growing realisation that this night had become the beginning of a new life which might well centre around this very place and its master, for as long as either she or he lived. From now on, she was protected. And music, instructions, all the things she would learn!<br><br>When chocolate was passed round, she smiled at the earl's request. "I'll gladly stay with your Lordship, noo." No more did she long to join the others. His presence, though serious and stern, no longer burdened and oppressed her. Some of her former dread to displease him simply by being there had also left, she began to extend a careful trust towards him. She looked at his dark eyes for a while, which were almost impossible to read, biting her lip again. <br><br>Should she tell him what had happened to her the evening she had come here first, tell him what she knew of the fiend? Would it be useful information for the earl, if only to protect the members of his household the better for the warning? Should she disclose such an ugly story to one like him, tell him of her suspicion as to the rank of this man, dare suspect a noble of such deeds, to the face of an earl? The shame she would suffer, too, speaking to a man, her patron, of what the pale-eyed man did to women, had wanted to do to her. Would he not think ill of her, then, be disgusted again?<br><br>Would he not also take her for a terrible fool, to have lived on the street and still not suspected the man to be any worse than any other common, drunken, angry young man? But was it not the point, this? She was no fool, her instincts were good, she expected the worst in others rather than the best and yet nothing had warned her. If she only could convince the master of this, surely he must see how dangerous a viper that man was, would always be? <br><br>"Your Lordship, could I hae... would your Lordship grant a private audience?" Shy, uncomfortable with asking anything of him when he had been so generous to her already, she had struggled for appropriate terms mostly. Suddenly, hearing Mary's giddy laugh further down the table, she realised with a shock how wrong it might sound, how he might mistake it for a scheme such as the cook would use. She hastened to correct herself, desperately pouring out words. "Not, it neednae be whaur none can see, I dinnae, I... They a' might see, 'tisnae that. Just, it wid be best if none but yer Lairdship did hear what I maun tell, is a'."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>11-08-2009, 23:33:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she wished for God's protection to him, he nodded his head in thanks. Then she said she didn't want to disappoint him and he nodded again, happy for that. He believed she would have a long and prosperous career and that she would benefit him immensely, but now he also wanted to see her succeed. He found himself liking her and he wanted to see her succeed not just because it would benefit him but because he wanted her to succeed. Though his course remained constant his reasons were, in part, shifting.<br><br>She complimented Abby and kissed the cat on the head, before smoothing out what Abby had done to her dress. He smiled at the fur coat comment and contemplated getting Flora one. She would need it eventually. Perhaps he would mark it from Abby, though she would know it could only have been Shropshire who would give it to her. He also appreciated, with a somewhat more base note, how lovely her breasts and lap were as she ran her hands over them. He found himself wondering what compelled him to such thoughts.<br><br>Flora blinked in kind with Abby and seemed to become happier. That also made him happy, and furthermore he was delighted that she chose to stay with the Earl and favored him with another sincere smile. She truly wanted to stay, it was not by threat or fear or respect but that she wanted to be here. It had made the relationship significantly happier, in his mind, to have her treat him so. He wanted respect, not fear.<br><br>Then she bit her lip again and he begun to wonder if that was a nervous habit. She seemed to be mulling something over again in her mind and Shropshire could do nothing but wait for her to mull it over. This impression only furhtered his surprise when she asked him for a private audience. It made him wonder if Mary had had a greater impression on her than she thought or if this was the loose morals of the street. His face twitched slightly in surprise, wanting to go into a frown but forbidden from doing so. All the same, the idea she wanted him made him happy. Again, conflicting feelings.<br><br>Then she corrected herself, she just wanted it to be for his ears only. He moved, trusting she would follow him, into an adjoining room which was empty but decorated. He took her besides a window which was covered in snow. Abby followed them in and jumped up on the sill, looking curiously at both of them. Shropshire glanced at Abby and said, "I believe we can trust Abigal not to give up your secret, so, what is it you wish to tell me?" He liked that she was confiding in him, a sign of trust, and her trust meant something to hi, he realized. It was something he wanted.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 00:42:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The surprise on his face did not escape her, she was glad he did not get angry or comment on her clumsy expressions. Although she was glad and thankful for the readiness with which he granted her request, she also dreaded the task that lay ahead of her, the telling of her own story, of what she had learned from others, of her suspicion that the fiend must be a person of rank.<br><br>She followed him into the adjoining room, to the window, her teeth again kneading her lower lip, while she tried to arrange her thoughts and make up her mind how to best begin this narration. She glanced at the snow, then at Abby, before she looked up at him and tried to smile. "I maun ask your Lordship's patience, I will – I cannae say it right in English, it's – hard on me. It's ugly, what I must tell. I'd rather not tell, e'er. But I couldnae help but think your Lordship should know it a'."<br><br>She took a breath to steady herself and slowly began to reveal the events that had led to her fall into the street, her presence in his household. At the point where the man had attacked her, forced to concentrate on every detail to give the master the best description she could, she was back in&nbsp; the midst of that memory. Her language was soon as bad as it had ever been, Scots rather than English, there were awkward pauses between rushed sequences.<br><br>There was no mistaking the emotions she fought, battling to maintain a semblance of composure. She told of her initial wariness of another struggle that had changed into pure horror when she had seen the altered expression in the man's eyes. She had become very pale, but as she was about to tell what had allowed her to escape, she could not bring herself to mention such a thing in front of a man, a noble lord. She hoped the earl would not ask, told only how the fiend had followed, had stared but not approached as James carried her. The madness in his eyes, the naked fiendish evil.<br><br>Needing the earl to understand this was not a frightened girl's tale of her first attack of that nature, she told him that an attempt like that had always shaken her, but never like this. She then told him how she had heard about the woman that had died that night, died like she would have, died in her place. She described the mutilations and injuries as the paupers who had found her had reported them, that it had not been the first time such a tortured body had been found. She wanted to tell him her terrible suspicion concerning the man's station in life, but could not. <br><br>She raised her eyes, slowly, unable to summon the courage to continue without some reassurance, some sign of the manner in which he had taken what she had disclosed so far. She was afraid of seeing the old, terrible disgust in his face, or simple disbelief. What if the description of that which had gone on among the lowliest of all, had repelled him, set him against her, what if it would influence him to decide her words lacked credibility? So she stood, clearly not finished, not at the&nbsp; crucial point, even, searching his face. "There... is mair tae come?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 03:14:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire nodded as she requested his patience and was glad that she trusted him enough to tell him this thing, whatever it was. She though he should know it so she told him, a good sing, a good start, and the possibility that she would come to trust him more fully in time. He was unphased by her claims it was ugly and that she shouldn't tell it, and simply nodded along since she continued to seem like she would say it anyway.<br><br>He listened to her narrative, hearing of how she had been running from someone and that was why she had fallen into the street. How a man had attacked her, she described it in thorough detail and her language began to slip and pause and rush and he tried his best to make it out, telling her to slow down and repeat things when he couldn't understand them, but he always paid attention.<br><br>She seemed to be getting emotional and his hand slowly went to her arm for comfort. He heard of how she had feared another battle, one of many she had had, but that the look in the man's eyes had seemed different to her. She became pale and he began to feel for her, but she paused as if leaving something out. Then she told him how he had followed her. As curious as Shropshire was he refused to ask just yet.<br><br>Then she went and told him how such attacks had happened before and shaken her but this one seemed particularly bad to her. He simply nodded, knowing that street life was quite hard and that the law was ill enforced at best. He felt it in the way of Highwaymen, but she felt it in flat out attacks. Then she told him how women had been mutilated and raped and killed, though he could only guess at the raped part from her hints. She also managed to tell him, through hints, she would have been the next victim if not for James.<br><br>Then she raised her eyes to look at him. His face was unusually stern and serious but not at all disbelieving or critical. He was obviously weighing something heavily. He looked at her uncertainty as she said there was more to come, and mistook what she was saying, and said, "I have said I will protect you, there is no more of this to come to you. I promise you, you are safe." It was obvious that he believed in the attack from the statement, if nothing else.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 04:37:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She nodded, slowly, frowning, that his face was even more stern now made her uneasy, but his hand was still on her arm in a gesture of support , nor did he appear as if he was angry or simply incredulous. She took confidence in that, as well as in his words, feeling that, even if he should scorn her theory, he would not punish her for uttering it. She calmed down and tried harder to find words he understood and to speak clearly, more slowly. "I think he is o' noble birth. Or rich. Maybe both." She said, very softly, her eyes still on his face. When she continued, her voice was clearly audible, though.<br><br>"He went for other women, too. Wenches. There's one called Maggie, worked in a good brothel, he cut her just like the others, the breasts and her private parts and face and a', only, she got the gag oot and screamed like a pig what's gutted, so they came a' running. He payed 'em off. Had gold on 'im and sent mair t'other day. So, Maggie she says a' the same aboot his looks, the eyes. There's mair whores didnae mak it, too. Of other houses he payed off. It's a' the same things there, the description, what he does, and the eyes.<br><br>But he kills not just us who nobody cares for, he goes after servants, commoners, even killed ae merchant's and a butcher's daughter I know of for sure. The butcher's girl, Rosie Hamilton, they a' think she ran awa, went missing, but old Peet saw it a', and he told me. It's the very man did it, the fiend! Noo, Maggie, the whore, she says he's been talking weirdly aboot others he's assaulted. I think she meant tae say he not always takes a knife to who he ravishes, the better off people's girls he lets live, only, they're a' tae scared o' the shame tae speak.<br><br>He just pretends tae be a poor man. He isnae. He has plenty o' gold to pay whene'er there's trouble. And remember, he bit me lip, he was sae close with his skin. He didnae stink. He smelled good, clean, like yer Lairdship, o' soap and powder, just his clothes were dirty. His nails were shiny, polished, see, a' clean, but he had th' weals and marks o' a swordsman on 'em. If he were a poor man, one o' ours, he'd be deid. The pimps, or the girls' friends, or just a' who want their daughters safe, they'd hae hunted him down in a' the time passing. But nobody e'er sees him, other than when he does it. <br><br>If he isnae oot tae kill, he just isnae there. But how did he get the butcher's and the merchant's daughter, or the others, persons of standing? They trust him. Agree tae meet him. He courts them, charms them, promises something, he gets intae their ain dear parents' houses, and after he assaults them, they' re a' tae scared to tell, for shame o' the disgrace and ill repute. How can he do it a' if he isnae rich or noble, or if there isnae someone protecting him a' the while?"&nbsp; <br><br>Breathless, having this time made a much clearer speech, had even presented her theory and reasoning in an almost passionate voice, urgent, with gestures and as much conviction as she felt. Apparently, once having taken her leap of faith, she was ready to brave whatever reaction the earl might have in store. Now, she looked up at him as if shocked by her own daring, and shrank slightly into herself, bracing herself for his reaction.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 05:07:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora seemed to whisper out that she thought her assailant was of noble birth and wealthy. She seemed scared about this and told him more stories, about how he had cut up a woman called Maggie and then paid the whorehouse to keep quiet about it. And about how Maggie had agreed with her about the eyes of the man. She also said many hadn't survived and many more had been paid off. She then said the man also killed servants, commoners, and the daughter of a merchant and a butcher. That was a more impressive list than most.<br><br>He didn't kill them, apparently, but they were too ashamed to say anything and he guessed he would pay off their families as well, to keep someone from trying to hunt him down. Then she said he was just pretending and that he smelled good and clean and was well groomed. Shropshire's heart jumped a bit when she compared him to the man, wondering if that was the reason she had hesitated. But it wouldn't make sense for her to ask for him alone then. She also said he had the marks of a swordsman on him and if he was anyone else but someone rich and important he would be dead. He noted the fact this man could, apparently, fight.<br><br>Then she told him her theory, that a person of standing could trick his way near to the butcher and merchant's daughter by fake courtship. That was true enough, many a man tried something similar although they were often seducing rather than raping. The entire thing seemed terribly plausible if a noble would do it. However, one day he would run astray of somebody and would be killed. He mused on the thought that somebody might be Flora and he might be the killer, but quickly re-grounded his thoughts in reality.<br><br>She looked up at him, and seemed to shrink into herself. The Earl said, "Do you know English Law? If this man is a noble, he would have the right to be tried in front of the Peers who are not likely to convict him for the murder of commoners unless paid off. Though, perhaps, if he has a patron he will be tried in an ecclesiastical court. It is still more gentle than many of the common courts, but still more likely to convict." He seemed to be mulling the situation over in his mind, not paying much attention to Flora.<br><br>Then he looked over her. He slid the hand on her arm down to her hand and, taking it, moved it up to his lips and kissed it. It was a more intimate counterpart to a handshake, though he had violated protocol somewhat as the woman, in theory, offered her hand. He said, "I thank you for trusting me. But I am the Earl of Shropshire. I am a Peer of England and, in that way, those under my aegis have nothing to fear. I will protect you. And, if it would give you great comfort of mind, I will arm James and have him become your valet. He was a soldier, is a strong man, and I believe you already trust him." That, and the way he looked meant people were unlikely to pick fights.<br><br>Then he looked over her and said, in a softer voice, "You don't need to be afraid any more. I will protect you." Then, after a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss on her lips. Shortly, though, he pulled away, letting go abruptly. He was about to say something, make an excuse, her dress had been tight and he was a man, he had been consumed by pity, and any number of other excuses, but when it came down to it, he had wanted it, so he had taken it. After a moment he turned and strode out of the room, a bit more quickly than usual. Abby, curious, looked at Flora and then at her master, not any more sure of what transpired than he was, and hopped down to follow Shropshire out.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 06:24:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He believed her, he was not angry! Her legs felt weak, all her energy seemed used up. With all the events of the evening taken into consideration, the extreme turn her life had taken, it was no wonder. Flora shook her head, no, she did not know the English law, of course not. She knew all too little of that word up there, forever out of reach. Or maybe not quite out of reach anymore, who could tell what might yet come to pass under the earl's patronage? She listened attentively, having her own thoughts on the situation he described, but she said nothing, seeing him lost in his musings. How could that man ever be convicted if nobody even dared to accuse him? <br><br>She looked up when she felt his gaze on her, startled but not protesting when his hand slipped down her arm to take her hand. When he lifted it, she had no idea what he would do. Her surprise at his kissing her hand was such that she gave a very faint gasp and her mouth stood open all through his renewed assertion that he would keep her safe. That had not been foremost on her mind, she had thought the information might be useful to him, if he found out who the man was. That he might use it as part of the 'dark arts' he had described earlier. <br><br>But that was not foremost on her mind now, the kiss was too impressive a gesture to think of anything this dry and abstract. Nobody had ever kissed her like that. Was this how she would be treated, how she would feel as a lady? This respect, this friendliness, this much protection offered when she was not even scared for herself, her own life? "I - nay, your Lordship, I don't need a valet, I don't feel threatened or afraid here, of that man. I wanted your Lordship tae know o' him, be warned. I thought it might become important, one day?"<br><br>She said no more, held as if in thrall by his eyes, his softened voice, the way he gazed at her. Suddenly, she was nervous again, but it was different now, a shyness and excitement into which something mingled she had never felt before, something that responded to the way he was looking at her. Hardly had she become aware of this, when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on her mouth. Her heart beat fast, every other man she would have pushed away, slapped in the face, or bitten, but not him. She gave in, her body soft against his, not resisting or pulling away. <br><br>He let her go abruptly, looked at her for a moment, as if about to speak. He never did, but turned, left the room unusually fast, and was gone without as much as a greeting or a backwards glance. Abby was not the only one unable to read the situation. Rooted on the spot, Flora watched the cat hop down and run after him. Then she looked out into the dark and the snow, leaning her forehead against the cool window. A little later, an idea struck her. Turning, she gazed up, and there it was, as she had suspected. Green with white berries, the explanation hung right above the spot where she had stood. Mistletoe.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 06:56:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				In the course of history and Human events, it is inevitable that conflicts will arise and, though the vast majority of these conflicts are resolved peacefully, remain unresolved peacefully, are deemed unimportant for any number of reasons, and generally relieve themselves of any form of violent conflict, a minority of these conflicts result in that violent solution so integrally known that it has it's own word, consisting of a single, easy to pronounce syllable: war. The war which Lord Shropshire served as an officer in was the Franco-Dutch War, and he served well, having won several honors and achieved many proud feats.<br><br>However, at the end of two years time, he was discharged and returned to England. As it so happened he arrived at his own home, the home he had not seen for two years but had heard from every time the mail managed to get through to their lines, from everyone from his driver James to his cook Mary to his experiment, though he wouldn't think of her as such, Flora, as well as others. Finally, from time to time, Hope Goodman, his cousin and stewardess of his properties while he was away, sent him status updates and urged him constantly to return home and away from danger. The others urged him as well, as Ms. Goodman was apparently quite stingy and he several times wrote letters several times telling her to release money to various projects. No one, however, could, in good conscience, accuse her of mismanaging or squandering the estates she was entrusted.<br><br>It so happened he arrived late in the day, after everyone had had supper and on a rented carriage. He was wearing a military uniform, complete with medals, and the gateman recognized him for two years had not significantly changed the master's looks, nor had it changed his gait. Indeed, a stern military look fit well into his former person, the main difference was that he now stood more proud and erect, while before he had seemed somewhat more relaxed. He also moved in a different manner, though it was hard to place a finger upon why.<br><br>The gateman opened the gate and he strode inside. A servant saw him and dashed inside, the word of his return travelled fast and soon the windows were crammed with the servants to watch their master's return. The gateman, behind him, lugged along several heavy chests of baggage and people rushed out to help since it meant being a part of the day's gossip and becoming an authority on his return. He walked up to the door and opened it, going inside and looking around, noting the subtle differences and a few glaring ones. Soon the servants followed him in, and began to move the trunks to the master's room which had been studiously maintained.<br><br>The master, Lord Shropshire, then walked straight to his study and shut himself inside, shortly thereafter smoke could be seen from the chimney and many suspected the master had returned to his reading. However, he had never summoned any servants and so none dared to go to him. Meanwhile, Ms. Goodman was out at a social function, and not expected to return for several more hours. So, the house, abuzz with the news, was at an impasse and nobody was sure how the daily gossip would resolve.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 08:21:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Two years had brought many a change to Flora's life. She had grown a few inches, now she was almost of average height. But she was not merely a young woman now, she was as nearly a Lady as she could be in most aspects. According to her own wishes, her life followed a strict routine as long as nobody interfered with it. She rose very early, which was not a lady's way at all, spent the untimely morning hours silently in her room – pretending to sleep, still, while she was studying, writing or reading, then slipped back into bed to let the servants wake her up. She was dressed, had her breakfast and expected her tutors. <br><br>The greater part of the day was then filled with singing lessons, general education, and everything grouped under the category of etiquette. She was a good dancer, a woman appreciated for her conversation and esprit, she had charm, was polite, had excellent manners and much taste. She dressed well, spoke as if she had never had encountered difficulties with the English language. Her French was fluent, the language she thought she had forgotten and which yet had returned from the old days of her childhood within a short time of her being taught it again.<br><br>She liked her tutors and her lessons. In return, her eagerness to learn, her intelligence and talents had made her a favourite among the instructors, who would often linger longer than the appointed hour and sometimes seemed downright jealous of the time during which the other tutors claimed her attention. She kept them all at peace and at bay, which was necessary, because the master was far away and she was a young woman of nineteen who had grown into a remarkable beauty. <br><br>By now, Flora had seen her reflection in many a looking glass and was well aware of her striking looks. But she had never forgotten where she had come from, how low she had sunken before this climb into a life of luxury and beauty, of sparkling conversations and her one great love – music. If Flora had been allowed more of a say in things, a lot of the other lessons would have been dropped over time, she would have been given fewer clothes and less things she had no use for. The money thus saved would have been invested in a supply of candles and paper. <br><br>With this, Flora would have spent all her time outside of her musical lessons on her new grand passion. Composition. Unfortunately, nobody shared her opinion, most seemed convinced that a woman composing music was simply a ridiculous and embarrassing phenomenon. Hence, it was her little secret. She did not want to disobey or cause displeasure, but she simply could not let her hands of it, leave alone her mind. She did what she was expected to with much good will and often it amused her a lot, too. It was not a sacrifice. It merely was not what she really wanted.<br><br>This day, the thing she liked least had broken into her routine late in the evening, right after supper, in the middle of her lute exercises. The whole house was filled with noise, uproar, bustle, running feet, banging doors, chatter, by the sound of it, the whole household stood on its head. And as always, while Ms. Goodman was not at home. The relief of having the strict woman out of the way had increasingly often led to the one or other neglect of duty and propriety during the last months. When yet another door slammed, a girl shrieked and someone bumped a heavy item against the banister, Flora's already tried patience lost against her anger.<br><br>She shot up, carefully placed the lute on a cushion and went to the door, flung it open, stepped out and called into the hall. "Will you be quiet down there? Have you lost your minds to make such a racked? What is all this about? Who trampled all that dirt onto the carpets?" From downstairs, a girl's excited voice answered, as the maid came running up the stairs. "But Miss Flora, he's back, the master's back!"&nbsp; Flora stared at the girl for a moment, the news needed time to sink in. There had been no announcement of his arrival, no mention of his return, not even of a possibility thereof. "His Lordship has returned?"<br><br>"Yes, Miss! In his uniform, and he looked so very handsome and..." Flora made a gesture and the girl fell silent. Flora inquired. "Where is he now?" The girl, with wide eyes and an important air, whispered. "He went straight into his study, Miss." Flora was surprised, it did not sound like him at all, to march in and disappear into his study without allowing his servants to welcome him home and congratulate him on his success and his safe return. "Did he want anything? Did he ask to see Ms Goodman?" The girl blushed slightly and looked away uneasily."Well?" Flora urged. The girl breathed. "We – did not dare disturb..." <br><br>Flora sighed. What a welcome for the earl. The household in upheaval, his cousin not there, and the servants acting as if they knew nothing of what was expected of them, too scared even to ask for his wishes. "Tell Mary to prepare his favourite dishes, ready the bathroom, heat up water. His Lordship has been travelling all day, we must assume, and will probably want some refreshment. You will all return to your chores, and quietly. I will go myself and see whether his Lordship has any wishes or orders at present." With this, a nod and a smile, she dismissed the girl and walked over to the master's study. She collected herself, then knocked softly.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 08:46:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Inside Lord Shropshire had been completely satisfied with his servants not wanting to disturb him. He had, after all, asked nothing of them, so it was only reasonable, to him, they should not do anything for him. While he appreciated anticipation of his wishes he knew it was a risky business at best and faulted no one for not attempting it. He had begun to read, and in a subconscious sort of way he didn't want to make a fuss because acknowledging he had come home would be an acknowledgment he had left and he wasn't too pleased with the fact he had at the moment. He had even started the fire himself, solely for the purpose of avoiding the servants who would inevitably mention his absence.<br><br>He had read through a few chapters of the book, long accustomed to noise which he would never have allowed before, no servant could be louder than a cannon, and looked around, wondering at his own library and finding it more impressive than he had before. He found himself passing some minutes not actually reading but just giving himself to the sensation of the soft chair and the crackling fire, losing his focus. He put the book down eventually, and rubbed his eyes. Then he grasped his stomach and felt the bandages beneath. That was another reminder, the pain being something that had not yet gone away. It wasn't wet, though, he wasn't bleeding, he hadn't broken open the wounds again.<br><br>He looked down and adjusted the medals on his chest, they were more or less all he had to show for two years of his life. Then again, others would talk of the glory he had gained and of the honor and how it had opened doors for him and gotten him promotions of all sorts. They would also talk of the money he had earned and the pensions he had been given for various reasons, but money was not a motivating factor to the Earl who, while not extraordinarily wealthy, had never had to worry about money. It also opened Versailles to him, the French Court would now accept him despite the fact he was English, but he sincerely hoped the King didn't seek to use that to make him an ambassador, he had no desire to live in France.<br><br>Lord Shropshire heard a soft knock on the door. He did not recognize the knock, Ms. Goodman had a quite distinctive one, and he turned to the door. After a moment he said, with just a hint of a begrudging tone, "You may enter." Then, after the door opened and Flora stepped in he looked at her closely. She was taller, more full, and had changed a good deal since he had last seen her. Furthermore she moved in a completely different manner and there was a gentleness and a ladylike quality that had not been there before. He said, half guessing, "... Flora?" She was a great beauty, as James had told him, and Ms. Goodman had said her voice was amazing as well. It appeared she had matured into just what he had wanted her to mature into. Then after a moment he leaned back, abandoning his inspection, and he gestured for her to sit down and said, "What is it that you want?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 09:34:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She recognised that tone of voice at once. Two years ago, it would have made her shrink into herself and tremble. Not anymore. Her only reaction was to rise one fine, arched eyebrow a little before she opened the door. With a smile and considerable grace, she sank into a curtsy. I was not as deep as in the old days, nor did she remain in that position until he would address her again. She knew what was expected of her by now. "The very same, your Lordship, under this plumage worthy of a bird of paradise is nothing but the plain old nightingale." <br><br>Under his inspection, she did not blush in the slightest, but smiled at him and even turned on the spot with a mischievous expression, so he could admire his investment from all sides. When he leaned back and gestured towards the chair, she stepped forwards and sat down. Her eyes, despite her nonchalant, playful manner, rested on the earl with much warmth. "I might answer that I wished to see your Lordship, welcome you Lordship home and inquire whether everything is to your Lordship's satisfaction, but that would be a shameless lie. The sad truth is, I only came to flaunt my pretty dress in front of someone and plague your Lordship on the very first occasion. I need a story to tell, after all."<br><br>She smiled, allowing her eyes to pass over his handsome face, his uniform which indeed became him very well. He cut a more than decent figure in it, more so than most could claim. It felt good to see him again, they had so often feared for his life, had more than once had a false report of his being wounded, missed, dead, once, even. "I took the liberty to tell Mary to prepare your Lordship's favourite dishes, it seemed wisest to give her something to do for your Lordship before she decided to prepare the feast of a lifetime without ever waiting for any orders at all." <br><br>No, Mary had not changed one bit, although, under the influence of Ms. Goodman, she had grudgingly performed her duties in a less flamboyant manner and had tried to apply more restraint to her habits of fondling and kissing everyone walking into her reach. The return of her dear master must appear a veritable liberation to her. Hence, she would be so exultant and jubilant that all kinds of nonsense would rush into her head. "I also ordered water to be heated, in case your Lordship might want it. If not, I shall gladly use up all the hot water myself." <br><br>She winked at him, remembering the first evening she had spent in the kitchen, being scrubbed clean by Mary in cold water. Those days were over. This young lady was used to warm or hot baths with wonderful perfumed salts or soaps in them, baths that would finish with applying the lotion that kept her skin even smoother and added much to the olfactory delight of being in her company. Leaning closer and with a hint of seriousness in her eyes for the first time, she inquired. "Now, is there anything your Lordship really craves, except for undisturbed silence and solitude?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 10:07:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire watched a completely different woman enter the room, sinking into a curtsy but without overdoing it like before and speaking rather eloquently. He also noted, as she opened the door, a small figure darting in. Abby was very happy to see him again. When she said she was a plain old nightingale he said, "Flora, whomever calls you plain is either a jealous rival of a woman or a blind fool of a man." But he continued to sit back, leaning against the chair in just the right manner made the pain feel better. Now that she was here, however, he couldn't put his hand on it like he had before because Flora, not being blind, deaf, nor dumb, would notice something.<br><br>When he looked at her, she turned around, showing herself off for his benefit while grinning. He let out a long breath, but not quite a sigh. Then she said that she might say she was here to welcome him but that she was actually here to flaunt her dress and plague him. He responded, "Ah, so you have acquired all the true characteristics of a lady. You are now an incurable gossip, an ingrate, a show off, a silly foolish creature, and consume money at astonishing rates, I'm sure." He managed to give something resembling a grin this time.<br><br>Meanwhile, Abby had managed to find her way into his lap and was sitting on it after having pushed her paws into it as if trying to soften up his legs to make a better bed. Her claws still remained partially extended, as if she was trying to hold on and make sure he wouldn't leave her again. When she told him what she had ordered Mary to do he said, "I'm sure Mary will find my indulgence preferable to the strictness of Ms. Goodman. She's probably mad with joy at the moment. She's probably kissing things that don't even have mouths." He thought of the image of Mary kissing a pot passionately and let out a stifled laugh.<br><br>Then she said she had ordered water to be heated and said she would use it herself if he did not and winked at him. He almost said they could use it together before reminding himself Flora was not a whore and he was not in the army anymore with it's looser morals. He managed to pass this hiccup without a single revealing twitch on his face. He simply nodded in acknowledgment. Then she leaned forward and he could not help but note the pleasing smell she gave off, a mix of perfume and scented salts and soaps and cremes combined with the smell of a woman, well cleaned. She asked him if he craved.<br><br>He paused on that. He felt dissatisfied, he knew that. He knew at least one thing he wanted was her but denying himself that did not leave him dissatisfied, so it had to be something else but he had no idea what it was. After a moment of indecisiveness he said, "Please, stay. I have heard your lessons are going well, that your voice is greatly improved. Tell me, have you debuted? I intend to set you out as soon as I believe you are ready. Do you have any reason for me to believe you are not?" He attempted to stand in a somewhat habitual motion but halfway through rising the pain kicked in. His face made the faintest trace of a grimace and he fell back down.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 10:55:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora watched as Abby shot inside and towards the master, claiming her share of his attention. It was a miracle she had not tried to scratch her way through the heavy door when she found herself debarred from the study. "Well, it is my own favourite term to describe myself, but I would not dare use it in the presence of a cat, so let us say no more of it." Flora smiled, but her eyes flickered over his figure again, there was something in his posture she did not like, maybe it was simply that he had not bent over to pick up the cat. She did not give her thoughts away or comment on her observation, though.<br><br>Appreciating his attempt at a grin which was far from convincing, and his humourous remark which definitely qualified as amusing, she raised her eyebrows, inclined her head in acknowledgment and smiled merrily."Your Lordship does apply high standards. I shall do my best to live up to such high expectations." A smile lingering in the corners of her mouth. She watched Abby climb into his lap and again, the helping hand to lift the cat up was missing, as it never had before. She joined in his stifled laughter, her own sounding warm and very feminine.<br><br>"Oh, certainly. The whole household will, even the men. Seeing Mary mad with joy might even convince me to enter her kitchen, no matter the dangers. She has displayed such a mood of late, I have felt tempted to kiss her with an inanimate object myself. A pan, for example." She made a small, swinging gesture with her hand that looked utterly elegant and out of place with the image of her holding a pan. Especially when taking her delicate hands and wrists into consideration, it seemed unlikely she could even lift such a cast-iron pan. Nor would she ever slap Mary with anything or refuse to endure either her moods or her kisses. <br><br>There was, when she mentioned the bath, a glint in his eyes, however fleeting, she knew at once for what it was. She wondered who his companion of choice might be, in this very brief moment before he forbid himself to pursue the idea. Quite possibly any woman that was near and not too old or ugly. Ah, these men, they were so much alike, soldiers even more. She forbid herself a knowing smile, transformed it into a more innocent variant and inclined her head. He would let her know his wishes in his own good time. <br><br>She waited as he mulled over her last offer. She had no inclination to plague him, of course, on the contrary. If all was well and he had what he wanted, simply wishing to be left alone, she would leave, tell the others that his lordship was well and make sure he was given all the time he needed to feel as much at home as was possible after two years in the field. "Debuted, without your Lordship? Impossible, what a complete bore that would be. Was not it bad enough your Lordship ran off to be an officer without taking me along in the guise of a drummer boy?" <br><br>She was about to reply to his inquiries after the success of her lessons, when he failed to stand up and sank back into the chair with a grimace. There, she had known it, he was not well, he was injured. And, man through and through, he did not want to admit or show it. This must also be the reason for his unexpected return. She forbid herself to show too much concern or rush to his side to help him, or, it being Flora, more likely demand to see the injury to judge its seriousness herself. She remarked calmly. "I see your Lordship is in pain. Is there anything I could do to make your Lordship more comfortable?" That must do for a compromise. They only just had him back, they could not possibly risk to lose him now, least of all to pride or a show of manfulness.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>12-08-2009, 20:40:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She smiled at his joke and returned it, saying that she should do her best to live up to such expectations. Lord Shropshire said, "Please don't or I shall be ruined, I am sure." He gave her the faintest smile and wanted to pet Abby but he didn't want to cause himself pain. He seemed a bit stiff, of course, but he didn't think it was quite apparent why he was stiff. He continued to sit there, the pain becoming dull rather than sharp because he wasn't moving but still ever present.<br><br>She said the entire household would be glad for his return, which gave Lord Shropshire a small sense of melancholy for it reminded him just how long he had been away. He gave another faint smile as she made an elegant swinging gesture and talked about hitting Mary with a pan. She didn't look strong enough to hold a cast iron pan, and she didn't seem to have changed enough to try something like that. He said, "Yes, well, hopefully things will still get done around here. Ms. Goodman has complained incessantly that my staff is ill-suited to their work."<br><br>When she inclined her head he chose to ignore it, faking ignorance to avoid an uncomfortable answer. Then she said she had no debuted and that it would be boring without him, and that she wished she had been dragged along as a drummer boy. He said, "It's well all the same, you are far too shapely to be a boy and those breasts of yours would give themselves poorly to binding, I think. I shall arrange something. You are not a noble, so it will probably be a performance by you followed by a ball but it will serve the same purpose: to put you out on the scene." He wasn't sure how many nobles would attend but he was sure many wealthy commoners would, he knew many to ask as well. "And try not to embarrass me, if your voice soars I gain praise but if it fails then not only do I gain scorn but it will become a stain that I attended such an event."<br><br>After a moment, he added, "I believe you will exceed expectations and that you will do well, of course." Then she calmly remarked that he was in pain and asked if there was anything she could do to make him more comfortable. He was grateful for the slant it took, allowing him to ask for aid without damaging any sense of pride he held. After a moment of contemplation, and returning back to his chair, he said, "First you may make me more comfortable by not telling the others. Second, please tell me what it is that allowed you to discern this fact so I may hide it more readily in the future. Finally, should it not be below a lady of your station, I would ask that you assist me in the ways a wounded man may need to be assisted since it is apparent that I cannot conceal this fact from you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 02:00:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Ruin your Lordship? I cannot allow for that, whatever would become of me? Henceforth, I shall waste your Lordship's wealth economically." He sat stiffly, unmoving, yet his eye wandered to the cat again. Flora could have sworn he wanted to pet Abby. She saw his tiredness and the strain on him, the touch of melancholia. She knew one could not expect to see a man who had come home after two years of war to be unchanged, unscarred. The horrors he must have witnessed, lived through, who could tell what shadows it had cast on him? <br><br>"All is well both here and on your estates, your Lordship. With your Lordship's return, things will become even better. Your Lordship's subjects love and admire their master, no other could replace your Lordship in their hearts." She spoke gently, reassuringly, altogether avoiding mention of Ms. Goodman, who, in her opinion, would complain incessantly no matter what about. Flora was curious whether the earl's cousin had written tirades about herself, too, her conduct, the money wasted on her instructions.<br><br>Normally, she would have made a playful inquiry, but she resisted. The earl seemed tired, making an effort on her behalf, trying to be amusing and uphold a light, pleasant conversation he was not in the mood for. At his open and ungentlemanly comment on her breasts she looked down at them, then back at him, shaking her head and chided him in jest. "Must I remind your Lordship that, however prominent the beauties nature has bestowed on this particular part of a lady's physique, a gentleman is supposed never to mention them to a lady unless they inspires him to recite a fashionable poem?"<br><br>She listened to his plans, his expectations and his remark that she should try not to embarrass him, followed by his afterthought that he was convinced she would do well. How charming. "My tutors inform me that your Lordship has not invested his money in vain. Be that as it may, even my most abysmal public embarrassment could never ruin your Lordship's reputation. Your Lordship need only declare it a human experiment and write a treatise. Those are so much en vogue nowadays, a disquisition on 'The Girl from the Gutter' would unfailingly become a great success." She said with the same light, nonchalant air she had shown earlier.<br><br>Pleased she had apparently found the right tone and manner to address the subject of his being in pain, Flora nodded gravely. "Your Lordship did not bend to pick up Tabby. There were other signs of your Lordship's avoiding to move, also, your Lordship grimaced in pain. Someone less familiar with your Lordship's habits and postures would not notice. Yet, among paupers, any injury is an open invitation to whoever means ill, which makes most of them masters both of the concealment as of the detection of injuries and weaknesses. I will gladly assist your Lordship, I can tend to wounds. Should it be your Lordship's wish, I will help hide the existence of the injury. However, I beg your Lordship will consider to send for the Jew should I find the wound too grave to be left solely to my care."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 03:43:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire actually gave a small smile at her joked about wasting his money economically. The smile faded soon enough, however, and he listened to her report on his estates. Her voice, gentle and reassuring, covered the nature of the report which actually told him little. Ms. Goodman would tell him more later, he was sure. She would tell him everything that had been done wrong in two years and every little complaint she had, but she was conservative with money and unambitious when it came to risking his estate in order to gain further wealth. It was why he had chosen her, along with her status as a lady of quality.<br><br>Perhaps, he mused, Flora could be trusted to care for his estates if he ever left again. When she chided him on mentioning her breasts he said, "I have been in court, Flora, and I must say that I have seen ministers fondling women of quality in broad daylight as they giggle. The country is going through a libertine period, and while it may not be the most seemly thing remember that the Puritans are trying to ban dancing. I believe my polite mention would be overlooked by King Charles himself. And I had thought, Flora, we had a relationship beyond that of a gentleman and a lady." After a moment's pause he said, "To make amends, here's the fashionable poem of the day at court, though sadly it lacks any mention of lovely women."<br><br>He paused a moment and then recited, "'God bless our good and gracious king, whose promise none relies on; Who never said a foolish thing, nor ever did a wise one.' The King retorted that the poem was true, his words were his own, his actions were those of his ministers." Lord Shropshire leaned back in his chair and sighed, the country was in something of a mess at the moment. Flora may not have heard of it, it wouldn't have affected her, after all, but it had been unpleasant for him.<br><br>She assured him that she was a good singer and that her embarrassment would not ruin him&nbsp; because he could pass it off as an experiment. It was, to some degree, a truth, however, he focused in on a particular thread of what she had said and replied to her, "You do know, of course, Flora, that you are not just an investment, not just an experiment, correct? You are Flora, not this 'Girl from the Gutter' and even if you should abysmally fail and be forever shamed and incapable of advancing in society I will keep you on in my household. As a servant, if nothing else. But, as I said, I believe you will soar and am already planning out your second performance in my head."<br><br>He nodded at her explanation and took note of what he would have to do to avoid revealing it to others. She explained how she had been able to discern it and he said, "It is my wish you hide the extent and existence of the injury. But fear not, for all my pride I will not let that sin kill me. A doctor has treated it and has told me that all I need fear are the wounds re-opening, which will not happen if I do not strain myself, and that I will need to change the bandages. Should the wound prove unusually troublesome and become grave, you will not call Ms Goodman but instead a doctor directly." He picked up on the insulting moniker Flora used for Ms. Goodman.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 04:52:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"O tempora o mores! I admit I am shocked, but I must trust your Lordship's judgement on this as in all other matters. A relationship beyond that of a gentleman and a lady, or beneath, your Lordship? I hope your Lordship's manners need not descend into the gutter to meet me halfway on my rise out of them?" All this she said in her new manner, this fashionable lightness that never seemed to be fully decided whether an utterance might be serious or merely a jest. She had learned to speak like this and it suited her well, it was a facade she had found most convenient in the past two years and of which she was sure she would make even more and better use in years to come.<br><br>The king's comment made her laugh. She threw back her head even, and her eyes were unusually clear and bright. "How fortunate to have a king who not only expects to be admired but is also worthy of the highest praise." As a rule, Flora knew a lot more than others suspected she did. It was in her nature to observe and be attentive to details. She would let the men talk, encourage them to say more by means of attention, flirtation and admiration, and collect whatever information she could gather. Nor did she stop with the men, or any personage of rank, she even had some connections to the paupers. <br><br>Whoever had something of interest in his or her head attracted her, she sought to learn it from them, why else bother to talk to people? The ragged girl she once had been had developed this instinct, this strategy, while the almost-lady Flora could or would not shake it off. "Your Lordship is most generous. Does your Lordship not find me too spoiled already? But your Lordship is right, of course, I am by far too vain and ambitious now to consider failure an option, hence it is safe to assure me it would not be the end of me as entirely as I would deserve." She had leaned towards him again, her words were accompanied by a wry smile that lingered around her full lips and by her lively mimic. <br><br>"I am your Lordship's Flora." She smiled warmly and her eyes were once more softened, as was her tone, but it was a fleeting impression. "The public may know me as the girl from the gutter, what do I care for them? No more than they do for me. Successful or not, I will always be something for them to gape at." When he explained his wishes and what the doctor had said, she nodded slightly, whereas his comment on his own pride made her smile and raise her eyebrows. She was fully satisfied with all that he said until he told her not to call Ms. Goodman. Did he take her for a fool? <br><br>"Of&nbsp; course I will not call Ms. Goodman! She cannot even see blood and would be in hysterics at the mere mention of your&nbsp; Lordship's being injured. I told your Lordship, I would call the Jew. Abraham Rosenthal? Has your Lordship not heard of him? He is brilliant, a genius, and so famous that one says 'call the Jew' instead of 'call the doctor' these days. Not that there is much point anymore in calling him, he has so many noble patients." She explained, then added, smiling contentedly. "But I am sure he would treat your Lordship if I were to send for him." There, finally, was a favour she could do the earl.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 05:26:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire, he was beginning to get back into the more familiar territory of verbal sparring, and said, "I descend nowhere, though I cannot help but wonder if your new found lady status is a descent from the sweet, honest Flora I knew. Though I must admit your speaking is much more pleasing now days. Besides you should hope to descend to beneath me, one day. An Earl is quite a catch for any commoner." He managed to return her tone, though it was more obvious in his case that he was not quite serious. Then he continued, "I would hope you accept we are more than social contacts, which was my intent."<br><br>When she praised the King, he said, "If my mention of your breasts makes you uneasy, you may want to avoid the King. He is a notorious womanizer as are many of his friends. He has at least half a score children and none of them are legitimate. Of course, the mistress of the King is often as powerful as the wife of a lesser man, but it is not for those with tight morals." King Charles, often called the Merry Monarch, was famous for raunchy behavior but even that was outshined by the raunchy behavior of various libertine groups. No, though the King leaned towards the libertines he did not take sides. Though even when he supported the conservative moralists, he never seemed to consider their morals to apply to him.<br><br>When she said he was generous and that she would succeed, leaning towards him and saying she was his Flora. She softened, if only for a moment, and he favored it with a genuine smile. His face returned to its normal state as it left her, though. He said, "You are right, you are my Flora and even if the entire world declares you are the girl from the gutter to me you are my Flora. But, should we have anything to say about, the world will instead praise your voice as a gift from heaven. And, of course, from time to time that praise may reflect well on me."<br><br>When she explained what she had meant about a doctor called Abraham Rosenthal, he said, "I have been on the French and Dutch border for the past two years. I am not up on all the latest fashions and trends, nor all of the sayings. I shall keep him in mind, though I have not heard of Rosenthal, and I thought your comment referred to certain failings in the liberality of Ms. Goodman. It is another thing you can assist me with, I am sure."<br><br>Then, after a moment, he put his hand on his chest and felt around it. It was still dry and after searching around he looked up at her and said, "You know, I could take off shirt and everything would still be covered except for one of my shoulders because of the bandages. It didn't seem that bad, but maybe they needed a complex pattern to keep the bandage in place." He was musing, Lord Shropshire was ignorant of medicine. "Do not worry, I shall make sure everything goes smoothly for you despite the wound. At worst, it will deny us a dance together and I will repay it to you later if you would so wish."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 06:35:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Was I sweet? All I remember as characteristic of me back then is excruciating awkwardness, crude language and painful shyness. I am glad I am rid of all that. If ever your Lordship seeks an honest answer of me, I will give it. This new manner of speaking, like these fancy dresses, is nothing but a means to reach the goal your Lordship has set for me. I put it on and can cast it off at a word...&nbsp; An earl is a catch no commoner may aspire to make, your Lordship. Unless the earl's money is utterly plundered, of course... Your Lordship showed such kindness towards me when I was a poor wrench, how could your Lordship become a mere social contact unless your Lordship wished it so?"<br><br>She smiled, looked at him thoughtfully, saw his interest and ease in such a light conversation grow again. It reassured her. He had to get used to all of this again, feel at home, return, fully, to this life he was meant to lead. She listened to his description of the king. None of it was new to her, of course, the king being such a formidable feast for every gossiper. "Why would I wish to avoid the king? I would feel honoured to meet him. His mistresses are lucky women, all his children become nobles, an argument which quite outweighs moral concerns in the eyes of most." <br><br>Flora shrugged slightly, she had only wanted to tease the earl a little, her lessons had taught her that modesty was out of fashion unless one used it as a thing to play with. It had been a difficult concept at first, but Flora ha soon understood modesty and shyness were not what would protect her in the position she was being prepared for. She had few illusions concerning marriage. She did not expect to marry ever, certainly not whom she wanted, nor was marriage a source of happiness. Whether she would belong to a husband or some other man, what would be the difference? She would have no choice and no right to refuse herself in either case.<br><br>When she saw the rare, genuine smile on his face it touched a side in herself she had come to hide away in some corner. "I have missed you, your Lordship. It is good to see you back. Dangerous, but good. You touch a side in me that is a at odds with this fashionable lady. But without this side, what would be left of your Flora, in the end?" Her words were thoughtful, she had looked at him in what almost was her old, searching, careful way, the honest, startled look she had so often shown in his company two years ago. <br><br>"I would never dare speak ill of your Lordship's cousin. Her management of your Lordship's affairs is excellent. She cannot help not being your Lordship, which is her greatest flaw in people's minds." There went Flora, defending the old dragon, that sour woman who so often had tried her patience. She stifled a sigh and hoped the earl did not intend to keep his cousin nearby and make it Flora's task to increase her popularity among his people. But she had other, more urgent concerns now. "Your Lordship, may I see the bandages, the way they are wrapped? I cannot help but be concerned about your Lordship's wounds. We can worry about the dancing another day. I am forced to hop around with the tutor at least twice a week, anyway."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 07:10:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she described herself as awkward previously and she offered to cast it all off, he shook his head, "It may not occur with you, but for those of us whose lives have not been uninterrupted struggling we often find the past nostalgically sweet and often tend to expunge it of any flaws it has. I must admit I do like this new you better, though at times I will fall short of the verbal spars for in my own home I am used to dealing with people in a way completely without pretension. However, if I should drop pretension and you should show the proper reaction to that, how can I help but show the proper reaction in turn?" He outlined his conflict for her. However, he was more than pleased, it was apparent, with her response though.<br><br>When she said no commoner could aspire to an Earl he said, "That stops few from trying, I dare say." Then she said that she would remain close to him unless he wished otherwise and he simply nodded in acknowledgment as another wave of pain came over him. He couldn't wait for this to go away, even if the worst of it was over. All the same, his nod betrayed the fact that he was in pain but at the same time that he was pleased with her answer.<br><br>When she said she would love to meet the King, he said, "Well, then, I dare say you may one day hope to tempt him. And, should you become a Royal Mistress, titles for your children are too low a goal. You may aspire to one yourself, possibly even higher than an Earldom such as mine. But..." He was going to say it was unlikely but held himself, "We shall see what the future holds, including both the expected and the unexpected."<br><br>Then she seemed to soften and admitted she had missed him as well, in thoughtful way, searching, careful, honest. He said, "Like that. That is the part of the old Flora I liked, though this new Flora has her charms as well." Then he paused a moment and managed to shift, and said, "It is good to see you again, and I missed you as well. I missed many of my servants and friends, but I found my thoughts drifting to you more often than the rest. Luckily for me, fashion was not something I was concerned with at the time. And this side of you, I hope, never goes away, for purely selfish reasons." He looked at her in a softer way than he had before. However, shortly thereafter his face returned to its old look, perhaps even exaggerated, as if trying to make up for affection by replacing it with sternness.<br><br>Then she said she would never speak ill of Ms. Goodman and that she managed his affairs excellently but was not him. He paused a moment, and then decided to tell her without holding anything back. He said, "Ms. Goodman shall be departing for her father's house tomorrow, I believe. It would not be proper for her to stay in this house while I was here, despite the fact she is my cousin she may still be considered a viable match for me. In the future, should I leave and you should not be otherwise engaged, I believe I should like you to be Lady of the house. It will require certain skills which I believe I can instill into you. Not that I intend to leave."<br><br>Then she asked to see the bandages and said she was concerned. He paused for a moment and said, as an order, "Lock the door." After she had done so, ensuring nobody would intrude upon them, he unbuttoned his jacket and took off his shirt. He did not remove them far, leaving them on the same chair he was sitting on so he could put them on soon enough but nothing was left on the upper half of his body. His arms were mostly uncovered, though a large partially healed bruise ran down one of them and a few other small bumps and scrapes. His chest, however, was completely covered with tightly wrapped white bandage. Only one of his shoulders could be seen, as he had said, and it covered almost everything close to that point as well, and even disappeared underneath his pants. The bandages were not the pristine white of new, and a spool of the bandages were with his newly removed clothes for comparison, which he carried in order to change them, but no blood had stained them. He sat there, looking at her and waiting for her reaction.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 08:24:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Even I am tempted at times to paint my humble past in vibrant colours of adventure and independence. Whereas my home..." Here, she interrupted herself. The last two words had carried her too close to a subject she never spoke about. She picked up his words and her self-assured ways in a stride, laughing softly. "It sounds like a complex and intriguing way to converse, crisscrossing the borders of the two extremes. We should announce it an art form, our own private game, this way, it would become legitimate even in this our time." <br><br>She smiled at his words about those who would try to marry an earl. "Yes, the word is full of fools. They are either mercenary, or chase romantic ideas or fornicate with whoever they stumble upon. I cannot understand people who fix their hopes on the impossible. One should keep the nonsense for one's dreams, one gains amusing nights instead of wasting one's days." She watched him closely, seeing more signs of the pain he was in, and liked it not. She wondered how long he had travelled, when the last time might have been when he had seen a doctor, or had rested. "Me? A royal mistress? Dear me, I was not thinking of that. I would just like to see him once – if possible, before his excesses have destroyed his beauty of which there is so much talk."<br><br>She saw his expression change as he spoke of having missed her, saw it soften first, then grow all the more stern to hide what he must perceive as a weakness. "Small wonder your Lordship should have thought of me more often than of the others, I was your Lordship's latest acquisition, after all. I shall pull the old self out of its corner every now and then, if your Lordship likes it that well. We can dust it off together and admire it in all its bony glory." This time, her words and tone served the purpose of pretending she had not noticed what he apparently did not wish her to see. It was a pity he himself seemed to have so little regard for what she liked best in him, that which peeked out at times from underneath. <br><br>Nonetheless, she respected this to keep up a facade, had she not learned to use and value her own? It was with much relief she heard that Ms. Goodman would leave soon. It had been such a tedious effort to keep up a conversation with the earl's cousin. Her endless complaints did not cast the best light on her disposition. For a moment, she wondered what life would become like should the earl marry her. How it would dampen everybody's spirits to not only have her here but to know there was no getting rid of her again. His next words filled her with pride and great interest. "Your Lordship will find me most willing to learn the necessary."<br><br>At his order, she swiftly rose and locked the door, then walked over to him and kept nearby to see if she could be of any assistance to him. She did not offer her help openly, knowing how impatient it could make men if womenfolk fussed. She looked at his bandages, trying to hide the effect it had on her to see him like this, to measure the seriousness of his injury and how close he must have been to death. She stepped closer to inspect the bandages, her eyes squinted, a frown of concentration on her face. She memorised the exact way the bandages were wrapped, calculated their pressure, the number of layers. <br><br>She saw no need to remove or change them already, but she wondered, of course, what might be beneath the bandages. "Would your Lordship describe the wounds that need attendance? What caused them?" She hesitated for a moment, then lifted her eyes to him and spoke her mind, risking to make herself highly unpopular with the proud noble. "I hope your Lordship will forgive my being outspoken, but I would strongly advise your Lordship to allow your Lordship's body to rest, especially if your Lordship has travelled far today. There is nothing that serves the healing process better than relaxation and rest."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 20:33:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she mentioned her home and cut herself off Lord Shropshire gave an interested look but said nothing. He was not willing to press, feeling his weakened state would not enable him to do so as well and furthermore, that he owed her a bit of privacy at the moment. It was something he noted in the back of his mind. When she said that their conversations would be an art form, a private game, he smiled, and said, "And perhaps we shall come to enjoy it more with time.'<br><br>When she said that many would hope for the impossible and that it was a waste of time he gave a nod in agreement, but unfortunately few women, he knew, would take her advice. As good as it was to be sought after, he realized what most of them wanted and also knew that he could never give himself to them. What they wanted was something he had sacrificed to his nobility, he would marry for money and status, and he would have made the sacrifice again and he knew it.<br><br>When she said that she just wanted to see the King, not become a mistress, he said, "He is already quite old, I'm afraid, but apparently quite charming all the same. As for becoming a mistress, by sheer odds it is unlikely but you must realize that what a King looks for in a mistress is charm and wit and beauty, your station matters not. He has drawn them from the ranks of commoners. As for seeing him, it is something to work for, perhaps you will one day give him a performance. If you work hard enough and rise high enough, fast enough." Flora, with her beauty and charm, had good prospects for becoming somebody's mistress. Station was not what one looked for in a mistress because a mistress was not a wife.<br><br>When she said he thought of her because she was his newest acquisition, he nodded his head no, that wasn't the reason, but said nothing. When she said she shall pull out her old self every now and again and admire it, he said, "Perhaps it is more of finding the traits I liked. One thing, for example, is that now you are now a creature of great beauty and two years ago you were a dirty ragged pauper." He remembered he had washed his hands the first time he had touched her, but right now she was probably cleaner than he was.<br><br>When he mentioned that his cousin could marry him one day, he saw a look in her eyes that revealed displeasure and said, "Do not worry, she is not of a proper rank to be interesting nor does she have the charms to lead me astray with love." When she took an interest in what he offered and said she was most willing to learn he gave a small chuckle, "It should be simple enough to learn and, with caution, I should think I could give you some experience while I am still here."<br><br>She looked over his bandages carefully and he didn't like being on display but the care in her eyes softened his dissatisfaction with that. She asked him to describe the wounds and he said, "Gunshots, every one. The surgeon managed to cut out all the bullets, luckily." He pointed to his shoulder, to just above his hip, on the opposite side of his stomach from his hip, and he took two fingers and pointed to his breast just near his heart. He said, "Each of these is a hole... about the size of a pence I'd say? They'll heal well enough. I hear I was lucky. And I have no intention for re-opening them."<br><br>When she gave him advice to rest, he saw it for what it was, caring rather than an insult to his strength and after a moment where he fought down the desire to tell her he was fine, he sighed. He said, "I will try and make myself rest and relax, but as you know, the sort of person I am is in no way conducive to those ends." It was true, he went to the kitchen himself the night he first met Flora while most nobles would have sent servants. After a pause, he said, "So, I believe you, my Flora, shall have to be of some help to that end. Do you think you are up to the task, to another onerous burden, with your lessons and your career as a singer in addition?" The last statement was something of a jest, a small twinkle of humor in his eye.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>13-08-2009, 23:40:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Every game we master has its appeal. I trust that, as we enjoy each other's company, the game will grow on us, your Lordship." She replied with a smile. "The king is still handsome, they say. I pray that if I must be a mistress, it will be to a man who will not force me to give up music. Nulla vita sine musica... I work very hard. Your Lordship will hear complaints about it, they say I neglect everything else over it. Which is true to a degree, although I think I already waste more than enough time on other things." She gave him a rueful smile, shrugged, and her dress slipped another fraction of an inch lower. <br><br>When he mentioned the first time he had seen her, she shuddered. "I will never forget the disgust on your Lordship's face, I thought I would die of shame, that evening in the kitchen! I hope your Lordship will find the one or other trait he can like in me. If not, at least your Lordship had me made pleasing to the eye." She, too, remembered how he had washed his hands, after he had come close and lifted her dirty hair and skirt with utter contempt. That it still had a sting after all this time!<br><br>She was not surprised Ms. Goodman was not tempting, it was too unlikely her temper would improve. She would treat a husband as another tiresome duty. As the earl chuckled in response to her interest, she grinned wryly. "Your Lordship may laugh, but I have heard so much of these affairs from all sides, I feel quite up to the task myself now, and I'm very willing to learn whatever your Lordship might teach me. Your Lordship's trust honours me." She was serious, would not take his request lightly. She knew the weight of such a responsibility.<br><br>She saw him tense and sensed his displeasure at her inspection of his bandages, but when she tried to find what she had done to cause this reaction, she saw his features soften again. Attentively, she watched him point out each single wound and grew pale. "Your Lordship must have had a guardian angel." She said very softly, all her ladylike manners forgotten as she stood before him, fully realising how close he had come to his death. "I am so glad your Lordship is standing here before me. I wish your Lordship would never feel tempted to join another war..." <br><br>The last words she had almost whispered. Now, she saw him struggle, torn between keeping up the appearance of a man who would never show the least weakness, and admitting the truth, which was that he simply felt exhausted, of this she was sure. " I thank your Lordship for being willing to try. I know it is against your Lordship's ways. I am the more grateful for any attempt your Lordship makes." She reached down to pick up his shirt, then held it out so he could slip into it comfortably, and did the same with his jacket. <br><br>"I will gladly keep your Lordship company. Since boredom is what makes a man the most restless, while I do not know whether I can provide enough entertainment for your Lordship to keep still for a while, I am determined to try my best." She smiled as she saw his eyes light up, shook her head as he declared himself a burden and bothersome task. She liked when she could tempt him into abandoning his stern seriousness. Then, biting her lower lip, she thought hard on the best way to make sure he would have the rest he needed without anyone taking notice of it or interrupting at inconvenient times. <br><br>"I have a proposition regarding the concealment of your Lordship's injuries and need for rest. If your Lordship could find the idea agreeable, I would retire with your Lordship to your Lordship's bedchamber. At least half the household believes I have given away my virginity to gain the privileges his Lordship bestowed on me last Christmas, others think your Lordship claimed it after the feast as his due reward, whereas a few insisted your Lordship would only take me to his bed when I had become enough of a Lady to be worthy thereof. <br><br>In my position in this household, hence, my plan would have little effect on my reputation, whereas it would explain your Lordship's unusual preference for the bedchamber. As your Lordship's injuries recover and less time is spent in bed, it would appear a natural decline of interest, as the novelty of taking me and the pressure from the time spent in the fields would only be expected to wear off over time. The whole pretense would allow me to keep your Lordship company, see to the wounds and all your Lordship's needs with discretion."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>14-08-2009, 00:34:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He simply nodded to her comment about the game and when she spoke of the King he said, "I must say that I know what he looks like rather well but I have no idea what a woman find attractive in a man. I am not sure if I could get you to see him, however, but perhaps I shall find a way. The King is not a pretentious man and I believe he may indulge you in the feast you desire of his looks." It was true about his lack of pretensions, one of the King's well liked hobbies was storytelling. It wasn't the most regal thing, but certainly nothing embarrassing.<br><br>When she said that she would be happy as a mistress as long as she could sign, he said, "A puritan, perhaps, might be the one who tries to stop you from signing. And should a puritan ever take a mistress, it will be a great surprise to me. But you must redouble your efforts for your other studies. Your voice is a gift from God, but you must cultivate those things which he did not bless you in. After all, you cannot be refined at the dinner table due to song, nor can you sew by song. But I trust you have learned it all well." She shrugged and her dress slipped down slightly, he followed it down, thinking of what was below for a moment before forcing it out of his mind and returning to her face, all in a split second.<br><br>When she shuddered and recalled that night from her point of view. He said, "Can you blame me? Do you? And if so, will you forgive me?" He didn't really see how he could have been expected to act differently that night, and believed that he had acted with kindness. But he realized she may have seen it differently. Then she said if she had no other traits she was pleasing to the eye, "You have many other traits, but, unfortunately, I&nbsp; have not had time to learn them. I can list, in addition to your beauty, your voice. Both in song and conversation."<br><br>When she responded seriously to his small chuckle he smiled in admiration and said, "You take these matters seriously, a good indicator. I believe my trust is well placed. Remember, while I may honor you, I receive honor in turn when you fulfill and exceed my expectations. And if you take as well to it as you have to your other lessons you may find yourself a good stewardess, though I must say you will neglect it for your singing."<br><br>When she said that he must have had a guardian angel, he said, "God has not ordained me to die under the guns of the Dutch, it seems. Perhaps I have a greater purpose, perhaps it simply behooves Him." Then she began to softly say that she was glad he was here before her and that she wished he would never join another war. He gently reached out both of his hands and brought one of hers to his lips, kissing it softly and saying, "Thank you." And nothing further, feeling it expressed the totality of what he felt in those two, somewhat surprised words.<br><br>When she held up his shirt, he moved slowly and in some pain and let her help him get dressed. When she said she was glad he would at least try, he just nodded. He sat back down, dressed again, buttoning the jacket up while she agreed to keep him company and keep him entertained. She gave hima smile and bit her lower lip. He still rememebered that meant she was nervous.<br><br>Then she offered to stay with him in his bedchamber, sacrificing any claim to her innocence she may have in order to help him. After a moment, he realized that she would give that up in the midst of her career, no doubt, and that he might as well have her help him. When she outlined that the household held her in low regard as to her chastity, he was not surprised. It was almost expected. But it was something he had left her with. He wondered if she would still have it after two years had he been here. Then the enormity of what she had just offered to do for him, from her point of view, hit him.<br><br>She had just offered up her chastity in exchange to let him preserve a small portion of his pride.<br><br>He looked at her with an abnormal affection in his face, which he looked down to hide, and said, "I will ask this thing of you, and hope you shall not hate me for it." Then, after a moment, he looked at her, and said, "Tell me, should I ask your virginity of you, will you hate me for it? When I take it, would you weep for the husband you lose? Or would you be bitter, knowing I cannot marry you? Or would you consider it to be at my disposal? Or even be glad to serve me in that way? Answer truthfully, I shall not begrudge you your answer and I cannot have you hate me, particularly not in secret." Where there was affection now there was also seriousness.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>14-08-2009, 03:53:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Your Lordship does not know what it is women find attractive in men?" Flora laughed, finding it hard to believe. "Oh, it a whim, not worth pursuing. I would like to see Monsieur de Sainte-Colombe ten times as much." Which was the plain truth. Interesting as the king might be, if she were to chose between him and Sainte-Colombe, he could be the most charming, handsome king in the universe and still stand no chance. <br><br>"Oh, no, puritans prefer to do things economically and force themselves on their serving maids instead." She sneered, which looked surprisingly attractive. There showed the wicked temperament she had once spoken of, although it might better be described as passionate. Her next words came with a gesture of resignation, but her eyes were imploring. "But I do all these things, I always did whatever anyone asked me to do, be it a tutor or Ms. Goodman. My tutors have nothing but praise for my achievements in these fields. Can it be so very much to ask that I may be allowed to spend the time scheduled by them for my own leisure with what I love? What makes it so offensive? I do not understand!"<br><br>She sighed and composed herself. His next questions surprised her and she hastened to assure him that she held no secret grudge for his reaction. "Of course I do not blame your Lordship. The memory pains me, the shame I felt for what I was, not your Lordship's natural disgust." When he mentioned the little time he had had to learn of her traits, she thought it was all too true. It might feel different at times, but he hardly knew her. Still, she believed he knew her much better than those who had seen her every day in these two years. " Your Lordship will soon know me better than those who were here all this time. They only know what I allow them see."<br><br>She returned his smile and wrinkled her nose at his idea of her neglecting the duties of a stewardess for her singing. She knew he spoke in jest, the trust he had in her made her happier than any praise of her beauty or even her voice. With every moment she spent with him she felt more gratitude for chance or God to have brought her into the presence of this man. The longer she knew him, the more she had learned about him, his actions, his way of managing his household and estate, the more she felt that he was a rare man, truly noble, not merely by his title.<br><br>When he kissed her hand she remembered the first time he had done it. Her hand had been kissed many times since, but when he did it now, it had an altogether different meaning, it was almost an intimate gesture, carried so much weight. Just as his two simple words expressed more than was apparent. She had to suppress an impulse to pass her hand along his cheek in response to this, had the urge to touch him, as if to ascertain this was real, that he was indeed back, that it was a man standing here, not a ghost. At least she could do the next best thing and help him arrange his uniform, smiling up at him when she was done.<br><br>She had been anxious, afraid he might take her offer as an insult. She was not in the least prepared for his questions, nor for what she saw in his eyes. "I do not hate your Lordship for asking. Yet this is so much, so difficult. I must beg your Lordship's patience. Your Lordship expects an honest answer and I will give it." She paused and bit her lip again in that bad habit of hers. "On the streets, I have seen the ugliness and brutality of fornication. The thought of your Lordship doing this to me scares me, because I fear it might destroy the trust I have in your Lordship." For a second, her eyes strayed up to seek his, then they settled on her hands which she had clasped nervously.<br><br>"Many women hate the acts men demand of them. Eventually, they hate the men for their demands. Your Lordship is the last man I would ever want to hate. It is the act itself that scares me, the fear that I might not like it at all, and that this would perhaps destroy that which is good between us." She took a breath and forced herself to look up at him again. "Yet if there is one man I would want to give it to, it would be your Lordship. Not because I see it as your Lordships rightful claim, but because of the very things I am afraid it might destroy." <br><br>She blushed. She rarely did these days, but speaking this openly, revealing thoughts she had never shared, speaking of these matters, it was most uncomfortable. Yet she wanted to be promised honest. It pained her to admit what she had to say, as it would lead most people to despise her. "I know it is wrong of me, but this is all my concern, not my station, not the sin itself or the shame of giving what I ought to keep for a husband. I know it would not hurt the esteem in which your Lordship is held, nor your Lordship's reputation, which is why not even my own low station worries me." <br><br>She did not spare herself, did not even try to avoid his gaze or avert her face anymore. It made her feel almost as vulnerable and as sure of rejection and disgust as she had felt that night in the kitchen, only that now it was no outward thing which was sure to earn her such a reaction, but herself, her innermost convictions. "All my concerns are selfish, I do not want to be hurt, I do not want to lose that which I value between us, and if I knew there was no such risk, I would not think twice about giving myself to your Lordship. As this is so, I can only trust in your Lordship's judgement, your Lordship's kindness, and hope your Lordship will not despise me for what I said."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>14-08-2009, 04:47:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire did not understand why Flora straightened his uniform after he thanked her for his concern, there were some things he just couldn't understand, but he enjoyed the sensation of her hands through his clothing. He did wince a few times when she strayed close to a wound, though. Soon enough she was done fiddling with his uniform and he nodded a thanks. His medals were now in order, though that was not a huge conern in his mind.<br><br>She reacted much better than he had anticipated, assuring him she did not hate him for asking the question in a sincere voice. When she begged his patience he nodded in acknowledgement that it was surely hers. She said that she was afraid of fornication due to her time on the streets, and his face showed a hint of sadness at what he took as rejection, but she continued. Her eyes strayed up to meet his and he nodded his encouragement, confirming he wanted to hear what she was saying.<br><br>Then she told him she was afraid of the act, afraid it would alienate them, but that if she wanted anyone to have it she wanted him to have it because she liked him. His face melted again into sympathy as she blushed and told him that her only concern was that it would cause her to hate him and that everything else she cared little for. His face showed nothing of hate at this statement, only an intensely interested look as she seemed to reverse her original answer.<br><br>Then she looked at him and told him she was selfish, all her conerns were for herself and her own feelings, and that if she knew it was without risk of hating him she would be his in a second. She said she trusted him and hoped he would not despise her. Lord Shropshire opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and mulled over his thoughts. He was trying to think of just what he could say, just how he could respond. He seemed to be thinking in his face as well, and nothing in his manner concealed his deep consideration.<br><br>Then, he spoke, beginning slowly, "It is... one of the ironies of life that it hurts for virgins. That is to say, when a virgin's maidenhead is broken it can be painful, there can be blood. Now, I,&nbsp; being a man, have no shame in admitting that I have had women before and I must say in all my misadventures the woman always seemed to enjoy herself on the whole. It is my judgement that it will be demanded from you one day, that you sleep with a man, and that I wish for you to share my bed. So, with your assent, I would wish to take from you what belongs to your husband and afterward for you to share my bed again, many times hopefully." He sighed, as if a weight had lifted, and said, "But my judgement is clouded by your lovely visage, my Flora, and my lust for it."<br><br>After a moment, his voice shifted, "There is no way I can perform the deed, however, with my wounds. You will share my bedchamber, and you will tend to my wounds and assist me, as we have agreed upon and you have suggested. At night we will share the same bed but I will not penetrate you and destroy your virginity in that time. Once the wounds have healed, you will not leave my bed chamber but instead serve this second purpose. Until my wounds have healed, however, you may, at any point, tell me you wish your maidenhead protected and I will not touch you. After I have deflowered you, however, you are at my service."<br><br>Though Lord Shropshire had indulged in the readily available sex of the court and the nobility, he had only rarely taken a woman's virginity because it caused the woman such great pain and grief in life. And even then, that was never a woman he cared for. But Flora's would be forfeit anyway, and he supposed he owed her a first time that was loving. Besides, he wanted it, and he knew it. Then he tried to lighten the mood slightly and said, "Speaking of my wounds, it is painful to move, so I have to bring you to me." Then he brought the mood to the same pitch as before.<br><br>He took her hand and used it to move up to her shoulder, slowly, until he had a hold, and pulled her down gently and slowly so her face was near his. Then he kissed her, as passionately as he could without moving too far, and yet remaining gentle on her lips. He enjoyed the taste of her lips and he held it for quite some time. Then he released the kiss and released her and said, "I'm sorry, I needed that. The court can provide many things for a man seeking a woman, but only rarely a loving, passionate kiss. If you do not hate that then, after the initial discomfort, I cannot imagine you hating sex."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>14-08-2009, 06:30:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She had been careful, hardly touching him when she straightened his uniform, but although she avoided the wounds, he winced a few times. Still, he should look as if he had never undressed, she had promised to help him conceal his injury, which meant she would even cover seemingly unnecessary traces. She also did not want someone like Mary to reach out and pat or adjust the uniform or medals for him, it might cause him a lot more pain than her own careful adjusting. <br><br>Throughout her long explanation he had shown no sign of the contempt or anger for which she had been prepared. He had encouraged her to continue, speak her mind openly, had even been sympathetic when she had said what some might deem outrageous. All that showed in his face were interest and thoughtfulness as he was preparing his answer. She only noticed the extreme tension in her body when she began to relax again. <br><br>What he said next proved he deserved her trust, the honesty with which she had answered. His words quieted some of her fears, although she could not tell whether his women had in truth enjoyed what he had done with them, on the whole, as he believed, or whether they had used their talents of beguilement and deception, giving him exactly what he wanted because it would be to their advantage. She had heard enough talk among womenfolk and whores to know it was possible to make a man believe almost anything, especially if the man wanted to believe it, even more so in the bedchamber. <br><br>But it was only too true that eventually some man would demand this act of her. When the earl said he wanted her, hopefully many times, she blushed again, which was idiotic, she thought, since she had suspected as much when he had asked all these questions, had she not? Still, she could not conceal her embarrassment, nor say whether it pleased her that he should feel this way, or whether it made her uneasy and awkward to think of him in this way. Apparently, it was not easy for him to speak of these things, either. His sigh sounded relieved. She felt even more respect for his honesty and fairness when he admitted that his lust clouded his judgement.<br><br>She nodded at his proposition, glad almost he could not take her now, even if he wanted, glad it would by her time to think about it all, grateful that he granted her the right to refuse him, that he made this her choice and decision. Thinking hard, frowning, weighing his words, she looked at him with concern, very serious, then lcleared her dry throat. "Yes, your Lordship, I understand, I thank your Lordship for being this understanding. I... If... Should your Lordship claim my maidenhead, should I not like it, not at all, would... Would your Lordship still expect and order me to always serve his pleasure in that way?" Rare the occasion she had come this close to her former habit of halting, stammering speech.<br><br>She did not know what he meant with his lightly spoken words until he took her hand, then moved to her bare shoulder to pull her towards him. She felt confused, blushed, but did not resist, driven by a strange curiosity and longing, something that seemed to spring from the way he kept looking at her, the intensity of his gaze, the change in his voice. Then his lips touched hers, but it was not at all like the first kiss under the mistletoe, this was a hungry, passionate kiss. She made an involuntary sound, between a surprised gasp and a moan. Her heart beat fast and hard, as if she had been running, yet it felt oddly light. <br><br>All her senses seemed to notice nothing but his touch, his lips. A shiver ran through her. Confused, overwhelmed by this experience, she hardly noticed that her hand had moved, rested lightly on his cheek. The kiss seemed to last very long, but at the same time not nearly long enough, because her breathless body reacted with regret and longing, almost moved towards him. She blinked at him in surprise, her eyes soft, dark, confused. Her lips moved without a sound before she could reply.&nbsp; <br><br>When she did, what she blurted out was the first thought that struck her and it was something very likely to amuse her for the rest of her life should she remember this scene. "I... That is most regrettable, your Lordship. I should think it ought not be difficult to provide." This was not difficult or bad at all, why would not everybody want to do it, with morals at court being this loose? She was perplexed. So perplexed it took took her a while to ponder the lack of such kissing at court, before she even realised he had said these other things. Her answer was simple and short. "Oh..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>14-08-2009, 07:21:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she nodded, accepting, he felt relief in his mind but tried to not let it show in his face. Then she seemed to think, and frown. Then she looked at him seriously and concerned and cleared her through. She thanked him, at which he simply nodded, and then she asked that if he claimed her maidenhead and she didn't like, if she should continue to serve him in this way. She seemed&nbsp; nervous, almost stammering. He gave a pause before his answer and said, "I believe you will enjoy it. Should it be neither pleasing nor painful to you, I would&nbsp; hope you would continue to do it as a service and kindness to me. Should it be something painful and unpleasant, I would ask you do it once more after I take your maidenhead and if you hate it again the second time I shall not demand to penetrate you again."<br><br>As she moved in, blushing as he pulled her but not resisting, he knew he had done something right rather than forced anything upon her. He heard the sound she made, a gasp and a moan, and he could have sworn to have felt her surprise and passion through her lips. When he pulled away, it was regretfully at best, but necessary to breath. He noticed her hand on his cheek and he brought one of his hands up to hold it there for a time.<br><br>She blinked at him and then tried to speak several times before saying that she was surprised that kisses such as this were not everywhere. She said it was not difficult to provide and then ignored the rest of what he said until she said a simple 'oh'. He paused for a moment and then said, "What I just did... it was not substantially different than what I did to you in front of the window on Christmas, but it felt different, did it not? That is not something that can be faked or manufactured, as far as I know. Make no mistake, even as a lover, much of what I value in you lies in that fact and not the shapeliness of your figure. Though, of course, your figure is something I quite admire as well."<br><br>Then Abby, who had managed to make herself unobstrusive on her master's lap, jumped down as if clearing the lap for Flora's presence. She even nudged Flora in the master's direction by giving her gentle headbutts. Lord Shropshire gently guided Flora so she was sitting down in the chair with them. It was a tight fit, but part of the idea was that she would have to press close to him. He put his arm around her hips and held her. For some time, he just held her, enjoying the feeling of her being close.<br><br>He felt the softness of her dress, the warmth of her closeness, he loved the gentle smell of her and realized he probably smelled unwashed to her after traveling all day. It was an interesting reversal of the way they had been two years ago. He wanted to pull her closer but his wounds prevented it, he kept her far enough away that she caused him no pain as he knew her wish would be. He hoped she was comfortable in the chair but they would be leaving soon enough. He realized he had an entire night of this to look forward to.<br><br>Then he spoke, "If you would please, I must be escorted to my room and I believe I shall have an easier time of it if you support me like this while I walk." He realized he was asking a bit, but considering she had volunteered to stay in his room every night and had offered him her virginity, he figured this was the least to ask. Besides he wanted to hold close to her, and this was a great excuse. He mused that, in some ways, he was copying a common tactic of females. But it wasn't a completely false weakness he spoke of.<br><br>That aside, it was just down a hallway to his room. His study was quite close to it on purpose. And the water would be there, waiting for him, as the master had the tendency to bathe in his room. The meal being sent to his room was nothing unusual, either.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>14-08-2009, 09:10:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Your Lordship, thank you." This time it was her who transported a world of meaning with the simple thanks. Her smile carried a little sadness, she regretted that she had had to ask, that she was that wary, that distrustful of the ways men had with women, that not even her trust in his kindness had been sufficient to reassure her. At least she could trust him enough to never doubt he would hold true to his promise. She truly hoped she would like it enough to render him this service, as he called it. But no matter what would come of it, she would not be one of the poor women crying their eyes out almost every day when even to let water became agony because of their pain down there. <br><br>When he reached up to hold her hand against his cheek her confusion settled down. There was calm and a feeling she could not even name, it reached so deep it stirred a sadness in her she had tried to forget all those years. The last time her hand had been held against a man's cheek like this it had been her father's. She recalled his handsome, bearded face, almost saw it before her eyes, so clear was the memory of sun gleaming in his red mane of hair, the loch deep blue behind him, the roughness of his large hand, his bright blue eyes and his laughter. The same feeling of, was it tenderness, happiness, the same trust was here now, yet it was very different all the same. <br><br>She had hardened and guarded herself all those years, to live without this sense of closeness and belonging, without hurting for it, feeling its loss and lack. Was it wise to admit it back into her life? How excruciating would it be to lose it yet again? She could not help feeling what she did, so she did not fight it, overwhelming and strong as it was. She smiled, almost shy, not of him but of her own emotional response, and nodded. She began to understand what he was telling her, thought he must want, in her response, in what she did, the same honesty he valued in her words. What he wanted was nothing the women she had heard talking about the act could have faked giving him. Her smile grew and deepened, had nothing of the artful, coquettish manner she had been taught in the past two years. <br><br>She had forgotten all about Abby until she hopped off her master's lap. She let herself be guided and pushed to sit next to the earl, felt his legs close to hers, his arm around her waist, a hand on her hips. She got lost in this moment, was grateful for the silence which allowed her to collect herself. She wanted to lean into him, but it would cause him pain, so she sat very still. Afraid he might think she did not like sitting there, motionless and quiet as she was, she took his hand and stroked its back lightly with her thumb as she held it. How white and elegant his hand had been that first night. Now it bore the traces of war, and those of a day's travelling through dust and dirty roads. She lifted it, kissed it, then gently rubbed her cheek against it and kissed it again before she released it.<br><br>"Of course, your Lordship. I am good at this. Nobody will ever suspect you need support, I assure you." She said confidently, sure she could still pull off every single trick she had learned in the gutter, where every weakness had to be concealed. She remembered how she had dragged and carried Wee Pip Matheson three whole blocks to safety, with nobody suspecting he was not just tipsy and fondling her, while all the time his blood had been running down her back between them. It was a pity they could not pretend the lord was drunk. But even without that ruse, the earl being able to walk by himself and the study being that close to his bedchamber, it would be facile, even for Flora.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>14-08-2009, 21:48:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire valued her genuine smile, and appreciated her closeness. He loved the feel of her thumb on his hand and how she gave affection to his hand without reserve, without a hint of rejection, with total acceptance. He wished he could embrace her but had no wish to either put himself in pain or re-open his wound and bleed on her. All the same, after she had agreed to assist him he still waited there for a moment, enjoying the closeness of their bodies.&nbsp; He even pulled her more close for a time, and moved her head so it rested on his unwounded shoulder. It wasn't the most comfortable position for either of them, he was sure, but he enjoyed it.<br><br>Then he warned her and stood up, using her for support. He walked, she was just supporting him, to the door and opened it, stepping out and closing it afterward. Abby followed them out, staring at the closeness of the two. As he walked along the hall, still holding her waist and leaning on her from that hold, he moved along as normally as he could.&nbsp; He even stopped to give orders to a servant. Abby, meanwhile, followed them, sometimes darting in front of them, sometimes behind, but careful not to get in their way.<br><br>Soon enough they approached his bedroom which had been maintained exactly how he had left it. He opened the door and Abby dashed in, sitting on a pillow that the servants had tried to pick up and place on the bed, only for Abby to knock it down again and go back to sleep on it. He had Flora help him onto a comfortable couch for two and he sat down, bringing her down along with him. Once he was sitting again he didn't release her waist but his grip loosened as he was no longer leaning on her. He looked around. Near the fire there was water with wisps of steam still coming off it due to it's heat, and next to where he sat there was a table of dishes. Both had been made at Flora's orders and both had been sent here now.<br><br>He looked over the rooms ample and beautiful furnishings, the best and most expensive in the house. But the room had obviously not been lived in for some time even though it had been maintained in the exact state it was when he left. The candles burned and fired roared as darkness began to set in through the windows and he looked around and sighed. He could put his room into order later. He looked at Flora, "You must assist me in taking a bath and then put fresh bandages over my wounds, I am afraid. And then we may eat. Afterward I am sure we may decide what we will do next, even if all we decide is to start our first night of sharing the bed early." He handed her a roll of bandages for her to use, and pointed over to his wardrobe for where to get clothes for him to wear.<br><br>Lord Shropshire then took off his clothes, starting with his jacket and ending with his shoes, and taking off everything in between in the mean time. He managed to do so with no help, though his hand was removed from Flora's hip. As he did so, it occurred to him he might be embarrassing Flora but for a woman who had offered him her virginity such things did not seem to require so much modesty. After he was nude he put his arm around her in the old way and stood up with her, using her to support him until he got to the bath, then removing his bandages, revealing the bullet holes, all closed but not thoroughly so, before tenderly stepping in. He began to lightly scrub himself, unable to do it too hard for fear of the wounds.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>14-08-2009, 23:45:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Amidst this feeling of comfortable closeness, there lingered excitement, a restlessness born out of that confused longing she had felt for the first time when he had kissed her. She had never been this aware of anyone's touch nor of her own body, her skin. The brushing of a strand of hair against her neck, the warmth radiating from the earl, the firm muscles of his leg as it touched hers, his arm around her, his hand on her hip, all this had a sensual quality she had never noticed before. All this seemed to call for her attention and simultaneously lulling her unease with this new intimacy between them. <br><br>When he pulled her closer and leaned her head against his shoulder, she sighed contentedly. She was in no hurry to leave his side, nor was the position uncomfortable, perhaps because she was unusually lithesome and agile. Finally, they stood up, with her supporting the earl's weight, adjusting her posture and movements, once they had reached the door, to appear what they wanted the servants to see in this embrace. Abby, their little guardian, was inseparable from them, shot into the earl's bedchamber and made Flora laugh when she reconquered what she deemed her pillow. <br><br>Sitting on the sofa so the earl could catch his breath and recover form the pain, while he reacquainted himself with his old familiar room, which was luxurious and beautiful and had been kept ready for the master with almost reverent care. Despite the fact that the room had been aired and cleaned with the same regularity as if it was inhabited, it had lost the essence, the soul a room only had owing to the presence of someone living in it. Well, this was about to change again, and they all were glad about it. She looked at the earl when he sighed and nodded, willing to assist him in any way she could. To see him struggle to undress himself without help was almost painful, but she knew his pride demanded the effort. <br><br>Modesty and the earl's request allowed her to busy herself with fetching clothes and to hide these feelings from him by averting her face. She returned to his side to support him to the bath, never looking at his naked body. Not that she had not ever seen nakedness before, or that of a man, but this was a very different situation and the new quality of their fragile relationship together with her respect for his position made it impossibly to look at him. What if she should decide against giving him her virginity, after, all? How incredibly awkward it would be to remember forever what he looked like with no clothes on. She held out her hand for the bundle of used bandages, lent him her shoulder so he could step into the bath and only left his side when he was seated. <br><br>She turned her back towards him to secretly sniff the bandages. She did not want him to notice and feel embarrassed, but she knew her nose was fine and would notice the slightest smell of a wound not healing well. There was nothing, however, that woke her concern and she quickly put the bundle aside and faced him with a smile. "Shall I assist your Lordship? Or wash your Lordship's hair?" She offered, hoping her tone was friendly and yet casual enough for him to stop the painful effort he was making and let her wash whatever he could hardly reach. His bath should be relaxing and comfortable, not a painful exercise. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 00:33:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				While they walked over, Lord Shropshire noticed that she did not look at him and wondered if it was modesty or some imperfection in his figure. With this thought he got into the bath. He noticed that she did something with his bandages but did not concern himself with it overmuch. Instead he focused on getting himself as clean as he could in the water, though he moved gingerly and winced from time to time.<br><br>When she offered to assist him or wash his hair she said it in a friendly casual voice and he realized that that was what she was here for. He held what he was using to scrub himself out to her and waited for her to take it and begin her work. He didn't move much and let her work on him, just laying back and opening his body to her hands. He had already managed to reach certain areas she might not want to touch, so that was no issue, but he didn't tell her so simply because it did not occur to him to tell her.<br><br>He watched her reaction closely, wanting to see just how she looked at him and gauging her reaction. All the same, he was grateful for the chance to relax and enjoy her attentions on himself. When she told him to, he dunked his head in the water and let her deal with his hair. All in all, he cooperated with her in order to get himself clean as quickly and painlessly as possible.<br><br>However, throughout it all, he could not deny that there was a rising attraction from her hands on his naked body and he wished she could give a different kind of attention to what lay between his legs. He began to think that it would take a long time for his wound to heal and then thought that, perhaps they could find different activities to satisfy that would leave her her virginity and not be as strenuous on him. He did not get an erection but he could feel the very beginnings of one and suppressed them ruthlessly, he would be dressed soon enough.<br><br>When she was done scrubbing him, he stood up and let the water fall of him, revealing the various small holes, now closed, that would one day form into small scars but, for now, were more akin to closed wounds. He also revealed the rest of his frame, better muscled after his stint in the army. After the water had stopped falling off of him he stepped out of the water, though still damp, and picked up his bandages. He would have to replace them now, and he began to unravel one before wincing slightly. He looked over at the clothes Flora had brought for him and did not look forward to putting those on either. He looked at Flora for a moment before he continued to prepare the bandage. He considered asking her to do it for him but decided against it in light of his growing arousal.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 02:12:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When he accepted her offer readily, Flora fought to roll up the voluminous sleeves of her dress which would otherwise be a hindrance and get soaked. Her arms looked even more slender underneath the bulge the sleeves now formed under her shoulders, they lacked much of the soft flesh and roundness regarded as beautiful, nor had they any of the popular dimples that came with such sweet plumpness. It was easy to hide this fact under clothes, but now her arms were in plain sight, smooth, well shaped, but not nearly chubby enough. <br><br>She fastened one of the towels around her as an apron, then took the cloth he held out with a smile and began washing him, trying not to betray any shyness or embarrassment. She wanted him to relax, take her help as an implicitness arising from the arrangement they had found to conceal the fact he was injured. She rubbed soap into the cloth and began with his arm, holding it up with one hand so he would not have to raise it by himself, to clean it with the cloth in circling movements from the shoulders down to his fingers. <br><br>She applied just the right pressure, massaging his tired muscles while she washed him. Her movements were sure and smooth, never abrupt, while her hand followed the shape of his muscles. She concentrated fully on her task, but her own movements had a relaxing effect on her, too, as she gave herself over to their rhythm, to the pleasure of feeling his muscles under her hand, focussing on gently kneading and stroking the tension away. When she had finished the first arm, she looked up at the earl with a warm, calm smile before she repeated the same careful treatment on the other. <br><br>She rinsed and soaped the cloth once more for the first leg, gestured for him to rest it on the tub, then bend low to reach his thigh, too. It did not matter that he had not told her which parts she did not need to wash for him. She knew very well what he could reach comfortably and what would cause him difficulties. She had no intention to touch what was indecent to touch, nor would she wash his breast and belly. There, his own hands would be much better use, as he would feel best what pressure he might apply how close to his wounds. But his legs received the same careful attention as had his arms. <br><br>When she began with each thigh, her arms were almost fully in the water and her face close to its surface. Noticing this, she turned and grinned at the earl, thinking how odd and foolish this must look. But then, she concentrated on her task again. It was a very pleasant one, working calmly, the smell of the good soap he used, following his firm muscles, seeing what a fine, strong man he was. When she had cleaned the last of his toes, she put the cloth aside and took a new one, dipped it in the water, soaped it and walked round to wash his back, here, her care were even greater.<br><br>She did not want to cause him pain or discomfort, but she also wanted to release the tension in his shoulders and back. She finished by washing his hair, rubbed and massaged his scalp and rinsed the hair. Then she stood up and walked around, giving him another smile as she removed the improvised apron to dry her arms with it. When he had stepped out of the bath, dripping wet, only to pick up the fresh bandages he apparently wanted to put on himself, she frowned slightly. She took the largest of the towels, unfolded it and went over to him, loosely wrapping it around his wet body. <br><br>Then she took two more, stepped onto a chair and wrapped one towel around his wet hair. She did not ask his permission for any of this, hoped that her smile would be enough to appease him in case he should disapprove, and dried his arms, legs and back with the second towel. Next, she simply took the fresh bandages out of his hands and smiled, slightly amused, but in playful, feigned disapproval. "Does not your Lordship remember our agreement? It is I who is suppose to attend to these tasks, not your Lordship."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 02:38:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire admired her arms as she pulled them up. The smooth arms were not unattractive to him, particularly because he did not intend to sire children with Flora and slight chubbiness was considered to be a good quality for child bearing. That aside, she had a grace to make up for it, and she had more than enough bulges in the right places to make the curves Lord Shropshire would have been less forgiving had she lacked. All the same, he had first taken an interest before those curves came to her, so perhaps he would have still ended up with her. But he couldn't say her figure didn't help.<br><br>She didn't show any sign of embarrassment and was gentle but strong in cleaning him, making circular motions as he let her move him as she wished to clean him. Soon enough the cleaning evolved into a massage and he found himself giving involuntary sighs of pleasure as this or that muscle was forced to relax and the tension within released. It made him feel tired, in a way, as if the tension draining out equaled some great loss of energy. But the energy was a burden that was pleasant to remove. She smiled at him as she worked.<br><br>She covered every area of his body, even going down to his toes and bringing her head perilously close to the water for him. She smiled at him and he gave her a small grin back before she went back to her work. Then she moved to his back and completed that as well. This time the release was occasionally accompanied by pain but he stifled it as best he could as he wanted her to continue. Then she massaged his scalp and rinsed through his hair until it was clean, then dried her own hands with the towel she had used for an apron.<br><br>She wrapped him in towels as he reached for the bandages, and even wrapped his hair so as to dry it. He did not even think to tell her she had not asked permission so her smile was not taken as appeasement but just part of the jest that followed. She said their agreement was that she would do such things. He looked at the bandages, and then handed them to her, along with his clothes. He said, "I am used to doing things for myself, but I think I like you doing these things for me, even if it is only selfish indulgence on my part."<br><br>After that, he moved his arms apart and laid himself open while standing there for her to apply the bandages or do whatever else it was she intended, including dress him, he expected. He still felt somewhat damp despite the towels but he believed he was dry enough for the bandages and clothing. He admitted to himself the excitement of her touching him and being close to him was an attractive lure, and he wondered why it should attract him so even though it was not at all sexual in nature. Perhaps, he thought, it was simply the caring instinct she had and the honest desire to help him and keep him from pain and not the actual touches. He didn't know, but as he waited for her to touch him he tingled ever so slightly.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 03:40:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I like doing these things for your Lordship, which gives your Lordship leave to be as self-indulgent as it pleases your lordship." She said with a a wink and a smile, as she stepped up to him. She removed the towel and wrapped it around his hips, low enough for her to bind the bandages as they should be, but not too low to reveal that which a virgin was not supposed to see. She then began the difficult task, biting her lip. <br><br>She knew she would hurt him, no matter how much she wished to avoid it. She did not hesitate, though worked with sure, nimble hands, passing the bandage from one hand to the other behind his back, in what oddly resembled an embrace. Standing this close to him, she felt the by now familiar pull, a longing to touch him, lean against him. She wondered what it would be like if he was well again, if they were standing like this, if he were to kiss her again the way he had in his study. <br><br>Her body immediately responded to her imagination with this sensation she could not describe, had not known before, the arousal of her desire. When she had finished, she could no longer resist. She leaned towards him and kissed his chest, far enough from any wound and so lightly her lips hardly brushed against his skin. He smelled so good again, she remembered the fragrance of his soap from that first evening. <br><br>She looked up and smiled at him, then reached for the long, loose shirt, helped his arms into the sleeves and lifted it over his head. Then, she quickly reached down to remove the towel. How unusual he was, this earl, most aristocrats always had a servant to do this and more for them. Next,&nbsp; she helped him into the thick, warm dressing gown and fastened the buttons in front. She moved up button for button towards the uppermost one, then reached up to adjust the collar, and smiled. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 04:16:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire nodded as she said she liked to do such things. A wish he would only be too happy to indulge again and again, he thought, as she winked and smiled at him. She pulled the towel lower but not enough so that she could see his crotch and then began to wrap the bandages around him. She worked with sure and nimble hands, but the occasional bursts of pain kept Lord Shropshire from noticing it looked like Flora was hugging his torso. He did his best to suppress the occasional grunts of pain but did not always succeed. He was glad when it was over.<br><br>However, then Flora dealt him a surprise, kissing him on his chest. It didn't hurt, she was too far from any wound, but it surprised him. He felt the spot where her lips had brushed tingle, seeming to have become separate from the rest of his skin. Just as she was aware of his smell, he became aware of hers, and she smelled lovely as her hygiene was impeccable. She smelled more of beautiful and expensive soaps and fragrances while his were more simple yet still bespoke his wealth. Hers also had a dash of femininity that his lacked.<br><br>She helped him into his clothes and he accepted the help. Lord Shropshire was an intensely private man, his absolute suppression of gossip about him inside his own home was something quite unusual as was the fact he did not accept a servant to sleep inside his room at the foot of his bed like most nobles did. Anyone who knew of it found it a harmless eccentric habit and he continued along in his own mode. She buttoned up all the way to his collar and smiled. He nodded in return and gave her a small smile of thanks.<br><br>Then he took her by the arm and snaked his hand around her hips. He was leaning on her slightly again. He walked over to the couch they had sat on before and managed to pull the table which the food had been set out on for him in front of him. Various dishes of his, favorites cooked by Mary, from side dishes to deserts, were set out before them. There were no plates, he was expected to simply take the food from what Mary had sent it in and eat it, though there was a very large cloth napkin. He said, "Please join me in this meal, Flora." Then he took a sweet and took a bite out of it. In social company he was always proper but in his own privacy he ate what he pleased in what order he pleased, and if that meant sweets first then he ate sweets first. He trusted Flora to not judge him. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 04:56:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				His grunts of pain had made her cringe inwardly in sympathy each time, she had been as relieved as he was once the painful procedure was over. Now that he was dressed in his elegant but comfortable and warm morning gown, she hoped that at least his muscles would remain relaxed and cause him no additional discomfort. When he thanked her with a nod and a smile, she scolded herself for the tiny regret she felt because he had not kissed her again. She was such a fool, was she not, always taking liberties and expecting too much and then she had to suffer the consequences. <br><br>In this case, her punishment for having been too forward was her own embarrassment for having kissed him on the chest. Who was she, after all, a second Mary, perhaps? And that sense of disappointment and foolishness for having hoped for another kiss he clearly had had not even considered. No wonder, he was tired, he was hungry, he was an injured man and she was a woman pretty to look at but too thin beneath her skillfully adjusted dresses. With the lord leaning again on her in what would soon become a habit for as long as he was this weakened by his injuries and the pain he suffered, she walked with him to the sofa. <br><br>When he pulled the table closer, she had to repress the urge to help him. To distract herself and because she had just&nbsp; been thinking of the dress, she quickly rolled down the sleeves again. Now her arms were hidden and she had the appearance again that was expected of a genteel young lady. "With pleasure, your Lordship." Since there was just one napkin, she quickly rose again to fetch one of the sheets of linen that were used as towels, and spread it over her lap. She was always careful with her dresses, less out of vanity than out of consideration. <br><br>She wore costly garments and a stain could ruin them. Also, she was aware of the work it meant for the laundry maids to remove any traces and stains. She watched the earl bite into a sweet and smiled, pleased to see he had an appetite and picked his favourites freely from among the dishes. In her opinion, this was the best way to eat any meal. All the decorum, except for rudimentary manners, might as well be dropped, according to Flora's preferences. One of the many things she would not dare to mention, fearing it might be interpreted as coarseness or ingratitude.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 05:54:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire waited for Flora to return to begin eating. He understood why she put the cloth on her lap but when she rolled down her sleeves he rolled up the one closest to him and said, "You don't want to get food on the sleeves either. Besides, Flora, you have lovely arms." As if to emphasize the point, he gently ran his hand down his arm to her hand, bringing it up to his lips in a habitual gesture and saying, "I do appreciate your help. Without it, I imagine my pride would still have me in the bath tub as it would have taken longer and I would not be as clean. Nor would I have such lovely company."<br><br>Lord Shropshire continued to eat and offered several things to Flora as he did, saying that it was good. He slowly moved on from the sweets and continued to eat various dishes, not touching some, finishing others completely. Soon enough he was done. There was left over food, but like all left over food it would be handed over to the poor. He drank as he ate as well, it was weakly alcoholic like most beverages of the time since the alcohol guaranteed purity and the water was, for the most part, completely disgusting. It was weak so he would not get drunk.<br><br>After he was done he lay back in the sofa. He had been eager for a meal in his own home, but it had not lived up to expectations. The ideal never matched the real. He turned his head and looked over at Flora. She had come out better than his ideal version of her, mostly because he had not given her enough credit. He took a moment to admire her and then shifted so he was sitting more properly again. After a moment he put a hand under her chin and guided her face to his, giving her a gentle kiss and then releasing her. He said, with a touch of fake melancholy in his voice, "I am afraid, regardless of whether you enjoy when I take your virginity, I will always demand that you be open to such displays of affection. And give them in turn."<br><br>He smiled and used the hand that was under her chin to caress the side of her face, before it dropped down and he leaned back in the couch again, sighing. He said, "I am afraid to ask this of you, for it shows my weakness and is not something a man should demand of a woman, but I do not feel well enough to move the table back or return the dishes and such to the servants in the hall and I believe I shall need extra support to reach the bed. Fear not, it is nothing but fatigue, but fatigue is a powerful sapper of strength, my Flora. Please take your time to finish anything you would wish."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 07:02:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora laughed lightly at his remark. "Your Lordship shows little trust in the benefits my instructions have had. My table manners are not so bad they would endanger my sleeves. " A smile lingered from that laugh as he ran his hand down her arm to lift her hand for a kiss. Her skin, soft and overly sensitive in the wake of her recent sensual experiences, seemed to hold an echo of his fingers' touch for much longer than they had lingered on her arm. "I am pleased to hear that my Lordship likes my company better than that of your Lordship's pride. I am confident I am more entertaining and useful than one's own pride could ever be." <br><br>Of course she had heard his compliment, but why had he made it? Was it habit, was he being polite? Had he assumed she had covered her arms to conceal their lack of beauty? Difficult to tell, and slightly irrelevant, too. Her arms looked the way they did, the rest of her body also offered no ample amount of the soft, loose flesh much admired by everyone. She ate well and was healthy, yet once she had filled out to the shape she had now, she had not put on more weight. There was no helping it, and she found that her own figure had its charms, too. She liked the litheness of her body, the smoothness, the firm and soft curves she had, her built and her proportions, and best of all, her skin which could rival that of any beauty of renown.<br><br>For the sake of symmetry, and to please him, she rolled up the other sleeve again, too, then ate with an appetite and good manners, trying every dish he recommended and savouring the different tastes and textures. By the time he had finished, her own hunger was satiated, too, and she finished the meal with one last sweet. She loved sweets, it was a luxury she had not known most of her life. When he leaned back, musing, scrutinising her, she wondered what he might be thinking. It must be very strange to return home after two years in the fields, in the midst of war, in a foreign country. Had he been nostalgic, dreaming of home, while he was that far form it? Could what he found now be as pleasant as what he had made it in his memories? <br><br>When he touched her chin, she thought for a moment that he wanted to correct her posture, the way she held her head, only to find that he wanted her to turn towards him, so that he could kiss her. It was a soft, tender kiss, not hungry or passionate, and it was the kiss as much as his words that made her smile. He must have liked her kissing his chest, then, after all. She also noticed that he said 'when' and not 'if' when he spoke of taking her virginity, as if he had already decided what her answer would be once he was recovered. "Where affection is felt, what could be more natural than to display it, your Lordship?" She answered, well aware that she had promised nothing with this statement. But her gaze was open and her eyes, now their usual shades of colour, somewhere between her father's blue and the green she had inherited from her mother, were gentle.<br><br>"I will see to it at once, your Lordship. Would your Lordship prefer to sleep early? Or is there any book or other entertainment your Lordship would enjoy?" She busied herself with the tasks he had asked her to do, leaving him time to make his decision. She would gladly fetch or offer him whatever his mind might crave while his body rested. She cast him a glance out of the corners of her eyes, well concealed by her long lashes, to judge for herself whether it would be wisest for him to sleep at once or whether he was too restless in his mind to be able to fall asleep this early. When the dishes, towels and bath had been removed, she closed the door and came over to sit at his side again, awaiting his wishes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 07:49:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				After the kiss she told him that if there was affection she would display it and he shook his head and said, "Another trait of a lady, you are a slippery one and can answer a demand without denying it or giving in." Then he sat back and said, "But apparently kissing is not something you enjoy so I shall&nbsp; have to refrain from it in the future. Unless you like it of course, but I can't tell anymore behind your veil womanly modesty." He shrugged and seemed to be disappointed but the entire thing was exaggerated, he was baiting her and it was fairly apparent.<br><br>All the same, he took notice of her gentle eyes, and his face returned her gentleness if only slightly through his stern mask. He even gave her a smile and crossed his hands, doing his best to appear at ease because he knew that him doing well would ease her mind somewhat. It was an act, the wounds still gave him some pain. He watched her clear the area of what had been brought him. He noticed some but not all of her glances, too few to think much of anything of it.<br><br>The truth of the matter was that he was somewhat agitated, but that was due to the pain. It was hard to sleep under the constant dull painful aching or the occasional shooting pain. It was hard to even sit there, at times. All the same, his body seemed to want sleep, with bags under his eyes and his entire manner being that of a man spent of energy. His vigilance was not sharp and there was something in the way his eyes followed her that showed a thought process that was muddied by the need for sleep but that was still very much effective.<br><br>When she came over and sat next to him he said, in a somewhat wear voice. "I am tired though I am not sure if I can sleep. All the same, I would retire to bed. Before that, however, you must change me&nbsp; both out of this shirt and change yourself into appropriate clothes. The clothes can have nothing hard on them, no buttons or anything of that sort. They must be all softness and must not be clothes that have too definite a shape for all these things might hit me in the wrong way and open up the wounds. Please change us and then lead me to the bed." Under the weight of sleep he was beginning to give into her help and his pride was being eroded away by his tiredness.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 09:07:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Indeed, your Lordship, that is what I was taught as the trait of a lady and the ideal of polite conversation." She laughed softly, his baiting amused her, and she answered in kind. "It saddens me to see your Lordship disappointed. I do not enjoy kissing enough for your Lordship's contentment? Since your Lordship is much more experienced in the custom than I could possibly be, I must trust your Lordship's judgement of my enjoyment or my lack thereof. But how to find a remedy? Perhaps another tutor might help? Many of my lessons seemed futile and unpleasant in the beginning, but with experience, I understood their value. Naturally, your Lordship cannot be bothered with such tedious lessons, but we would find a poor, starving expert in this art somewhere, I am sure!"<br><br>She had spoken in a gently teasing manner, her voice soft and her tone matched her expression more than her words, belied their naivete as well as their apparent heartlessness. She saw that he made an effort to appear more comfortable than he was, noticed the signs of pain and fatigue. Very softly, she asked. "Should not I who know about your Lordship's injuries be the one before whom your Lordship should be allowed to admit the pain they cause? Your Lordship cannot fool me. I appreciate its being attempted for my sake, but it is no good."<br><br>With another gaze into his tired, ashen face, she nodded, already getting up again. "I will arrange for it. After I have locked the bedchamber, I think it best if I sleep on the sofa, to join your Lordship only when the servant's come to light the fires. They will not notice. We shift and toss so much in our sleep, my hands, elbows or the full weight of me would do far greater harm than any button on a shirt." It was the only sensible solution. Would she share his bed, she would either not dare fall asleep, or, should her trendiness overwhelm her, risk to accidentally hurt him.<br><br>She left to collect what she needed for the night from diverse rooms. In her chamber, she changed into her nightshirt and morning gown. She brought a dress, her toiletries, writing utensils and lute, but also the book he had been reading as well as one he had ordered before he left and had not had the change to even look at. Silently, she slipped back into his bedchamber and locked the door. "I brought my lute, I could play for your Lordship if sleep will not come. Ms. Goodman claims it soothed her and lulled her to sleep like nothing else would when she had that terrible toothache. Maybe it will help your Lordship, too. I also brought books I could read from."<br><br>She held out the books for him, hoping one of her choices might find his approval. Then she prepared the bed for him, went to find a shirt matching his description, returned with it and helped him sit up and disrobe. She inspected the bandages one last time before she helped him into his shirt. Then she positioned herself in the way she could support him to the bed and waited for him to lean onto her. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 22:09:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire simply shook her head at her teasing, knowing it for what it was, and did not respond. When she said that he should not try and hide the injuries from her he said, "The only thing I can have any control over with the injuries is hiding them. But if you want to know the pain they cause then I will tell you that it causes an aching pain that makes it slightly hard to breath, except for sometimes when there is a sharp shooting, searing pain which seems to occur randomly. And it all gets worse when I move. That is the pain I am in." He said it with a straight, serious face.<br><br>When she said she would sleep on the couch he tried to think of an excuse and then found one. He said, "You shall sleep in my bed, not on my couch. If I should wake up in the middle of the night or simply before you, I shall need you to assist me and it would not to do for me to shout for you on the couch. It would be more convenient if I could shake you lightly, being in my bed. That aside, you will notice anything wrong with me much more quickly. As for your hands, I am sure we can find a position where you will not strike me."<br><br>She did everything he normally did to prepare for bed and even changed his shirt for him. She also offered to play the lute for him. She held out books as well and he took them but placed them next to him. He said, "The only thing keeping me awake is the pain, I long to sleep and your music will neither help nor hinder me I'm afraid. Perhaps your softness and presence shall have a soothing effect, or, if that fails, I must say I much enjoy your voice to your harp for I have never heard the later."<br><br>He grabbed onto her and used her in order to move to the bed. She had opened the covers for him and he got in and gently guided her in before throwing the covers over them both. Then he positioned her so her back was to him and his arms held her hands in front of her stomach, enveloping her, and intertwined their legs in such a way that hers could not move without seriously disturbing his so they would not drift. She could break free from the arrangement if she wanted to, but the gentle shifts of sleep would not cause it and even if they did, she was facing the opposite direction from him.<br><br>After a moment, Lord Shropshire gave her a kiss on the back of her neck and said, "Flora, please sing for me as I go to sleep." He listened to her song and then slowly closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep. Soon he was sleeping peacefully while face occasionally contorted in pain.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>15-08-2009, 23:09:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She listened to his description of the pains he suffered from. It had not been her intention to have him describe all this, but she understood that his hiding the pain, refusing a reaction to it, gave him a feeling of control over the inevitable. A man like him must hate to be helpless, the earl always wanted to be in control of practically everything in his life, down to the least detail. He must hate this, it must feel as if his body was betraying him. <br><br>When he presented his arguments for her sleeping in his bed, she knew them for an excuse. But she did not argue with him, it would only upset him, make him agitated when what he needed was quiet and sleep. She knew that she was too light a sleeper to need more than the slightest noise somewhere in the room to wake up. She would hear him and wake up the moment he groaned or moved. It had long been her habit to wake up hours before everybody else, she would surely be awake before him. When the way he slept would show her he was about to wake up, she could slip back into the bed without him ever noticing she had left his side. <br><br>She was not overly cautious, she simply knew how often people turned and tossed in their sleep, and that she herself slept more restless than most. She occasionally had violent nightmares from which she woke up struggling and kicking, in defense against what she already knew no longer by the time she was fully awake. His wish to get into bed and find some sleep was so urgent he did not even give her time to slip out of her morning gown. He must be perfectly exhausted. She just nodded and smiled to what he said and allowed him to position her in what he deemed the right way in his bed. <br><br>After she had lulled him to sleep, she waited for the telltale signs of his entering the phase of sleep when nothing would wake him up. Soon enough, his grip grew limp and she slipped out of the bed. She curled up on the sofa and slept her usual hours, waking every now and then to check on him, but his sleep was deep and peaceful. In the quiet hour she usually woke up, she noiselessly left the sofa and sat in an armchair by the fire with one of her books, her knees drawn up and her feet wrapped into the morning gown so they would not become cold and betray her. But he slept on so long she had already dressed and let the servant in to light the fire when he still showed no sign of waking up. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>16-08-2009, 00:43:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The girl, a young maid, who came in to light the fire moved diligently, looking at them both. In her eyes you could almost see her salivating over the gossip this would bring, she would get her day in the limelight telling this story over and over again. She moved over to the fire and started it up, getting it to a roaring flame. Then a bit of it crackled and a small flaming piece of bark floated. The girl gasped, knowing the dangers of fire, and chased it. She went up right next to the bed that Lord Shropshire had been sleeping in. She managed to stamp it out with her hands before it even hit the floor and sighed a sigh of relief.<br><br>She took a long stare at the master again, looking at him with an unusual intensity for a girl her age. She looked at the clock and the intensity came to include confusion. The master had never slept this late before he left and military discipline was not known to make one sleep in. She waited until Flora wasn't looking as she stoked the fire and then snuck over and pulled up the sheets to get a peak inside. Then she screamed and ran out of the room at a blinding speed nobody had ever known she had possessed.<br><br>She had seen blood in the bed.<br><br>Lord Shropshire had begun to bleed, and still was, though it looked worse than it was it looked pretty bad. His face was pale and his breathing a bit shallow, there was a puddle of blood on his left side though that was deceptive because the puddle looked to be part of a larger puddle concealed under his body when, in reality, the puddle was only on his left and that was it's entire extent. His face was contorted but he didn't move around much, it seemed due to weakness more than anything else as he would sometimes seem to make slow and laborious movements. Despite this all, he was not awake.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>16-08-2009, 01:34:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora raised an eyebrow at the girl when she stared at her. Whatever was the matter? Flora was fully dressed, her hair done up, nothing new or highly interesting was about her being in the bedchamber. she had been in here all evening and night, the whole household knew about it. How stupid these girls could be. She gestured for the maid to do her work and be quick and silent about it, then returned her attention to the book she was reading in preparation of her first lesson which would soon begin.<br><br>She looked up just in time to see the girl peek into the bed. Then the impossible thing ran shrieking from the room. Who had engaged her in the lord's service? Hard to believe that a master so bent on controlling each and every detail of his life never seemed to be able to find servants who would do their work well and as they were supposed and ordered to do it, know their place and be content with the good life they led in his service. Instead, apparently, half of them were disobedient, nosy, disrespectful, gossipy, unruly, utterly indiscreet, noisy and unreliable.<br><br>She went over to the bad, saw the wound, turned him enough to see how little blood was lost. She wondered how the earl had opened it when he had not stirred once, had slept calm and peaceful all night. She went onto the landing and called fora servant to send for James and Ms. Goodman. Once the two had hurried inside, she closed the door and explained to them the situation in full, described the injuries, told them how she had checked on his wounds twice an hour all night, without there ever being any sign of bleeding, fever, restlessness or discomfort in the patient. In short, his condition must have worsened suddenly, during the last – here she checked the clock – fifteen minutes.<br><br>She sent James to fetch the Jew, Rosenthal, with a note she had scribbled hastily. She knew Rosenthal would come, urged James to take the the fastest horse. She turned to face the wrath of Ms. Goodman who had caught her in the act of helping the master conceal his injuries by pretending to have become his whore. Instead, the lady gave her to understand she was pleased Flora had not given up her chastity for any man, said t was good Flora had assisted the earl, as he would never have told a soul and done everything without help, which would have done far greater harm. <br><br>"But in future, there will be no more such conspiracies between you and my cousin, Flora, do you hear me?" Flora nodded, relieved the care for the earl's health, his injuries, his life, was taken out of her hands and into a doctor's care, relieved there were to be no more secrets. She would not have to pretend to have given herself to the earl. Now everything had come to light, with Ms. Goodman's help and approval, her reputation, even within the household, would soon be as intact as her virginity. If only her own good luck had not come at such a price for the earl. "Your master is a strong man, he will be fine. He will have the best doctor in town." Stiff and ever complaining Ms. Goodman murmured reassuringly. Clearly, all this woman had needed to show her best side was a minor catastrophe.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>16-08-2009, 04:47:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Soon enough Doctor Rosenthal was there. Lord Shropshire's condition had neither improved nor degenerated and Rosenthal came close to the bed. He turned Shropshire over and pulled up his shirt examining the wound. He looked up at the two women and then looked back at the wound. He said, "It appears the Lord Shropshire moved too violently in the night, a perfectly natural occurrence and an unfortunately uncurable one. All the same, it should not disturb the wound too deeply. Soon enough they will heal enough that he will be able to sleep without fear of this happening. Beyond that, however, he seems to have contracted a disease of some sort. After all, disease tends to attack when the body is weak."<br><br>Doctor Rosenthal looked carefully at one of Shropshire's arms. "There are two prevailing schools of medicine, miasma and humoral theory. According to humor theory, I would tell you to bleed him as his body would seem to have too much blood. But, personally, I believe in miasmal theory and thus would tell you to keep him away from bad air. The way I would tell you to do this is to keep all doors and windows closed at all times and fill the air with sweet smells, perfume would do nicely." He had sniffed just before the perfume comment, taking in the scent of the lady's. "I also would recommend you thoroughly wash yourselves before entering to remove any source of smell and bad vapor, as well as keeping the room impeccably clean. Also, I would burn things outside the entrances to the room so the smoke blocks the miasma."<br><br>The doctor looked up from his examination, "In the case of miasmal theory I believe you can handle the treatment, in the case of humoral theory I, or an assistant, would be required to let the blood. I really must stress I believe in the humoral theory, however." Humoral theory was the older theory and slowly falling out of favor in the medical community, but many still believed in it which was why Dr. Rosenthal continued to know of it despite the fact he believed in miasmal theory. Miasma theory was gaining more and more popularity among the doctors of the nation.<br><br>Slowly, after having been on his back for a time, Lord Shropshire's breathing began to return to normal but he did not wake up. Rosenthal looked at him and said, "You should ensure he sleeps stomach up so as to make breathing easier. Also, when he is awake I would recommend he remain upright at all times. As for his not waking up, I must profess my opinion, with respect, he is just in an extremely deep sleep. When he wakes up, I would expect a slight fever and chills but nothing too serious. He'll feel it more than you'll see it. Though there is always a chance of death, it would be a great surprise to me if the Lord Shropshire were to have anything more than an unpleasant week or so."<br><br>Doctor Rosenthal looked at the two ladies, "That is my belief as a doctor of what this is and my recommendations on how to heal it."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>16-08-2009, 23:09:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Of course Ms. Goodman was all of the doctor's opinion, which was perfectly agreeable with her own disposition and wish to be actively involved and responsible herself for her cousin's well-being. Despite her unceasing complaints about all affairs of the household, her duties and the servants, she was in no apparent hurry to leave, on the contrary, Flora was convinced she was delighted to have found an opportunity to prolong her stay and her reign. Orders flew from her mouth and in no time, Flora found herself and all her possessions returned to her own chamber. <br><br>When she had her first lesson of the day, Ms. Goodman insisted to uphold the full routine as usual, she was explicitly forbidden by her singing master to expose her throat and lungs to the smokes and vapours which purified the air the earl was breathing. He also forbid her to enter the sickroom, as she might catch the fever herself and any infection could harm her voice. The tutor found himself in agreement with Ms. Goodman who had insisted early on that Flora's must be kept away, both for the patient's sake and to safeguard the young woman's reputation. The argument that the singing master had brought up were a most welcome addition to the ones Ms. Goodman had found herself.<br><br>Hence, all Flora could do was make inquiries between her lessons and hope the earl was recovering well, as Ms. Goodman assured her every time she asked. Flora had expected something more or different from this very famous doctor. She remembered the remedies of her childhood, both for fever and for injuries, and would have expected a lot more to be done by a famous specialist for any aristocrat of high standing. Perhaps all the old traditional remedies were nothing but the usual superstitious nonsense, along with so many other beliefs upheld in the remote region where she had grown up?<br><br>They were so anachronistic up there, puritanism had not even reached them yet, leave alone left again. Now, it was doubtful it would ever have an influence at all in her clan. There, life went on in the same old circle nature dictated year in year out. Here, in London, life changed breathtakingly fast, with every new person in power, every new fashion or style favoured by the king or his more influential subjects. Now, sweet vapours and smoke cured a fever and healed wounds, apparently much better than diets and herbal remedies or even a doctor's blood-letting. Humours or vapours, Flora prayed the earl would recover under Ms. Goodman's skilled hands. There was no denying, in this emergency, the earl's cousin proved a treasure. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>17-08-2009, 00:27:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire woke up later that day and, after waiting until he was totally awake, had no idea what was going on. First off, Flora was gone, which made him wonder if she had left. Next he wondered just what the smells were that were swirling around the room. For the most part they were tolerable but when they converged they became so powerful that they overwhelmed him and made him feel sicker than he already was. He felt sick, which was another thing he hadn't expected. He had a slight headache and he felt miserable. He stood up with a bit of difficulty and walked to the door, only to find a fire burning outside it. He shut the door so quickly it slammed.<br><br>He looked around suspiciously, wondering what exactly was happening. After quickly dressing himself, during that he noticed his bandages were changed, he opened the door and stepped around the fire. He walked down the hall and ran into Ms. Goodman who was another surprise. She explained the entire affair and managed to force him back into his room. She also scolded him for taking advantage of Flora like that and told him about the error of his ways and so on and so forth. When he tried to suggest she leave she gave him a speech about cousinly duties and how he was not fit and ignored his objections which he found infuriating He began to scheme on how to get her out of his house without offending her.<br><br>As soon as she was gone, Lord Shropshire left again. He didn't feel very well but he didn't want that to stop him. Soon enough he found James and gave him a couple of pounds and told him what to do. James nodded, he was a trustworthy man and had little else to do. Besides, he had been ferrying Ms. Goodman around long enough that he wanted her gone more than most of the servants. He set off and Lord Shropshire snuck into his study to begin to read. He felt much better at ease while sitting.<br><br>James waited until Flora had the last of her lessons and then went to find her. When he did he approached her and gave her the letter. Inside it read that she was to go to the Winston Performance Hall and arrange for a performance there, and that he had already arranged guests, as well as to procure a location for a moderate sized dance afterward. He apologized and said that, while he had intended to do this himself, a certain cousin of his was preventing it. On that subject, the letter continued, he gave the address of her home in London and told her to go and attempt to persuade Ms. Goodman's father to recall her. He further said that James had also been assigned this task and he put his full confidence in the man as far as trustworthiness and driving, but that, however, he was not quite a man of genteel breeding.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>17-08-2009, 01:24:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora could only read in amazement and wonder whether the earl's fever was getting the better of him. Why was he up at all, why was he not in bed where he belonged? Was he all over the house again, now playing hide and seek with Ms. Goodman, as it seemed? He could not possibly expect Flora, who was a young unmarried woman, to do any of these business arrangements? She was not only not supposed to leave the house alone, she was strictly forbidden to do so, leave alone go about town in search for a place were a small ball could be held. <br><br>What a strange way to arrange an evening's performance, to invite all the guests first and then assure the location the date of which had been given in the invitations. This made little sense and sounded not at all like the organised, intelligent man the earl was known to be. Clearly, it only could be the fever. If he wanted his cousin to leave now, it could only be to avoid being reminded by her of his duties and, most of all, of the doctor's orders. He wanted her out of the way to do what he pleased and risk to ruin his health, risk his wounds to break open again and his fever to get worse while he gave his body none of the rest it so desperately needed. <br><br>To send her to Ms. Goodman's father, or have a simple driver talk the old man into ordering his daughter to return home was equally absurd. Why did he not write a letter to Mr. Goodman, explaining his intentions politely and asking him to bid his daughter return home, as the presence of a young unmarried aristocrat in her cousin's household might raise questions of the propriety of her prolonged stay? Flora was more than confused. Had the earl lost all sense of what was expected of a gentleman in his position, of the obligations of his class and the necessity to at least uphold an outward appearance of moral conduct? <br><br>She quickly explained her doubts to James and sat down to write a letter to the earl in which she expressed her anxiety about his health, begged him to heed the doctor's advice and trust in his cousin's good care and the wisdom of the arrangements made by the gentlewoman he himself had appointed his trusted stewardess for the duration of his absence. In very careful words she reminded him that she herself was forbidden to leave the house unaccompanied by Ms. Goodman and thus could not possibly do as he had asked of her, and further, that it was a high-ranking male servant who should be trusted with the office, or one of her tutors. <br><br>Why not write to the singing master to request he should organise the performance and ask the dancing master to find suitable rooms for the dance? Surely, they would be of more use in such an endeavour than one who could only be regarded as a hopeless amateur in business matters she would be deemed naturally ignorant of? She then proceeded to the awkward subject of the arrangements within his aristocratic family. It could not be wise for a driver and the singer his cousin knew the earl had almost declared his whore by keeping her in his bedroom to meddle in these matters that concerned the close family only? <br><br>Might not the earl consider writing to Mr. Goodman in person, who could expect at least that a gentleman addressed the topic, if not the earl himself or another member of the family, then at the very least a friend of the earl's of equal rank? She begged his forgiveness for having raised these objections and questioned his decisions, for daring to have suggested a different approach. She then concluded the letter with sincere expressions of her hope that he might recover swiftly and implored him not to treat his injuries and fever lightly but to take the best of care for his health, the loss of which would affect not only himself but all his family and household most sadly indeed. With a trembling hand, she signed the letter and handed it to James to deliver it to his master.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>17-08-2009, 05:11:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				James accepted the letter and left again. When James found Lord Shropshire in his study, he politely and apologetically suggested Shropshire return to his room for his own health and offered to take any books he wished. Lord Shropshire, after a moment's consideration, agreed and went back to his room along with several books. It was there he read Flora's letter and took to penning a new one. The first time he wrote it out he began quickly and wrote and wrote until an entire page was full. Then after a moment, he looked it over, and crumbled it up and threw it away. His mind had been clouded somewhat.<br><br>Then he wrote his return, which James carried to Flora quickly. The letter started by politely reprimanding Flora for presuming that his designs were without reason. He further went on to tell her that he had his own reasons for wanting her to deliver the request to recall his daughter to the Earl's uncle personally and that, if she should not want to go there in the capacity of a Lady whom he was in the capacity of training fulfilling the wishes of her patron, then she could certainly go as a servant of his delivering a message from him directly. In either case it would be her mouth delivering his words.<br><br>He admitted to her he had not thought about sending the instructors and said he would be most glad to have her take them with her, however, that she must go along with them. He further told her that if she was forbidden to leave the house without Ms. Goodman she must either be extremely glad to break free of her or extremely cautious. In the former case, he gave his permission, and in the later, he admitted he believed his cousin's constant presence, while it may have been, to a degree, a positive influence must have ultimately retarded her progress by 'holding her hand' as it were and leading her along instead of allowing her to flourish or wither on her own merits or lack thereof. He assured her he believed she had the necessary merits. All that aside, these people were merchants who would be willing to forgive any social shortcoming on her part as long as she had money.<br><br>He further reminded her that if she was ignorant of business matters it would be something good to learn, for, in the future, she would inevitably want to arrange balls and performances for herself and, while she could and often would rely on servants, it would be best if she knew how to do it herself. As to her lack of experience, he reminded her that there was only one way to gain experience and it was to practice and then attempt it. Furthermore, even if she should pay some outrageous sum, it would be his money and his folly. That aside, he told her that, on the year he had left, the Winston had charged a rate of ten pounds for a performance. It was a hefty sum, he admitted, but many hefty guests would attend.<br><br>Finally, he said that he would take care of his health but that he would rather die than be cooped up in his own room all day bored out of his skull. Particularly when he felt like he was capable of some non-strenuous activity and they told him that he could not even do that. He felt he was capable of running his own household, but if she should wish to take the burden off him he would be willing to begin to introduce her to certain aspects of being a Stewardess. He also said the herbs that the doctor had left for him tasted horrible, but that if she should have any doubts as to his commitment to his own health, he forced himself to eat them anyway.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>18-08-2009, 00:31:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The days following Flora's first excursion into the world out there without Ms. Goodman had been exciting and busy. As the earl had suspected, the influence of his cousin had been holding back the young woman who would not have needed that close a guidance and supervision. She had come back from a day's venture she had thoroughly enjoyed, had been successful with every task he had commissioned her to do and had loved it all. She had been shown around the theater and used the opportunity to sing to the now empty house to get a feeling for its acoustics, the size of the stage, the position of the musicians. <br><br>Her singing instructor had then insisted on inviting her to one of the chocolate houses that admitted women. There, they had met her dancing instructor, who seemed to share their excitement, and all three had next looked at possible places to hold the dance amidst much merriment. The afternoon and evening had flown by. The only duty that was felt as one had been the visit to the earl's uncle. It had gone well enough, though, he had written and dispatched a letter in which he had called back his daughter while Flora was present. <br><br>James had reported all this to the earl, because Flora was still forbidden to approach the fumes, smokes and fever threatening her precious voice in the presence of the earl. Ms. Goodman had been full of disapproval for Flora's disobedient adventure, but upon hearing it had been undertaken on the earl's orders, she had found there was little she could do. Flora had kept her company while the gentlewoman had supervised the packing of her many trunks, and they had parted early the next day with many friendly words, at least half of them sincere. <br><br>Then, Flora had begun to prepare for her first performance in earnest. Some lessons were cancelled, others doubled in length and number. Selecting the songs she would perform, working on them very hard, on every single detail from choreography to expression, from vocal exercises to modulation and breathing exercises, everything was directed towards the one goal, letting her voice excel throughout the whole evening's demanding performance. <br><br>While most people tended to believe someone either had a good voice or not, and if the voice was good, all that had to be done was to learn to sing melodies off a sheet, singing was hard work, based on complex theories and techniques, physically demanding and asking much discipline and concentration of a singer. Through discipline, techniques and effort a mediocre voice could eventually become good, but a voice such as Flora's could become so beautiful and impressive nobody hearing her sing would ever forget it. A singer with her rare voice and talent could become so famous that royalty, operas and composers would compete to engage that singer for their house, their music, their court, lure that voice to their country to add to their own fame. <br><br>Within Flora, waiting to enfold her full potential over years of careful tutoring, might well slumber the voice of a century, but, at the very least, that of a generation, now that a woman's presence on the stage was no longer seen as an outrage. Both Flora and her tutors were aware of this, but, as if they had agreed on a pact of secrecy, they never spoke about her voice and her prospects like that, neither among themselves nor to any other, not even the earl. Maybe her first public performance would already reveal this immense potential, maybe it would not, letting her appear no more than a fine singer with an excellent voice and much promise. <br><br>Of the earl, Flora saw nothing all this time. Even after he had recovered from his fever, she was much too busy, often sent out of the house for some errand or other, then focussing on her instructions and exercises again. Her days were so full she would drop into her bed in a state of near exhaustion almost every evening. Then, the great day arrived, everything was ready. The dress rehearsal had been held in the theater, then Flora had been ordered to rest for a little, only to be woken by her tutor to begin the exercises that would warm up her voice for the performance. Soon, now, it would show how well the earl's investment, timing and preparation, choice of guests and theater for this her first public appearance had been. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>18-08-2009, 01:18:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire had, unfortunately, been exceedingly bored. The only excitement had been his firing a servant girl who had talked about peeking under the covers. He wondered, for a moment, what that girl would do later, as being fired from a house like his meant no longer being able to find employment as a servant. During the time he spent sitting there, supposedly recovering by doing absolutely nothing but in reality reading, writing, and managing the affairs of his estate. All the same, he refrained from strenuous activity and slowly began to get better. However, he saw almost nobody and it was another isolation to put up with after his two years. He did manage to busy himself writing letters and inviting various personages. Unfortunately, all he had was personal pull, but that would get enough people. And if Flora did well enough it would mean she could attract listeners herself.<br><br>As was according to custom, the price increased with social class but bought better accommodations. The merchants paid five shillings and got basic seats, the gentry paid ten shillings and got better and more roomy seats, the titled nobility paid a pound and got their own private area to listen to the performance. It included the price to attend the ball afterward though that, as a party, wasn't something that admission should be charged to anyway. Lord Shropshire fully expected to lose money on this entire affair, and the theater wasn't full, but if Flora had to start somewhere and these people could carry the message far and wide of how good she was.<br><br>He himself sat in one of the boxes, he had paid himself as, technically, this was all Flora's money. Despite this she would not be seeing financial independence for a long time, he knew, for any variation of reasons. He had paid for her dancing and singing instructor as well and they were seated with him, technically as servants for an entourage. He looked down on the stage and the audience. It was a decent size and murmuring but he knew that very few of them were here for reasons other than that they knew he was her patron. His patronage, in fact, had allowed her to skip a lot of the obstacles singers had to face. She did not start at the bottom and work her way up but started in the middle thanks to his money and influence.<br><br>The Earl was excited himself, he had not heard Flora's voice in some time. He was seated in the center, being the person of highest rank there. The only other people occupying individual boxes were a few Barons and those whose rank in the government but not their lineage justified their presence. Ms. Goodman and her father were there as well, seated in the area for gentry. They were chatting with a pair of knights, though, obviously, the days where knighthood meant wearing platemail and wielding a sword were long passed.<br><br>Soon the audience began to quiet down, and someone made an overly loud comment about how they had heard Flora was quite pretty. Soon it was time for Flora to be on stage and the curtains were drawn. A few people seemed eager to get to the ball afterward, a few seemed to have rapt attention, but most seemed neutral at this point, waiting for Flora to entertain them or to complain forever about how they had wasted a night. Though, perhaps less so than Flora, this was a time of apprehension for Lord Shropshire as he had backed Flora with his name and it could have a great blemish if she failed. All the same, he looked down at her with the calm face he often wore.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>18-08-2009, 03:13:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Time flew, it flew too fast, there was so much happening at once, so many hands busying themselves with her costume, her hair, her face, even her shoes. She had a short argument about the tightness of her corset, she wanted it less tight, and insisted, breathing was more important for the performance than squeezing herself in even tighter, especially since her waist was naturally much smaller than that of most women, because she was thinner. Hence, she came out of this little discussion as the winner, with a costume that encumbered her as little as possible. <br><br>Then, it was time for her appearance on stage, and she could feel all the horrors of anticipation and nerves that such an event brings. She had been waiting for this day to come for so long, yet now, she had a moment of panic, doubting she was ready, wishing to simply disappear. She forced herself to relax, to collect herself and find her composure, the state of concentration and the right tension and relaxation of her muscles, to give her voice the right seat and support. Her breathing calmed and steadied, and as she entered the stage, she looked as if it was nothing at all. She might be a beautiful young thing taking a pleasant stroll through the garden.<br><br>The programme they had chosen was challenging, and already there had been discussions in the audience how she could have such a range, spanning so many octaves, how daring it was to try this particular aria and how so-and-so had failed miserably at this and that point. Flora had no doubt in the programme, though, nor in her voice. She knew she could sing it, despite the tension, the heat, the bad air in the theatre. She had sung each of the arias often, and had been through the whole programme, too, a few times during that last week. <br><br>Flora curtsied, then tried to see the musicians and conductor although the stage lights were almost blinding her, letting the audience swim into a sea of dark colours and pale hints of faces. That effect was welcome, she wanted to forget them as best she could, sing only for the music, become music. The orchestra was ready, so was Flora. She indicated the tiniest nod, then waited for the first notes to rise in harmony. Soon, her voice joined in, then rose above it, leading, then following again, the subtle play of melting, mingling and standing out began. Effortlessly, or so it appeared, her voice soared and filled the whole theatre. <br><br>It rose and fell, could swell in volume and yet would lose none of its power and allure if she sung softer, even barely above a whisper. All through her performance,&nbsp; her voice did not fail her, she made no mistakes, dared even to settle for the most complex of adornments she had studied. Simpler ones she had practised, too, to have them ready should she find her voice unwilling, not strong enough for the challenging ones on the night her debut. But it all was there, this voice, reliable as it had always been, her one great gift. <br><br>Among those bored, seeking mainly to be amused, one song would certainly be liked best, it demanded no ear for music, no understanding at all to be enjoyed, a tone-deaf oaf could like it, while any connoisseur would know immediately how incredibly difficult this apparently light, easy little song was to perform, the technical virtuosity it asked of the singer. She played with all her charms during this gay, frivolous, amusing song of teasing, chasing her voice up and down like a ripple of musical laughter, delivering the words so clearly the audience would not miss one of the saucy, witty allusions. <br><br>She hoped they would laugh, but would not have heard whether they did, she concentrated solely on the music, on her own voice and performance. She had no feeling anymore for the time that passed, no sense of an audience other than that subtle correspondence that seemed to be there whenever she sung, something almost subliminal, a magic that had always been there. She could not say whether she would entrance, overwhelm this audience which was so different, perhaps, from others she had sung to before, but she did not think about it, now, either. <br><br>When the last song came, the one some had declared was madness to put at the end of the difficult performance, that haunting, impossibly complex masterpiece, her face resumed a faraway expression once again as she gave herself up, utterly and completely, into this final song. It seemed almost absurd that such a powerful voice could come from so small a figure as was this young singer, standing all alone on that stage, singing unaccompanied by any instrument, with nothing to support or lead her voice, nothing to cover up the merest inaccuracy, harshness or weakness. <br><br>Then, there was only silence. She had done her very best. Whether the evening would end in success or shame, she knew she could not have given more or sung any better, not after only two years of professional tutelage. She curtsied again, feeling as if all this was unreal and she had no part of what would come next. The moment seemed to stretch and yet not exist at all, while she waited for them to decide her fate.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>18-08-2009, 03:43:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The entire crowd remained quiet throughout the performance, politeness keeping them quiet when they wanted to laugh, social pride keeping them quiet when they wanted to cry, and utter amazement keeping them quiet at other times. As she finished the entire performance there was silence for a moment and then, after they seemed to realize it was over, there was the polite clapping that always ended a performance but that followed her until she exited stage. After all, to show too much enthusiasm would be a loss of face. The Earl, however, found himself leaning forward and one of the instructor's hands on his shoulder was all that made him aware of the fact he was forward from his seat at all.<br><br>An announcer came out and hoped they had enjoyed the performance, informed them about the ball and so on and so forth. The entire group started to filter out, chattering again. Any snippets that could be heard were mostly positive though not everyone's mind was affixed on her performance. Meanwhile, Shropshire managed to work his way around to the back of the stage as opposed to the exits which everyone else was heading towards. He had no doubt that her fame would now spread and that she would be able to book her next performance without any help from him.<br><br>There was another reason for him working his way around back. He could avoid the crowds there and since he had paid he got access to a special exit to avoid the crowds. He walked through the backstage with all its people scurrying around to clean things up or get this or that prop in this or that way. He wondered what all these people could possibly be doing for one woman's performance. Soon enough he managed to find his way to the dressing room of Flora, where all those preparations had been made. He assumed she would still be dressed since she would want to look her best for the ball that she would attend soon.<br><br>He stepped in and gingerly closed the door. He waited until she seemed to be finished and ready and then he spoke up, "You did well, Flora, and I think you exceeded everyone's expectations. Certainly mine. I think you shall begin to develop the fame you deserve from your voice in earnest starting with this performance. I shall, of course, gain some recognition for having found you and funded you. I must say, it is truly a pity they cannot paint your voice like they paint a picture for it will be lost forever to future times." He held out his arm in a habitual gesture, offering it to her in such a way any lady would know he presumed to have her take it. "But, come, we must go to the ball and you must be gawked and stared at and admired. And I must brag." After a brief pause he added, "And if I am very lucky the Lady Flora will accept my offer for a dance, but we shall see."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>18-08-2009, 04:34:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Leaving under the polite clapping of the audience, Flora made her way to the room where she would be stripped off her stage costume, where helping hands would remove the chalky mask of white, the thick black lining around her eyes and on her eyebrows and the crimson red which had coated her lips. Amidst the elation singing always gave her and the relief of having heard the standard round of polite applause rather than clamours and cat-calls or affected silence, she willingly let them pull her around and wipe away at her face with hot, soapy towels. <br><br>Her singing master was already there, too, his urgent voice pressing them to make haste, rub her dry so she would not catch cold, soaked in sweat as she was from the exertion and heat on stage. He handed her a glass of warm milk with honey, and between them passed a long glance and a smile, transporting all there was to say, for now, about her performance. "You should go to France. Or to Italy. How they love music there, they'll adore your voice, they'll adore you! The English are all cold fish, stiff and dry as so many bones in the desert, no passion, no understanding of music, little love for it, either. All they care about is pomp and themselves. Ahh, but there..." <br><br>He interrupted himself, grinning. It was no secret he dislike the climate in England, and not only the weather. Impatiently, he pushed aside one of the girls and helped Flora into the dress she was to wear for the dance. "The earl will come in short, I suppose, I'd better leave. I'll see you at the ball, my pretty girl." Passing a hand through his unruly hair, he left with another grin after finishing her milk in one huge gulp to the giggles of the girls. <br><br>Soon after, the earl came in indeed, by now she was dressed and being laced tightly into her corset, which rendered her unable to curtsy, all she had to offer was a smile as the breath was being pressed out of her lungs. She studied his face while he held his speech, saw the satisfaction in it and knew that she had not failed him. He seemed pleased with her, made compliments and was clearly impatient to join the crowd to head for the ball. <br><br>Hastily, she stepped into her shoes and said, still rather breathless from the resolute lacing. "I am glad your Lordship is pleased, very glad indeed. All this money spent, but it seems it will work out. Just an instance, please, I'm almost done." A little perfume was added, one last glance in the mirror to inspect the freshly applied make up for the evening and her hair, and she took his arm while her coat was hung over her shoulders and she hurriedly put on her gloves. "Please excuse my keeping your Lordship waiting."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>18-08-2009, 04:57:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Earl watched the poor girl being tightly laced into her corset. They seemed to be getting tighter and tighter each year, and the bum rolls seemed to be getting larger. He could only imagine what women would look like soon. He wished he could tell Flora she need not wear a corset, and it was true she need not for him, but socially she would have to. She hastily finished her preparations and he gave her a small smile, but he couldn't help but notice she seemed to&nbsp; have slight trouble breathing. Another trait common among the ladies now day.<br><br>When she mentioned the money he said, "Think nothing of it, I would have spent more for better accommodations but for fear I could fill them. Now I believe I could book any venue for you to fill and it would immediately draw spectators from across the country and that, Flora, is worth any price." When she finished up and asked for forgiveness for keeping him waiting he said, "I believe I rushed you and so I should apologize. All the same, it was a pleasant wait, I assure you."<br><br>He lead her, on his arm, out the back entrance of the stage until they got into a carriage which he helped her up into. It was only a short ride, James was their driver, not long enough to have any sort of conversation. Soon they were at the location, and he stepped down and again helped her out of the carriage and took her on his arm again. Then he strolled into the ballroom, not the most opulent affair but a place that the Earl could be seen in without shame and that the merchants would no doubt be glad to visit. As they entered they were announced, "The Right Honorable William Grayson, Earl of Shropshire and escort." The announcer had to resort to 'escort' for Flora, not knowing how to announce her properly without knowing either her first or last name.<br><br>They both walked down a staircase and moved to the side where there was one of many small tables with food on it. There was a dancing floor in the center and a band which was playing. All the same, the Earl, noting her corset's effect on her breathing, simply took them both to sit down. Even he could feel all the eyes on her, though. Most stared simply at what had been the night's entertainment, but there were a few young men of all classes who were staring at her with other intentions, some completely honorable and others less so. And, of course, all groups of people would like to hold a conversation with the center of attention. However, as with all things, class mattered, and not only did a bad look from Shropshire carry the power of veto both as an Earl and her patron but the sons of the few titled nobles who had attended get the first attempt, as it were.<br><br>Luckily for Flora, the first man to come over was a Baron and his wife, the Baron himself being an aging man who quite obviously had no designs. He assured her she need not curtsy and complimented her on her performance and his wife commented on it as well. There was some small talk about how one of their grand daughters seemed to have taken up singing as a hobby and would delight in hearing her voice, and so on and so forth. Then they left, excusing themselves on account of their age and feeling tired. Unfortunately, if Flora had been hoping for rest, the next man who came up was a young man who, again, assured she need not curtsy and took her hand and kissed it, a rather intimate gesture. Shropshire was watching carefully and the young man said, "I am Duncan Ferguson, my father is the Baron Ardgrain. I have braved the English lords who no doubt wish to speak to you and think they have the right in order to gain that privilege for myself. I hear you are Scottish as well? It is a pleasure." He kissed her hand again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>18-08-2009, 05:55:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The smile the earl had for her and the kindness of his reply earned him a bright smile. "Oh, no, the fault is entirely mine, it is quite unforgivable to let your Lordship wait. Who would have thought it would be such dire work to squeeze me into a corset. I wonder how long it takes for the poor ladies with more of a figure to speak of." The latter she had almost murmured, grinning to herself, lost in the amusing vision of some of the more corpulent women being laced up. They would need some sturdy maids to accomplish a waist to speak of, for sure.<br><br>Flora recovered on the short way to the ballroom, enjoying the fresh air. She had pulled her coat close and watched the streets pass by. All too fast they had arrived, though, and the earl had handed her down and lead her into the room. Flora was all politeness and smiles, as was expected of her, she looked well and was at her ease at the centre of attention, did not think much of it and enjoyed it nonetheless. She noticed how, once again, both rank and the earl's approval decided about who would be allowed to come and talk to her first. <br><br>A dreadful habit, was it not, one should distinguish by value, by interest, beauty even, rather than rank, Flora thought. At least on an evening that was supposed to entertain. But on this evening, which might turn out to be very dull for all who delighted in good conversation, wit, understanding and education, Flora was supposed to be the entertainment, and she would do so just by being there, looking pretty and saying those witty little trifles people loved and expected of her. Of course, she would also flirt with the men, as part of her role, another means to gain a reputation and make all the effort and money pay out eventually which the earl had invested her. <br><br>Despite being told there was no need for her to curtsy, she did so, determined never to show the least lack of respect to anyone above her station. There was nothing more fatal than being viewed as a proud, arrogant upstart who had forgotten her place the moment the first opportunity had offered. She warmly thanked the elderly couple for coming, showed great interest in the daughter's musical interests, regretted not having had the fortune to meet the young lady, and was, in short, as kind, well-behaved and charming throughout their conversation as she possibly could. <br><br>The next to be introduced to her was a young man she almost instantly recognised as a compatriot. Her face lit up even more as she curtsied. She received his kiss with much grace and hearing the familiar intonation that accompanied his words, she was at once happy and suffered a pang of longing for the home she had left so many years ago. Among the Scots, she knew how to move with greater ease, she needed not to rely as heavily on her training and education as she did with the rather snobbish, uptight English. The familiarity of the young man's gestures did not bother her at all, on the contrary, she welcomed it and responded in kind.<br><br>"Donnchadh Fearghasdan, what a pleasure to meet you. Yes, I am Scottish, too, Flòraidh NicCruimein is my name." She had automatically pronounced his name as well as her own the way they would have done in Scotland. How she would have loved to change from English into Gaelic, the language they shared. To speak it, once more, hear it again, how wonderful it would be! According to their country's customs, neither of them had breached the rules of conduct in the least, and his second kiss on her hand was as pleasing to Flora as the first. It struck her how odd it was that this stranger should ask and know her full name, her real name, not even its English translation, while the earl had only ever known her as Flora...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>18-08-2009, 19:31:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire took note of their conversation but politely pretended not to hear it. He also took note of her last name, quickly putting it through translation convention to get... NicCrimmon? He wasn't sure if that was correct but it was close enough, he was sure. He tucked that away. He noticed that people were looking at him a bit as well and realized he was taking on a role as if she were her father, in some ways, because she had no father to speak of. He was guarding her, caring for her, and he was the one to be appealed to in regards to her. He wanted to sigh but restrained himself, he was only glad that he was too young for Flora to be any sort of illegitimate child.<br><br>Meanwhile, Duncan nodded and said, "Well, Flora MacCrimmon," at this the Earl again tucked away her proper name, "I am afraid we must say it in English for these Englishmen do not like it when we speak our own tongue. It is rude because they cannot understand it, they say. Or perhaps they are afraid you'll give me some Scotch and I'll put on a kilt and begin to attack them. You can never tell with the English." He gave her a warm smile.<br><br>Then he turned and said, "But I would be remiss if Shropshire did not join our conversation." After a moment, he added, realizing he had used a familiar term, dropping the 'Lord', "The Baron Ardgrain came south about a hundred years ago with King James VI. He went back to his Scottish estates but left his daughter with the Earl of Shropshire. We're distant cousins. Or, as Shropshire seems to have thought of us in the past, the Scottish branch of their family. I can't say that that arrogant honor of theirs hasn't helped us before, though."<br><br>Lord Shropshire, having now been invited into the conversation, said, obviously joking, "Still raging against the evil influence of the English, Mr. Ferguson?" Feruguson, in turn, nodded and said, again not serious, "Indeed, you English have stolen everything from us, even this lovely young woman and her voice. I might add that such a voice could only have come out of Scotland and it's highland air." He kissed her hand again and gave her a smile to let her know this was a familiar game to them. Shropshire shook his head and said, "Don't even get me started on airs..."<br><br>Shropshire proceeded to tell him about the illness, leaving out a few bits here and there for both his and Flora's benefit. Then Ferguson resoundingly blamed the English style of living and said how the Scottish one was better. Then an English noble, a son of another baron, came up and politely greeted Flora. While Ferguson engaged him, Shropshire said to Flora in a low whisper, "I suppose it would be best to tell you now he's engaged." Then Mr. Ferguson bowed and left and Flora was once again subjected to a parade of people, ranging from timid to polite but distant to people who had obviously worked up the courage to talk to her but whose fear made them unattractive to Shropshire's eyes. More than a few came up with an arrogant gait. Many inquired about her next performance.<br><br>After this parade of people slowed to a trickle, Shropshire said, "Well, then, may I have this dance, Lady MacCrimmon?" He smiled, showing off a new piece of knowledge like a trophy. Though it carried with it the fact he was sure that Ferguson would want a dance as well.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>19-08-2009, 23:09:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"How could giving one's own proper name ever be rude, I wonder?" Flora laughed, winking at the young Scot. "In your tartans you'd surely cut a striking figure and look a very dangerous man, too, Duncan Ferguson, their fear is not all that unreasonable." With Ferguson, she turned towards Shropshire, including him in the conversation. She listened to the family connection that was explained to her and found once again how little she knew of her patron's private life. Not that she should have part in any of it, she was his singer, a source of money, prestige and amusement.<br><br>She wondered what would come of it all, of this evening, the possible success she might have. Seeing a fellow countryman had brought her past back with surprising force. What would her father have said had he seen her now, like this? On the verge of become the one or other man's mistress, not to use the term whore for it? Would he despise her? Or would he forgive her, still love her, be proud of her for having at least survived, as best she could? Would he be ashamed of her for even considering living such a loveless honourless existence? Love, family and honour had been her father's world. What would hers be? Music, vain amusements and meaningless fornication... <br><br>But what use was pondering it all, what else could she do? All her close family was no more, there was no going back, no returning home to the places and people she loved. What honest lad would have her, now, anyway? Already the earl had wanted to take her virginity, and she had to thank a foolish serving girl and Ms. Goodman to have been spared that fate. But in the end, without any living protector of her honour, she would have no choice but to allow the earl or men of his choice into her bed. She was trapped in this accursed London, unless her voice opened the doors to a world for her she only knew from so many narratives and books. But her role she would probably never be able to cast off. <br><br>She smiled graciously at the comments on the highland air, received another compliment and kiss on her hand with a little laugh, listened in some amusement to the two men's jests and their talk about airs and the earl's illness, before she had to turn to the next young man. He received his fair share of her attention, as did each and every other person who came to great her. She had charms and a talent to mention just the subjects they each liked to talk about, which in their eyes rendered her a person worth their while and uncommonly intelligent. <br><br>When the earl whispered in her ear that Ferguson was engaged to be married just when Ferguson was taking his leave, Flora looked at her patron with a helpless little smile, as now it was clearly too late for her to congratulate Ferguson. Otherwise, this information naturally had no meaning for her. Marriage did not concerned her, personally, being a woman no man would want to marry. She had no dowry, no inheritance, no relatives. If the earl were to kick her out on the streets this evening, she would not even have the rags she had come into his house with to cover her body. What money she earned she already owed him, what clothes she wore belonged to him, every bite she ate, every instrument, every bit of string she had used, it all was his. <br><br>She smiled at him warmly, when he asked her to dance, grateful for a chance to escape the pointless chatter and her own thoughts likewise. It also pleased her to find he was feeling well enough already to even want to dance. What did she care for the heat and the uncomfortable corset if she could dance? Dancing was almost as enjoyable as providing the music herself. "I accept your Lordship as a partner for this dance both gladly and gratefully. While your Lordship can show me off, I can show off my new dress and if your Lordship dances dashingly, even my pretty ankles. That is an opportunity I would not miss for the world." Laughing, she took his arm and pressed it slightly as she smiled up into his face. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>20-08-2009, 00:45:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire said, "And afterward, I believe you'll have many eager to fill your vacant arm. Mr. Ferguson among them, I am certain. Just remember not to dance with anyone except me more than once." She could dance with him as many times as she wanted because he had taken the mantle of her guardian, but for anyone else more than a single dance would imply a degree of familiarity or, more probably, courtship and neither should be occurring quite yet. She could catch bigger fish than his circle of friends, and she shouldn't rush into it at her first outing either. He didn't remind her, figuring it would be rude to tell her something she already knew, that after she rejected someone she could not then take a different partner because it would be rude.<br><br>He stood up and held out his arm again and said, "I cannot offer you the world, only my arm, I am afraid. However, hopefully Ms. MacCrimmon can take some small consolation in this offering." After she had he said, "And I'll see what I can do about getting those ankles out to tempt the men." He wondered if Mary had been influencing her a bit. Of course, ankles became visible in rather vigorous dances, but to purposefully try to make it occur was something a bit on the libertine sexual side. All the same, he decided to give her the benefit of a doubt.<br><br>He escorted her to the dance floor where they joined the dance, which was not just two people but the entire group dancing together in painstakingly planned patterns to the music. However, about twenty minutes in, as he was the highest rank they went first, the group began to form a column and people danced down the center. He danced with Flora, spinning her when he could so as to show her ankles as she wished. However, when he wasn't, he tended to keep her fairly close in all his steps which were executed well. He was not a perfect dancer, but he was well enough.<br><br>Soon enough it was finished, about a half hour in total, and Shropshire made his way back to his seat with Flora with him. He could already see the men all around the room looking around, gauging interest, making sure no one of higher rank was taking interest so as to not offend him. There was a large number of people who wanted to dance with her obviously. While this was still going on Ferguson walked up. In response to Shropshire's look Ferguson said, "I am the son of a Scottish peer, so, contrary to what the English think, I am higher in precedence than they are. After all, it is a Scottish lady." It was actually the opposite. He kissed her hand at this and said to her, "May I have the honor of this dance, Lady MacCrimmon?"<br><br>After a moment, Shropshire said, "You might want to wait until the next dance starts, Mr. Ferguson." There was a break in music for people to find potential partners, to go through the long shuffle which Ferguson had just ignored. People were still going over to women, very few being rejected and most of those being rejected walking away looking unphazed by it. Shropshire figured that women could stand a man who was timid but not a man who was brutishly arrogant, and if something else drove the man to be rejected he must be used to it. Shropshire, not being a woman, was sure of none of this. Regardless, Ferguson had his answer soon enough, after an awkward silence he said, "... alright, I admit it, I am overeager. You brought a Scottish jewel down to London, how can I not be eager? I haven't seen such a woman since I came down from the highlands." Shropshire wanted to comment dryly his estate was not the highlands, but refrained.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>20-08-2009, 02:36:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She smiled and nodded to his advice, knowing the rules all too well herself. But she understood the warning's true meaning, that she must by no means give too much encouragement to a single man in this assembly, that she must not give the impression of singling one of them out, as it would lead to misconceptions. She also understood that the ones present here were not nearly of the rank the earl believed she could aspire to impress, to win for herself. <br><br>She laughed, but her tone grew almost serious again. "I care rather little for the whole world, it is too crowded with insufferable people. Your Lordship once offered me his hand when I was a friendless, tonight your Lordship even offers me his whole arm, how could I not be pleased? Besides, it is an arm to which a very handsome man is attached, even better, it is the one man I am allowed to dance with as often as it pleases him." <br><br>A little into the dance, feeling her ankles being exposed now and again, she bent towards her patron's ear at an opportune moment and whispered. "Your Lordship should not pretend to take my words literally. Your Lordship is too well aware of my having spoken in jest. I would be pleased if your Lordship could whirl me just a little less and spare my poor legs the drought." Clearly, the poor man had been exposed too long to his own solemn company during his illness, he had lost all sense of humour again, of that light tone of perpetual half-earnest that signified her conversations with him. She decided to bring that back into their talk, and also his laughter, if she could. <br><br>It made her happy to see him dance, to see him so well. All through the dance, she saw no sign of fatigue or pain cross his face or hinder his movements, he must, certainly, be truly well again. When the dance ended, she took his arm again and looked up into his face with her most radiant, genuine smile. She took no more notice of the people around them than was expected of her and polite, she had a smile and a nod whenever it was required, but would have liked to linger at the earl side longer. She had not seen him at all in the past weeks and now that the debut had gone well, she thoroughly enjoyed this moment, being at his side, sharing the success they had hoped for.<br><br>But already, the next offer to dance came in the person of Ferguson, even before there was another dance he could lead her to. She was not offended or startled by such eagerness, she knew the hot blood running through the veins of many a man or woman from the highlands, that passionate temperament that could ignite their anger, their sense of humour, even their love, in no time. She smiled at him with some sympathy and warmth, yet did not answer right away. A certain stiffness in the earl's posture had warned her he might not look too favourable on this endeavour. Sure enough, his response was a reprove for his relative's overeagerness. <br><br>"I shall dance with you as soon as there is another dance, good Sir." She said with a small laugh, hoping to dispel the slight awkwardness and tension between the two men. "Your Lordship must forgive us this our Scottish temperament, it renders us quite helpless, I assure you, it leads us along eagerly and we oftentimes are too easily tempted to question where we are heading. Once over the border of our beloved Alba, the mere sight of a fellow countrymen is greeted with as much enthusiasm as a lifeboat is hailed by one drowning. As for dancing and singing, both only ever served to make matters worse, we find it utterly irresistible, of which I am your Lordship's living proof." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>20-08-2009, 03:47:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire sat down. His chest felt fine, and as for his disease he didn't feel a hundred percent better but much better relative to what he had felt like. Still, he wouldn't dance as much as he normally did this night and he wouldn't want anyone's hands on his chest. Not that someone was likely to do such a thing in the first place. And the bandages were still in place, he knew. All the same, he studiously kept anything that could reference the fact they were there utterly hidden.<br><br>When Flora accepted, Ferguson kissed her hand again and stood there, waiting patiently for the music to start. Shropshire, in turn looked over the group. Since this was a social event rather than a ball, the amount of men in the room outnumbered the women. But, as with most dances, the number of female partners outnumbered the men. He had no doubt that some of the women would end up dancing with other women, nothing unusual. It was advantageous to him, however, as it gave him the chance to choose a dance partner at his leisure. She would not be uncommonly pretty or desirable or well connected, but she would dance and she would probably be less offended when he kept her away from his chest.<br><br>After a moment he said, "I am well aware of the temperament of the Scottish. My servants annoy me at times but his servants occasionally have drunken riots in the yards. Sometimes I suspect he tolerates them because he likes to join in on them himself." Shropshire gave a nod to his relative to show who he was talking about. Ferguson said, "What's a party without a bit of fighting? What's a riot but a party with a bit of fighting?" Shropshire immediately returned, "Large scale property damage?"<br><br>As if to break their fight-by-wit the band began to warm up, the sign to finish up, find their partners, and get to the floor. Ferguson held out his hand to Flora and, having read what the Earl was looking at and who he chose said, "Her name is Mary Wallace, another Scott. Are you developing an interest in us, then?" Shropshire made no comment, it would be rude to say aloud that he was just looking for a dancing partner and she had none. He moved over to her and she accepted but by that time Ferguson had taken Flora to the floor.<br><br>As the music started, he started his set of steps and followed with hers. He was a better dancer than his distant cousin, speaking more to his own abilities than that of Shropshire. He continued around and around, taking her through increasingly complex moves. Finally the dance reached a lull and he said, "What do you think of him? Shropshire, I mean. I know he's not handsome like I am, and he had the misfortune to be born English, but ignoring all that, I'm curious to know what you think of him." He seemed genuinely interested, but despite his mind being elsewhere his dancing suffered not at all.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>20-08-2009, 04:51:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora did not comment on the two man's amicable banter other than with her smiles, her eyes passing between the two distant cousin's who were so different in looks, temperament and manners. At the mention of large scale property damage, she could not stifle a laugh. She enjoyed just to listen to them both, watching them, these opposite natures who seemed to get along reasonably well nonetheless. At Ferguson's comment on Mary Wallace, Flora glanced over and wondered why the earl had chosen such a plain girl for a partner. There must be some use in dancing with her, since there was not be much pleasure to be expected. Besides, there was always a motive behind what the earl did. <br><br>"Maybe we will become objects of his Lordships' studies, he might do research on us. Or collect us, like butterflies." she winked, took the offered arm and was lead away into the dance. That Ferguson was a lively, excellent dancer did not surprise her, but it pleased her nonetheless. She enjoyed the dance very much, there was only one point at which she frowned, and that was when he asked what she thought of his cousin."I must beg your forgiveness, I cannot answer your question. Let it be your choice whether it is because his Lordship is an enigma to me or whether it is because I have no thoughts at all in that silly head of mine." <br><br>She said it lightly, regretting she could not speak to him as she would have liked to, very much indeed, especially about the earl. But she knew how much the earl hated being spoken about, especially behind his back, and even more so by members of his household. She would not risk displeasing him, nor did the Scottish cousin strike her as the right man to trust to keep a secret.He seemed to act first and think later, and to carry his heart on his tongue. Who could tell what damage that tongue could do if it repeated her words to the wrong person in the wrong moment<br><br>Luckily, the dance came to an end at this very time, they returned to Lord Shropshire's side, where Flora lingered but a few moments before the next partner claimed her for a dance. So it went on for a while, until her feet were hot and all she wanted was to get out of her corset, have a hot bath and go to bed. Oh, no, eat something, before that. She had not had a bite in an eternity, it seemed, no chance had offered to stand still long enough, no gentleman had been considerate enough to inquire whether she might want a refreshment, they were all too eager to show themselves with her in a dance.<br><br>Eventually, the evening ended and the coachman James drove them home through the darkness. Flora watched the occasional dim light move past, saw the shades that betrayed movement here and there, knew the corners in which beggars or worse would gather. Her own world, not so long ago. Soon, they left that part of town behind them and reached the noble district where the earl resided. He handed her down and led her inside on his arm. Her debut was over, all had gone well, the earl was pleased. Why, then, why did she not feel happier? It must be fatigue, she told herself, and the usual foolish jumping at shadows. <br><br>The past was dead and gone, the present looked good, the future would certainly not become more miserable than the life she had known before joining this earl's household. Still, she looked over her shoulder, her restless eyes passing over indistinct shapes. What was out there that worried her? She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. Was it a ghost passing over her grave, as they used to say? Was it – the name? Should she not have mentioned it? Had she invited the past back in? Would it reach out for her, again, that haunting voice, that whisper of a curse? 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>20-08-2009, 05:30:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As he helped her down he saw her looking around, as if wondering or scared. He took the opportunity to take her arm, linking her to him, and said, "You don't need to be afraid. Nobody and nothing can harm you as long as I'm around. You're protected now." He knew that might be a hard concept for her to come by after spending most of her life on the street. She was protected. Anyone who did anything to her would pay, for Lord Shropshire's honor if nothing else and the rage he knew would be there would be harder to placate than his honor. She would not be harmed, in a sense because she was his but that was not at all an unfair exchange in Shropshire's mind.<br><br>All that aside James drove off to put away the carriage and horses while the gate was closed behind them. It did manage to creak eerily and Shropshire noted it needed to be greased. He walked Flora up the path leading to his house, their steps ringing out into the night as the hooves of the carriage's horses slowly faded. Lord Shropshire, meanwhile, was inspecting the house. Something seemed a bit off to him. He couldn't quite tell what it was.<br><br>Regardless he continued to walk up and opened the door, letting Flora enter first as a proper Lady. Then he stepped in after her. It was dark and Shropshire looked around in confusion. There were no servants around whose hides he could have for this offense, except the gatemen and it wasn't really their charge. He took Flora's arm again, for his comfort in part and for hers as well. He became painfully aware of his promise to protect Flora.<br><br>Then the lights quickly came on, a plethora of candles lighting, and he looked around. Ms. Goodman was standing there along with a few of his servants, as well as Mr. Lincoln, who was his estate manager and of gentle birth and therefore was less servile in nature. Shropshire fixed his eyes on Mr. Lincoln who returned his confused look and said to Ms. Goodman, "You said..." Then Mary came out with a tray of sweets and the like made in the shape of flowers and held them up to the two of them, smiling and saying, "Oh, congratulations Flora dear, I'm so happy for you. You did wonderfully, I know it, and I wasn't even there!" Meanwhile Ms. Goodman and Mr. Lincoln were having an increasingly intense 'talk'.<br><br>Shropshire disengaged himself from Flora's arm and went over, settled the talk, gave an obvious sigh and shook his head and left Mr. Lincoln looking triumphant if still somewhat worried and Ms. Goodman looking defiant. He came over and reclaimed her arm, "My cousin, it appears, lied to Mr. Lincoln and told him I was planning this surprise for you to obtain his cooperation. She then planned this out for you." After a moment's pause he added, "Not that I had nothing planned for you but I am waiting for tomorrow. I believe you want sleep, food, and to get out of that corset. Possibly in exactly opposite that order. On that note." He turned to Mary and said, "Mary, please get Flora some real food and drink." Mary nodded and placed the platter in Flora's free hand and said, "Try them deary, I put my heart and soul into them." Then she ran off. Shropshire, meanwhile, left her free to slip into another room to take off her corset, a servant waiting in attendance to follow her into the room and help.<br><br>It looked like the moment she left Ms. Goodman would be talking to her cousin in round two of their 'talk'.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>20-08-2009, 21:39:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Only when the earl assured her she was safe with him she realised how much of what troubled her she must have allowed to show. She was glad he had spoken, interrupted her train of thoughts, glad to feel his presence close, the warmth of his body as he took her arm and lead her inside. She was tired, she told herself, overexcited, and tired, her nerves had been strung because of the debut, that was all. Surely, a good night's sleep would drive all the clouds away. <br><br>There was not a servant to be seen in the house, which was unusual. It seemed all wrong. She could feel the earl's muscles tense slightly, and knew he had noticed, too. They proceeded upstairs, he opened the door for them and let her enter first. Inside, it was pitch dark. Flora froze, squinting her eyes, automatically, her hand moved for the knife she still carried with her all the time, and she almost jumped when the earl took hold of her arm again. She almost jumped again when the lights were lit everywhere, momentarily blinding her. She managed to hide the knife and looked at the servants assembled before her, at Ms. Goodman and Mr. Lincoln, at Mary, in stunned surprise. <br><br>She noticed how the earl stared at the poor man, who turned in angered confusion to Ms. Goodman, and when Mary advanced with her cheerful congratulations and a bowl of sugary sweets, comprehension dawned on her. Her face relaxed into a smile and she exclaimed. "Oh, thank you, thank you all so very much, what a wonderful surprise!" she partly did it in the hope to end the dispute between Ms. Goodman and Mr. Lincoln, partly in the hope of appeasing the earl who, with his need to control things, naturally never liked surprises very much.<br><br>As always when Mary offered her something, Flora automatically took one of the delicacies. While she admired them all, she put the one she had taken into her mouth, listening to the earl's explanation of the situation, trying to swallow the sticky sweet so she could answer. "Thank you so much, Ms. Goodman, this is very kind of you." She just had to thank her, even if it meant risking the earl's displeasure, since he seemed to disapprove of what his cousin had planned for Flora, of the lie she told to Mr. Lincoln to make him cooperate. It was obvious from her manner and her expression that she would hate a quarrel to break out over this, which was meant as a kind gesture from the woman who had chaperoned her fro two years.<br><br>"Your Lordship is right, I am indeed impatient to get out of this corset, and dinner would be most welcome, it was a long day. The sweets are wonderful, thank you, Mary." She watched Mary hurry out at a run and suppressed a smile. She wondered whether it was a sign of Mary's eagerness to do the earl's bidding, her eagerness to do something more for Flora, or her eagerness to escape the rising tension in the room that caused such haste. When the earl had let go of her arm so she could change into more comfortable clothes and leave the others, no doubt, to continue their argument, she curtsied and smiled, then retreated towards her rooms, the servant on tow who would unlace this awful corset for her. <br><br>She cried out in pain when the pressure of the stays was gone. She had known all along it was too tight, but in the earl's presence she had not dared risk a scene. Where the corset had dug into her, her body felt sore and ached, her skin as much as her muscles. She decided that fashion might be whatever it wanted, she would never again allow anyone to cram her into a corset like that. Her waist was so slim without such measures, why should she suffer for an inch or two when she was curved this nicely all by herself? This was just too tight, too much, it really hurt, even worse now that the corset was gone. Suppressing a groan and the wish to just lie down and curl up, she put on the comfortable, thick gown and returned towards the room where her presence was expected for a very late dinner.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>20-08-2009, 22:46:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				After hearing Flora's painful noises, the servant said, "Poor miss. Whomever tied this corset either had no idea what they were doing or wanted to crush you. I'm surprised you could breath let alone dance at all. If... if I can offer you some advice, ask for Susan Walters to put it on next time." Suddenly her voice seemed to turn somewhat prideful, "She used to do it for the late Mistress and let me tell you she never complained about them." Lord Shropshire's mother. After a moment the servant added, in a somewhat abashed manner, "She's my mother."<br><br>The meal she came out to was simple, and if the quality of the ingredients hadn't been high it could have been at the table of a commoner. What the items all shared in common is they were quick. A few delicacies and pieces of really good food graced the table, mostly leftovers, obviously. Mary had obviously thrown this together as best as she could, which had been what the Earl had wanted. It wasn't a feast by any means but it was a meal. At the center was the bowl of sweets, untouched by anyone except Flora herself when she first took one.<br><br>Mary was standing outside the open door and when Flora came to the outside of the room she said, "Sorry, Flora, I would have made more but Ms. Goodman only came here an hour or two ago. And even I wouldn't be so bold as to cook a feast without the Earl's permission. I think he expected you to eat there. The handsome young men didn't give you a chance?" She nudged Flora slightly with this last remark and winked.<br><br>Then, from inside the room, Ms. Goodman's voice, raised if not quite yelling, said, "John and Mary and Flora! Them!" Mary peeked in and said, "Oh dear." before excusing herself and leaving rather more quickly than she usually did. Inside, poor Mr. Lincoln was near the door but wasn't leaving. He saw Flora by the door and gave her a helpless look, not something usual for a man who was more or less Shropshire's accountant.<br><br>Meanwhile the argument continued. Shropshire responded, much more calm than Ms. Goodman, "What about them?" Ms. Goodman's voice became more enraged, "You're using them! They're a hobby! My god, they're not even people to you! Just commoners to toy with! Your toys! You think they like it? You think you're anything more than an arrogant, selfish..." At this point Mr. Lincoln said rather loudly, "Ms. MacCrimmon is present." They both looked over and Shropshire nodded, and Mr. Lincoln abandoned the room, giving Flora a nod for luck.<br><br>Ms. Goodman looked offended at Shropshire and stormed out, but stopped before Flora to say, "I hope you enjoyed your surprise, Flora. I wish you all success." Then she gave Shropshire one last 'hmph' and stormed right out of the house. Shropshire pulled out Flora's chair then went over to his own, a polite gesture of helping a lady but not quite servility like pushing her back in would have been. He sat down, his mood obviously having been fouled. He said, "If at any point you should become very tired and wish to dash upstairs to your bed I shall think nothing worse of you if you do so." Then he started to serve himself from a few of the dishes. He was not nearly as hungry as she was and left most of it for her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>21-08-2009, 01:21:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I think she really hates me, that woman. She did it on purpose, for sure." Flora murmured through gritted teeth, remembering the glances the woman had cast her earlier, their first dispute over the stage costume's being too tight. She must have taken the opportunity to get back at Flora for it when the earl was present and she knew the singer would not want to have an argument in front of a man, leave alone one that high of standing, that intimidating, and her own patron on top of it. She smiled over her shoulder at young Walters. "Thank you, I will ask for her. If she is anything like you, she will be a great help, indeed."<br><br>Approaching the room where the earl was expecting her, she met Mary again, whom she greeted with a warm smile, grateful for her having prepared the dishes so quickly. She could see and smell them through the open door and her mouth watered already. "Oh, Mary, it is more than enough, everything you cook is delicious, and you even made those beautiful flowery sweets for me! Thank you so much, again." As was her habit, she gave no response to Mary's comment about young men, whenever the cook spoke of things she should not mention or in a way that was inappropriate, Flora simply ignored it, neither wishing to reprimand the kind woman nor to join into such conversations with her.<br><br>Ms. Goodman put an end to the whispered conversation anyway with her exclamation. Flora looked up in astonishment, wondering what was amiss with this John, the cook and herself, what they might have in common that angered Ms. Goodman so obviously. She looked after the practically fleeing Mary, then back at the open door, hesitating whether she should make her presence known or retreat discreetly. Then, she noticed Mr. Lincoln's helpless glance at her and answered in kind while the confrontation inside the room went on. She heard the earl's cool, calm reply and Ms. Goodman's enraged outcry, of which no word escaped her. <br><br>Glad Mr. Lincoln's loud announcement had put an end to the dispute, but also robbed of a last chance to just withdraw, Flora answered his nod with a weak if grateful smile, then faced Ms. Goodman, curtsied and hastily arranged her featured in as much of a smile as she could muster. She nodded all the more, at the woman's words, and said with a semblance of conviction that was not all that bad, considering the circumstances. "Oh, yes, I did, it was lovely, thank you very much, it was most kind of you to think of me and take all the trouble...." Then she watched the next person flee the scene, or rather, storm out of the house. <br><br>Turning slowly, she faced the earl and the table waiting for her and walked over to join him.he seemed in a rather foul mood now, which was no surprise, and Flora wondered whether his words were a hint that she should make haste and get out of his sight as soon as possible, or whether it was merely a comment on everybody's rushing and gushing away from him as had just happened. "Your Lordship is very considerate." she said carefully, sat down gingerly and began to serve herself, too, in silence. She still was very hungry and no mood or conflict could ever dampen her appetite, and even if it should, Flora would eat anyway. She had gone hungry for too long ever to forsake a meal because of nothing worse than emotional turmoil.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>21-08-2009, 01:55:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shortly after Mary returned, she would be expected to be there to clear the dishes and the like. She looked more than a bit uncomfortable and fidgeted from time to time. Mr. Lincoln walked by, glancing into the room subtly as he went by, but did not return to the room and had left their company for the night. A servant closed the doors Ms. Goodman had slammed in leaving. Shropshire ate slowly, mostly because he had taken much less food and didn't want to finish too much early than Flora did. He also ate a few of the sweets but left most of them for Flora, even though his facial expression obviously found them tasty.<br><br>The room itself was overly large for two people. And there was only Mary to wait on them. It was almost melancholy in a way, as if fitting itself to the Earl's mood. It seemed a place for happy occasions, celebrations, feasts, that sort of thing. Now it was just two people eating after a large fight and angry words, albeit not between them. Most of the candles remain unlit, just enough to give them light. A large number of candles couldn't be tended to properly and there was no reason to light up all the shadows for just two people so some patches of darkness remained here and there. This was just meant to be two people eating something quickly before bed, Shropshire knew, and thus had allowed efficiency to take place over pomp.<br><br>After a long awkward silence he said, "I found your performance astounding. I am both impressed with and proud of you. The only thing about it about it is it makes me wonder why you never sang like that for me before I left." He was obviously chiding her slightly, just a slight tease. He gave her a smile, reminded by the dark, "You will go to great places, I think, though your instructors probably told you that. But I'll always be here to help you and protect you, even if you get nowhere. I still remember what you told me about the man who attacked you two years ago. If any fear lingers in your mind, banish it." He didn't seemed concerned, but that was because he seemed more warm and protective instead at the mention of her attack.<br><br>After a few moments more he said, "So, how much did you hear of me and my cousin fighting? Do you have any questions? I may not answer them, but I probably will. None of it is something I'd have to hide from you, though I might want to hide some of it and there I must ask your leave." He took a long sip of the drink he had been served while waiting for her answer. He didn't think Flora would get angry if she knew what Ms. Goodman thought he was doing. He hoped she would know she wasn't just an investment or a hobby, as well.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>21-08-2009, 03:35:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora ate in silence, occasionally stealing a glance at the earl's face, or looking over at Mary with a small, reassuring smile. Her nervous fidgeting made everything worse. Flora noticed he was eating slower than usually, so he would not be finished before her, another of his thoughtful actions. One that also showed her he did not wish her gone but had given her leave to retire, earlier, in case the scene she had witnessed had upset her. She relaxed and looked around her, the gloomy, spacey room did not oppress her, she had seen few feasts in here, but often eaten in this room with only Ms. Goodman as her company. Then, there had been even fewer candles lit. <br><br>"Your Lordship's praise means a lot. I had hoped your Lordship would be satisfied with my performance." At his chiding her, she laughed softly. "Your Lordship would not have enjoyed it very much, I am afraid. This manner of singing is better suited for large rooms or open spaces." To his mention of the great places she might go to, she made no reply. His following words made her very thoughtful, she searched for an answer she could give him, not wanting it to be a lie or shallow words of no meaning, as she knew he valued her honesty, as she valued being allowed to speak this openly to a man of his position. <br><br>Her gaze strayed over at Mary, making sure she was too far to hear her words if she spoke softly. "I am far less afraid of that man than your Lordship always thought I was. When I first told your Lordship about him it was because I thought such knowledge might prove useful for your Lordship, be it politically or to better protect those your Lordship feels responsible for." She thought about his other words, too weighing them carefully, wondering why he had said all this. Did he suspect she did not trust him to have any interest in her unless she should prove useful and remain obedient? It seemed he did. But what could she answer without offending him? <br><br>"Your Lordship, my fears are – old. They are born out of my own faults, not of any reason your Lordship would ever have given me to distrust your Lordship's kindness or willingness to help me even should I fail. I know not how to trust anymore, I cannot bring myself to do it, as much as I want, as it would make things easier. I could trust, when I was little. Back then, everything was simple. They were my family, were all my life, all I knew. Our world was small, my place in it defined, secure. I was loved, I loved them and I trusted them entirely. Never since I could trust a single person, not even myself. Therefore, I have to pay for being like this by living with my fears and worries now. Your Lordship would best ignore them entirely, as there is no way someone other than me can ever dispel them."<br><br>She pondered her own words and the ones he spoke next, wondering whether there was any question she wanted answered, needed answered. She could not think of one. Whatever Ms. Goodman had meant, it concerned two others, a John she knew not and Mary, and whatever those two had in common with her she could not say. Most likely, they had profited from the Earl's kindness in a way similar to hers. "I only heard her las words, right before my presence was announced, your Lordship. As to their content, where john and Mary are concerned, I regard them as none of my business, and where I am concerned. Whether your Lordship experiments, has a made it a hobby to help me or has other motives, what matters to me is that your Lordship did help me and I profited greatly from it these past two years. All else is, perhaps, best left to your Lordship's conscience?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>21-08-2009, 04:45:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshire nodded as she said his praise means a lot, "I do not give praise, you earn it. My father used to say that. My father would have made slave drivers seem gentle by comparison, though. So I shall simply say you earned it Flora. You really did." He gave a small hint of a grin that was soon concealed by a new bite of food. He nodded at her, as if to encourage her further, "And I'm sure I'll look to many great public and private performances from you in the future."<br><br>When she commented that she was less afraid of him than he thought, he said, "Indeed? That's good, then. You shouldn't be. And you were right to come to me with it, it may yet prove useful. More so it was a sign that you trusted me, and that you cared. Perhaps the first real one you ever gave me, of your own free will and initiative." He took a few of the sweets, he had stumbled a bit obviously but tried not to let it affect him too much.<br><br>Shropshire listened intently as she explained about her old fears. He said, "You are right in that I have tried never to give you a reason to distrust that. And perhaps even right that it is your failing. That concerns me no less than if it was my own. If you cannot bring yourself to trust me then I must help you bring yourself to trust me, for both our sakes. Yours so that you may trust again and be happier for it, mine so that I can trust you. Anyone who does not trust me implicitly cannot be, in turn, trusted. Perhaps that starts with you trusting yourself, or perhaps it starts with you trusting me, but I will not ignore them. Even if I cannot dispel them I cannot and will not ignore them." He gave her a small smile, "And if you haven't figured it out yet, I'm very stubborn." After a few moments he added, "I will not order you to do this, either, but I would like to hear of your family. I trust your good judgment and faith to tell me anything you think I need to know about them, but I would like to hear anything else. I can arrange to send them money if they need it or something like that."<br><br>She told him that she only heard a little bit and regarded it, mostly, as none of her business. She said the few parts mattering her didn't matter to her. She left it to his conscious. Shropshire said, in a somewhat more solemn tone, "You are not just a hobby, you are certainly not an experiment, and while I can't claim total purity in my motives I did believe I was helping you. I still do. You're not a project, you're Flora MacCrimmon and I'm your patron. Trust me in that, at least, that I consider you a person, that I see you as Flora."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>21-08-2009, 20:42:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				In the light, social context in which flattery flew about like an excited swarm of birds, a stranger's praise had no effect on her whatsoever. She answered readily, thanked them for their having a high opinion of her performance. She was glad she had entertained them well, all her future depended on it, after all, but it did not touch her. The earl's words did touch her, his insistent showering her with compliments and praise made her quite helpless. <br><br>She might pass it off with a charming witticism, but that would be an insult to him who spoke seriously and wanted her to know and accept his words, not brush them off as if she might as well ignore their existence. She peered over at him, much as she would have done two years ago, almost as shy, as hesitant, then she smiled that genuine smile that held so much warmth and softened her eyes. "I thank your Lordship for these kind words. I will always work hard and hope to be deserving of such praise, although I feel awkward, accepting it..."<br><br>She thought of the man who had attacked her and killed and assaulted many others with anger. "He is a fiend, but mortal. I hope the knowledge of him will prove useful to your Lordship. But more than that I hope they will hunt him down, now he has returned. I hope next time they will catch him in the deed and carry out the dark street's bitter justice and revenge. If there is one man deserving it, it is him." Her tone was passionate and fierce, her hand clenched around her fork as if she would ram it into the man's guts if he were present. <br><br>As fast as her temper had broken through the surface, it disappeared underneath it. She turned towards the earl, weighing his words. "I trust your Lordship as best I can. I never knew your Lordship well. I know the man who returned even less than the man who left two years ago. I am aware your Lordship wants my trust and always struggled to give to your Lordship as much of it as I can. Speaking to your Lordship of my faults which must lower me in your Lordship's eyes, is not it token of some trust?" She was almost pleading, did not want to hurt or anger him, nor to lie. <br><br>"I am adrift in your Lordship's world. My mind understands how it works, but my heart does not belong here, nor my soul. Your Lordship could not hear my fears without condemning me for having them. I am worse than an ignorant heathen. Knowing this, how can I trust myself? Even my chastity I would have thrown away, for a lie that endangered your Lordship's life. Was not that wicked? Your Lordship ought not trust me, give me attention or think kindly of me, I deserve it not, although crave it. The only thing I trust is good in me is my voice." <br><br>After a long pause, she cleared her throat and said in a brave attempt at that light, nonchalant tone that had so often shielded her from exposing her true feelings. "My family? They are all dead, no use or threat to Your Lordship. I am an orphan and an exile. Unless your Lordship wishes to hear a tale rich with superstitious nonsense and homesick nostalgia over which I doubtlessly would cry my eyes out, wallowing in self-pity, this topic would best be avoided. There has already been too much of the spirit of the Gaels today for my own good." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>21-08-2009, 22:11:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she returned to her old forms, seeming somewhat hesitant, shy, and giving him another genuine smile, he returned it with one of his own. He said, "Never feel awkward about accepting it, true praise is rare enough in this world. When it's offered by someone who matters to you, it is something to cherish." His smile faded naturally a few moments later as he took another bite. He was glad that he had given her something at least.<br><br>She became angry at the mention of the fiend and said she hoped he would be brought to justice. He said, "Status and power go far in this world, unfortunately. If I were to exit this house and shoot the first person I met, the chances I would be anything more than fined would be small. Even the fine might not occur. Still, for such a thing to become public would devastate the man's reputation. And perhaps he might not be a peer and if he is enough of an embarrassment his noble connection will abandon him, so that the courts may have their way." After a few moments he said, "I, too, hope for justice." As he noticed that she seemed to be ready to stab something with her fork.<br><br>Her temper disappeared as she then weighed his words and she said she trusted him as best as she could. He could hear the pleading in your voice and he returned the words gently, "Speaking of your faults has not lowered you in my estimation at all. Perhaps I am different, and perhaps you cannot give me your entire trust, but I will still hope for it and strive to be someone worthy of all your trust. And I will strive to help you overcome that distrust as well. And hopefully one day both our wounds and vices will heal and we'll both be perfectly happy and trusting. More likely we'll just end up bettering ourselves and growing yet closer, but that's no bad result, Flora." He gave her a small melancholy smile.<br><br>Then she continued to tell him of what was wrong with her and he shook his head, "If you are adrift, let me be your anchor then. You will find your heart and soul will adapt well so long as you have a home, people you care for, a place to sleep, security, all of which I offer freely. If not, ask me to leave this world. But as to your fears, I can always hear your fears, I will never condemn them. You are not an ignorant heathen, Ms. Goodman had two years to see to that. If you can't trust yourself, trust me. Trust that I believe in you, that you are good, then." <br><br>Then she brought up the topic that she would have thrown away her chastity and recounted the entire affair with his wounds. Shropshire started out a bit more quietly this time. "If the sacrifice of your chastity makes you evil, then I am doubly evil for having ever asked it of you. If that lie endangered my life then I am the one who put it there and I am doubly wicked. If what you say is true I am not deserving of trust, kind thoughts, or attention. Perhaps you are wicked, but you are infinitely less wicked than I am. I prefer to think it was not wickedness that drove us that day. So, perhaps we live together in our wickedness, or perhaps we are both good, either way you more than deserve any attention you crave." He seemed somewhat regretful now.<br><br>He was somewhat grateful for the change of topic onto her family. When she said they were all dead he said, "I'm sorry." quickly and listened to the rest. He said, "I neither wanted to make use of them nor considered them a threat, I merely thought I may be able to help them, send them a few pounds or some such. Apparently I cannot. As for the tale, though it would no doubt be interesting and a worthy use of my time I do not want you crying and if you feel too tired from the spirit of the Gaels I shan't force you." He did take one thing away from her description, homesick nostalgia. Perhaps he would bring her to Scotland. He stole another sweet from the table.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>22-08-2009, 02:05:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I cannot really help feeling awkward, your Lordship, but I do cherish your Lordship's praise, very much." She answered honestly, her smile never leaving her eyes. She felt the sense of growing familiarity and attraction return to her that recent events had pushed aside, the shock and uproar, guilt and panic of that moment when the girl had run screaming out of the room and the earl had lain in his blood and a fever, the preparations for her debut, her being forbidden to even come near him. She had been tempted to sneak into his rooms, but she had obeyed her orders. She had not dared risk to diminish the flexibility of her voice by the fumes or by catching the fever. More than that, she had felt guilty, as if her actions, her unreasonable offer, had been the cause for the earl's poor health. <br><br>His speculations about the fiend's status and how it might protect him or when it might fail him did not impress Flora. She leaned towards him and whispered even more softly. "I hope for a darker justice than that. If he dresses up as one of the poor again and rapes, guts and&nbsp; mutilates another girl, I hope they will catch him while he is at it. They would not hesitate to do him in. They would cut him to pieces and throw him in the Thames. I hope his own disguise as one of the poor will bring his downfall, because they believe he is what he pretends to be and that nobody will care if he disappears." Apparently, Flora had not shared her suspicions with another soul, speculating that if the low-lives did not know, they would maybe surprise him and treat him as the poor man he pretended to be.<br><br>His next words moved her, as was obvious in her face. Her eyes seemed deeper and darker, more like they had been the last time they had spoken intimately, the day he had kissed her. Again, she felt, how, when he was with her, talking to her, looking at her, it seemed to make it so much easier to trust, so much smaller a risk and folly. Had she only begun to doubt what had transpired between them in response to the abrupt end their recent careful attempt to built up trust and familiarity had found? She shook her head and said in a very small voice. "No, not... not a bad result at all." His melancholic smile had almost painfully touched her, and before she could think, she had reached out to lightly stroke along his cheek with the back of her hand, sure she had caused him grief and hating to see him saddened.<br><br>"But... those tow years, it were those two years, those teachings that showed me what a heathen I am. It was then I began to doubt myself, doubt that I was good. I always had thought I was, but them I learned I am not. That is why I am worse than an ignorant heathen.But I – I am so glad your Lordship will not condemn my fears, they are bound to show, sooner or later, and in all their superstitious irrationality. I was afraid your Lordship would like me the less for ... well, for all that." She said this in obvious embarrassment, uneasy and careful, biting her lip.<br><br>His way of interpreting what she had said, blaming himself more even than she had blamed herself cast a new light on the situation, and she frowned, lost in thoughts for a moment, then murmured in protest. "No, surely your Lordship is not wicked, was not..." She faltered, then said with sudden conviction."Before I was given all those lessons, I would have seen no evil in it at all, it would have seemed good and natural to me, what we said and did, that day. And I regret that it is no longer so. I wish I could just be as I was, see it in such an innocent light again, and follow my heart in it, without these doubts, without thinking of these words of others on what is good and what cannot be good. It is like – that corset I wore today, I wish I could just cast it all off. It hurts and smothers me."<br><br>"As for my family... Your Lordship knows me by now, I only spoke like this because it causes me grief to think of them and I wish to protect myself from it and not show it to your Lordship, either. There is nothing that can be done about it and..." She sighed and placed her hand on his arm. "I will tell your Lordship, about them, about my life, back then. I... Yes, I want your Lordship to know that other Flora, who I was, who I think I still am, deep down." Watching him pick up yet another of the sweets, she smiled and gently nudged the plate closer to him. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>22-08-2009, 02:40:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire smiled when she seemed to be happy from his praise. When she talked about the young man getting murdered he simply assumed a neutral expression. He couldn't really response to that. He had never been in the street, and justice was heavily weighted in his favor, so he couldn't really tell her that vigilantism was bad. The courts would probably kill him anyway, and they might save the woman if they found him quickly enough. He just listened to her, not giving an expression in return. He couldn't.<br><br>Then his words moved her, and he instantly focused on that instead. She spoke in a small voice, and it sounded happy to him. She seemed to be filled with something caring, and her hand moved to his cheek and stroked it with the back of his hand. He gave her his full attention and opened his face to be stroked for as long as she would wish but continued to look at her. He did have to admit that her hand on his skin, gently dragging, left behind it a sensation he had not felt in some time. An almost indescribable tingling. He gave her no verbal response, just a smile.<br><br>When she expressed her doubts about herself and what a heathen she was and that she would be glad he would not condemn her for her fears. He said, "Whether I do this," he picked up a cup in a fully proper manner, "Or this," he picked it up in the common manner, "Or even if my superstitions drive me to do this." He picked it up in an odd manner. "What is within tastes the same so long as the cup is not dirty. You are still Flora, and while I must ask you maintain some basic level, you do not need to be an angel. I cannot ask you to be that, because I'm not one. We'll work through your superstitious irrationality together."<br><br>Then she objected when he said he was wicked, which, to be honest, was what he wanted to hear. In a way, it was her forgiving him, in a way it was her saying she was still his, both of which he wanted in a strange contradiction. Then she told him just what she thought of it. He said, "You are not wearing that corset now, Flora. And if a corset is tied properly it allows what is beneath to flourish while still maintaining outward appearances. Just as important as knowing when to wear a corset is knowing when not to wear it, Flora." After a few moments his conviction faded slightly and he said, "Of course, I'm obviously blinded by the fact I want you to take your corset off for me in a more literal sense. It's still your choice, I will not order you to give me your virginity, I won't pressure you in any way other than to let you know I want it. I stand by my promise, you can say no with no repercussions."<br><br>Then she moved onto her family and touched his arm. His other hand went to hold her hand on his arm to give her some confidence. He said, "I am glad you want me to know you. I am glad that you want to tell me this thing and I apologize for any pain you might feel. But I am sure that whomever you are deep down is a good woman who it has been my pleasure to support and it is my pleasure to know." He gave her a smile, then added, "I won't judge what you did, having never known hardship like you have, I don't have the right."<br><br>When she nudged the sweets towards him, he took another and said, "We all have our weaknesses." with a small grin. "I must say that I do not think I am too much worse of a man for my cravings for sweet things. But I am afraid that I am devouring your celebratory confections."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>22-08-2009, 04:55:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Fully comprehending that and why the earl could not say anything in response to her hopes about the fiend's fate to be, she regarded the subject as closed. She knew he understood her feelings and wishes and could not agree with or encourage such hopes as she had uttered. <br><br>When he not only allowed but welcomed her touch, opened his face to her, her hand lingered and turned around. She held his cheek, tracing her thumb along his cheekbone, lost in his eyes. The tips of her fingers passed along his hairline, then, growing bolder, more confident through his reaction, his utter stillness and attention, along his jaw towards his chin. Here, they hesitated, while her eyes searched his, shyly and yet intense. Her index finger, slightly trembling, traced the outline of his lips, his smile. She could hardly believe how acutely aware her fingers were of every detail of his face, of the roughness of his faint stubble, the contrasting softness of his lips. A surprised little smile stole on her face, mingling with her dreamy expression.<br><br>The demonstration he gave her with his cup and different ways to drink out of it made her laugh. Could it really be this simple, could a minimum of proper conduct, immaculate appearance wherever it was asked for, be all that was required of her to be – well, good enough? "An angel? That I have never been. An imp, perhaps...&nbsp; Your Lordship should not expect to dispel these superstitions, they are very persisting. But I am discreet about them. Nobody suspects me of having them. Only your Lordship knows they even exist." She smiled and winked, hoping to move away from seriousness, but also from speaking of her superstitions in this dark room with its many wavering shadows. Such things were best not spoken of in the night.<br><br>She turned both the remark about wearing the corset and his renewed promise that her virginity was her to keep or give as she chose, over in her head many times before she answered. "I will, I think, learn well how and when to wear such a corset. Your lordship's philosophy seems to suit my own nature better than Ms. Goodman's views on this matter. " Here, she even laughed softly, recalling the many strict lessons in upright if not uptight morality and Christianity she hat sat through, knowing herself doomed to fail such standards. This more liberate approach was giving her more confidence. <br><br>Then, she grew serious again, silent, remembering his kiss, his smell, the feeling it gave her to be close to him, to touch him. Could it be wrong, could it be bad, could it destroy what was growing between them? Or would it complete it? Did she want to lie in his arms, be that intimate with him, allow him to see and touch her, to take her maidenhead? If he was in this as he was in other things, could it be very bad, very painful? As ugly as she had seen it, out on the streets? Or would it be more like what she knew of him, however little that was?&nbsp; What if he had a dark side to him, like so many men had, that showed exactly behind that one door forever closed to all the world? But even if he had, he had made promises, and she was sure he would keep those. "I... I want your Lordship to have it." A rushed whisper, no more.<br><br>The rest of what he had said rushed past her in a blur, she picked up essential parts, welcomed and treasured his interest in her, his support, his conviction that she was a good woman. But all she could think of was that she had made her decision, had done so openly, that there was no turning back now. She felt faint and confused, even scared, intensely aware of his hand as it lay on hers, a gesture to give comfort and confidence. She looked on those hands, resting on his arm, her pale, small one covered by his firm hand, still roughened from the time he had been in the war. By and by, her racing heart calmed down a bit, but she could not muster enough confidence to look up and meet his eyes again after what she had said.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>22-08-2009, 05:38:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As her hands traced over his face, the tingling sensation grew more intense and even turned to a small burning in some places, though he was not blushing. He looked at her as her hands traced over him, her look dreamy and a small smile creeping onto her face. She was welcome to feel every nook and cranny of his face as far as he was concerned. She went down his chin and even onto his lips and he did nothing but give her a small, coy smile, hoping she was enjoying it.<br><br>When she laughed at his cups, he was not disappointed, that was, at least in part, what he was after. But the point it conveyed was valid as well. When she said she was not an angel but perhaps an imp, he shook his head, "You shouldn't think so lowly of yourself. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me who certainly is associated with you. You resemble an angel more than me, though I must say neither of us is." When she commented on her superstitions he said, "Well, then, perhaps I shall find them charming and quaint. Many qualities can be good, Flora." She looked around the room and he resisted a small chuckle, not wanting to make fun of her fears.<br><br>She said his philosophy about the corset fit her nature well, he said, "Yes, some people go through life constantly proper and others go through life never caring for what others think. I suppose I've found the middle course. I believe you just gave it a name, though, the Philosophy of the Corset. I will teach you this happy medium, hopefully." He gave her just a small smile. He hoped that, in private, between them, a lot of the pretensions and masks of society would drop and he could find within her a companion of many sorts.<br><br>He watched her weighing the decision in her mind until she gave a small rushed whisper. She wanted him to do it. She had decided. She trusted him. She looked as pale as ever even as he squeezed his hand to give her strength. Then he stood up and walked over to her chair and looked at her with her eyes averted. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face up before planting a kiss softly on her lips. Then he gently guided her up out of her seat and took her by the hand. In this moment he felt her trust, he felt her love, her desire to please and the fact she knew he wouldn't harm her, that if he wanted to do this to her he thought it must be good for her too. The idea that the fact it was him could change an act that otherwise reviled her.<br><br>He lead her through the darkened hallways, upstairs, the servants would take care of things after them. He felt as if there was some quiet communication between them. She knew where he was leading her, she accepted it, she wanted it. He held her hand tight as a way of giving her any encouragement he could. As much as he wanted this he was determined to make her enjoy this as well. That more would be exchange here than sex, that they would get out of it more than animalistic pleasure, that she would get more than just his semen and that he would have accepted no other woman in her stead in this role. All this, he felt she felt, even though the entire time he was leading her there, not even looking at her as he walked and slightly eager even.<br><br>Soon enough they were in his room and alone, candles lit up the room. He pulled the curtains closed and locked the door, very few people in this house could lock doors but he, being the master, was one of them. He pulled back the curtains that served to isolate his bed from the rest of the room. Then he removed his shirt, and started to unwind the (now much simpler) bandages. He began to undress himself further, assuming Flora would at least know to get naked and move onto the bed, and when he was completely naked moved to the edge of the bed to see if she had gotten in on top of under the covers and to draw the curtain closed again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 00:11:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When he said she should think higher of herself than she did, if not for herself, then for his sake who associated with her, she thought about it for a moment and then nodded. She understood why it should pain someone who liked her if she thought too little of herself, and decided to keep such thoughts to herself if they should come again, they would only make him rise in her defense and maybe anger him. She also wished that he was right and wanted to believe him, just as he wanted her to believe that his good opinion of her was justified. "Your Lordship and I are both human. Angels do not walk among us down here, they have better places to go." When he added that he might find her superstitions quaint, charming even, she hoped it would be so. She could live with his smiling about them, even laughing, not taking them serious, anything, as long as he did not condemn or despise her for having them.<br><br>When he baptised the middle course between rigid morality and loose morals the Philosophy of the Corset, she grinned. "I will gladly learn all your Lordship's lessons about this happy medium. I hope it will make and keep both your Lordship and his student very comfortable living this new philosophy." She saw there was a lot more going on between his dark eyes, but it was futile to try to read in his face. It hardly ever betrayed his feelings, and in the little light the candles gave, it was cast in relief, soft light and sharp shadows, which made it impossible to see the fine nuances of expressions that might cross it.<br><br>After she had told him which was her choice in that rushed whisper, she could feel his hand close around hers, squeezing it slightly to give her comfort, to encourage her. Still, she could not look up, even when he moved, when she heard his chair being pushed back and his steps as he came towards her, when he stood before her, gazing down at her. His hand reached under her chin and lifted her face. Now, finally, she looked up at him, saw the gentleness in his eyes as he bent to give her a tender kiss. He gently pulled her up, then took her hand. In this moment, something seemed to pass between them, soothing, calming her, despite her fears, her inexperience. It was as if through his honest intentions, his will that she should trust him, she could allow it to happen.<br><br>So, she followed him through the dark passages and hallways, up the flights of stairs and along the corridor into his bedroom, holding his hand tightly, walking close to him, leaning her head against his arm. Her heart was still beating wildly, but into the fear now mingled that odd excitement she had felt when he had given her that one, long kiss, the one of which he had said that if she liked it, she would like lying with him, too. She tried not to think of the pain he had admitted it would cause her. But even when this thought stole into her mind again, she was not anxious enough to lose that other, warmer feeling rising inside her. <br><br>To be with him, to touch him, to kiss him again, with the feelings she had for him and which he valued, if not even felt for her, too, what was a little pain compared to that? The pain would go away, surely, but the feelings, they would not, at least that was what she hoped. When the earl began to undress, she hastily followed his example, nervous and awkward. He was so eager and she was not even sure he would still want her when he saw her. Had he really liked her arms? The rest of her body lacked the roundness of celebrated beauties, too. Would he not be disappointed? But he had said it was not as important, had said the feeling, that which happened between them was what mattered most to him, so it might not be too bad. <br><br>Still, she was shy, she wanted him to find her attractive, to like her body. She thought she at least had lovely skin, all soft and milky, without flaws. Her breasts were pretty, too, high, firm and full, and even if her waist was so small and her belly flat, her hips curved out nicely and her behind was round and firm. Her legs were nice, too, and he had liked her arms, he must have, or he would not have still wanted her, as he did, now, would he? She slipped into the bed and pulled up the covers, shivering against the cold sheets. She did not turn over to look at him until he had slipped into the bed beside and drawn the curtains. Then, she glanced over, seeking his eyes for reassurance, bit her trembling lips as she waited nervously for whatever might happen, what he would do, would want her to do.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 01:09:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire went in under the covers as well and moved up next to her as she turned to face him. He saw her trembling lips and used one of his fingers to trace over them and spoke softly, "Don't be afraid, Flora. You are a vision of beauty, you are lovely, and I wish I could see all of you." He referred to her being under the covers. "There are many things we can do, many ways to do this, but this time we will just take it slow and gentle, both for your sake and the sake of my wounds. Just... be guided by me." His finger trailed down to the side of her head and he gave her a gentle kiss, "I don't want you to regret this."<br><br>Then he began to kiss her again. He slowly moved his hand so he was stroking her hair as they kissed and then used the other one to begin to trace down, starting at her neckbone he traced down to her breasts where he gently traced the outline of her nipples before again heading further south until he reached between her legs. He continued to kiss her and used his hand to gently rub around her sex, sometimes going near the lips but trying to be gentle and knowing she was not used to this sort of thing. He continued to do so until she was aroused enough that she was ready to receive him.<br><br>After she was, he guided his hand to his own shaft and took it in his hand, and guided it. When he had done so, he moved his hand slowly around to her back to hold just above her bum, taking a moment to stroke it as well, before gently pushing in. It was gentle, but his hand stayed on the small of her back to keep her from moving or retreating from the thrust. After he had done so, making sure to finish her hymen in that thrust, he gently moved so he was on top of her, removing his second hand from her hair and his first from the small of her back to facilitate this. He quickly whispered, "I'm sorry for the pain."<br><br>When he was on top of her he gently pushed in and out of her, but he was getting faster and just a bit rougher. He couldn't move around too much for fear of his own wounds but he was getting more vigorous. Meanwhile he brought his lips back down onto hers and used his idle hands to gently trace patterns along her smooth skin. He continued to move in and out, and he felt her, tight and warm and wet, but more than that he could taste her lips, he could feel her, he knew it was Flora. On many levels he knew it wasn't a vagina, it was Flora that he was having intercourse with.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 02:35:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				At the gentle touch of his finger, her lips stopped trembling, and opened a little. She smiled shyly, at his words, and swallowed, unable to speak. She kissed the tip of his finger, though, and nodded, gaining more confidence from his words and the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes. She was very aware of him, of the warmth of his body, of every little move he made, very aware also, of her own body, of the way her senses seemed to spring to live, awaken to his touch and presence. Where his finger trailed along her face, her skin prickled, and when his lips touched hers, she felt her hear leap and knew she wanted this, wanted him, almost painfully so. His next words felt to her like a promise.<br><br>She knew he would be gentle, would not hurt her any more than what he could not help, and she decided to relax, to let herself fall into this, follow his lead, trust his intention and his experience, to trust him as completely as she could and not be afraid. His deep kiss was wonderful, at once gentle and passionate, and a feeling of completeness mingled into longing for him, for his every touch, his closeness. He stroked her hair, his hand traced down to her breasts and she gasped as his fingers passed over her and circled her now erect nipple. A shiver ran through her and she moved towards him, raised her arms and passed her hands over his shoulders and back. His skin felt smooth and he muscles underneath tensed and relaxed as he moved his hand towards her crotch. <br><br>She gave a small, surprised sound when he touched her sex, blushed, but then was even more startled at her own reaction, of that feeling of heat and restlessness spreading from where he touched her. Suddenly, it felt very warm under the sheets. Her kiss became more passionate, more urgent, she arched her back and opened her legs, moaning softly. When his fingers brushed over the little tip, she gasped again, her hand that had lightly caressed his neck slipped round it to pull him closer, while the other stroked his back and sides, carefully avoiding any places that might still cause him pain. Under his touch, she felt as if she was melting, yet it wakened an urge in her to squirm, to raise her hips, move against his hand, as trickle of her moisture coated his fingers. <br><br>When she felt him prepare to take her maidenhead, for she knew not better words, a shadow of fear passed over her, and she grew tense, but did not want him to stop, she wanted him to do it, to be with her, in her, even if it should hurt rather badly. She could feel the hot, sleek head of his member against her, and her breath caught in her throat. By the way he held the small of her back she knew he wanted her not to move, that he would hold her still like this even if she wanted to move, and there was a knot of fear in her stomach. Then, he pushed into her, and she could feel the resistance in her, feel something stop him, for a moment, then tear, with a sharp, burning pain. She winced and squinted her eyes, biting her lip again as he&nbsp; pushed into her, slowly, deeply, hurting her where that which must have been her maidenhead had torn. <br><br>He lowered his body onto hers, and she reached up to hold onto him, bury her face against his neck, coughing and trembling, fearing this would be only the beginning of the pain. When he said he was sorry for the pain, she nodded, not trusting her voice, which she did not want to betray her fear and pain, of which she hoped it would be over soon. Then he began to push in and out of her, slowly at fast, and it did still hurt, did burn, but little by little, she could relax again, and to her surprise, a very different feeling now mingled into the pain, a sensation that grew stronger and more wonderful with every movement he made. <br><br>Had she at first tried to not feel anything at all down there, after the pain, she now did not want to miss any of it. How hard and yet soft he, felt, how smooth, how he slipped in and out, how her muscles closed around him, shuddering, twitching even, this must be lust, this must be why people liked it so. "Oh, but... it is... it is... oh!" She murmured, sighed, moved under him, her hips raising her sex to meet him, welcome him, and she moaned again as her body mirrored his movements, joined the quickening rhythm in which he thrust into her, harder now. Then he kissed her again, and she opened up to him completely, kissing him hungrily, passionately, holding on to his arms, not trusting her touch to be gentle enough now that she was driven by this hunger and need, afraid she would hurt his wounds if she allowed her hands to stray anywhere else. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 03:20:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When Flora winced and squinted, biting her lip, Shropshire could not help but feel compassion but could do nothing more but push on, both literally and metaphorically. He felt her face buried into her neck and hoped that his closeness would give her some small strength. As he started to push in and out she started to relax, she started to accept it. He could feel her sex twitching and shuddering and welcoming his manhood rather than tensing at it's presence before. It was a good sign, an encouraging sign.<br><br>He began to move in and out faster. She began to speak but she could not get it out through the heat of their passion and her hips began to move with his. He matched her movements in such a way that their movements complemented each other. She accepted his kiss with a hungry passion and he began to use his tongue to enter her, sucking on her lips and searching for her tongue to bind them together, opening her mouth to her assault in turn. It was done in a passion, something he had hardly planned. His arms, as she grabbed his, grabbed hers as well and served to hold her in place if she should have any fears.<br><br>Meanwhile he began to enter and exit faster and faster, go deeper and deeper and he could feel a warmness in his crotch and in his legs. From experience if nothing else, he knew what this was the start of. Rather than try to prolong it he decided to let himself come naturally, still, he continued for some time. He continued to go in and out, seeking tighter and different quarters and moving in such a way that he aimed to hit a spot he had discovered with other lovers, he had no name for it but found that it had gotten the best reaction from them. As he continued to thrust in and out he felt something run up and down his entire body, he slowly whispered out her name, "Flora..." Then he felt a pulsing sensation in his manhood and with one final thrust into her his seed burst out in several spurts inside her.<br><br>After a few moments he moved out of her and so he was no longer on top of her. His lips had left hers and he kissed her again, a short somewhat exhausted kiss, and ran his hand over the side of her face. He wanted to speak but just looked at her. His hand continued to caress her face during this time and then he finally managed to speak. He said, "Flora... you once told me you thought that the woman who had said they enjoyed this were lying for my benefit. That they might even be withstanding pain for me. Please, tell me the truth. Don't lie. Did you enjoy it? Or has woman kind been collectively lying to me?" It was obvious from his eyes the answer he wanted.<br><br>As he said this, he moved her and himself so that both his hands were around her, and he slowly drew her so that she was pressing against him, just slightly below him so that her face was at the right height to bury itself into his shoulder or chest. He moved his legs and intertwined them with hers, and though their crotches were close again he wasn't stimulating her again. His hand slowly caressed her back and he pressed her into him, feeling her breasts on his chest, and enjoying it and her warmth and closeness, the smoothness of her skin, he kissed her on the head. He kissed the crown of her head once more and closed his eyes in peace, though he was not asleep.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 04:37:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				This play of lips on lips of tongue around tongue, of his body moving with hers and his member inside her, it was overwhelming, carried her away into a wild state she had never known before, had never even imagined. There was no clear thought in her mind, all that was there was sensation, urge, motion, a blind passion building up and up as his thrusts grew ever deeper and faster, as he sucked on her lips and tongue and she did the same, until she had to break free to catch her breath that was fast and came in gasps and moans. <br><br>The tension was growing, too, almost unbearable, she tossed her head from side to side and arched her back, feeling his manhood push into her in different angles, reaching places where she had not felt him before, then into one that felt even better, and she cried out, driven to an even higher level arousal, one that sent shuddering waves of heat and lust through her body, her whole being centred around this experience, this moment they were moving towards faster and faster, as their climax drew closer. <br><br>A shiver seemed to run through his body, his muscles, a succession of contractions like a ripple when wind blew over water. He whispered her name, and she looked up at him, just as he gave a final thrust and his semen gushed into her. This was also the moment when something broke in her like a dam that released a flood of purest lust that burst free and washed over her in so many waves. She cried out as her inner muscles clenched, then convulsed many times in short succession. Her body was covered in sweat and she felt adrift, exhausted, spent, but in a very delightful way, warm, alive and soft as butter in the sun. <br><br>He withdrew from and lay at her side now, as breathless and speechless as herself, then he bent over to kiss her again, only to break free and gasp for more air. His hand stroked her face and she took it, kissed it, then released it again. She looked back at him, turned slightly and brushed strands of hair out of his face that clung to his skin, then caressed his face with the tips of her fingers. She felt a tenderness for this man that was almost and ache. "Oh, I liked it, I liked it." She immediately answered his serious question, without any pause or hesitation, omitting his title in this moment of emotions and intimacy, only to give a small start and add it hastily. "Your Lordship." How awkward it seemed, so out of place as they had just lain as one, were still lying here as lovers might, equals. <br><br>Then he drew her close and she eagerly helped him, nestled against him, close and soft, feeling her bare skin against his, hearing his heartbeat slow down and his breathing. His legs intertwined with hers and she could feel his member against her skin, soft now and strangely vulnerable. Her fingers travelled lightly over his back and his side, in gentle strokes. When he kissed her on the head, her lashes fluttered against his chest as she had opened her eyes again. She was so peaceful and tranquil, so tired and comfortable that sleep weighed heavy on her lids. Softly, she began to hum the lullaby that had carried him off to sleep in that other night she had spent in his room. Soon, she fell asleep over it, too. For once, her dreams were quiet. Calmly, she slept on, slept still, long after the sky had shown the first pale light of morning.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 05:06:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire soon fell asleep, feeling tenderness for Flora and wondering how he could have a change of clothes sent up for her discreetly. It didn't need to be discreet, but suddenly her reputation mattered to him because it might cause even a twinge of regret to her. But then he was off in the world of dreams, pleasant dreams, facilitated by the closeness of a cherished one and a lover. He even pulled her tighter during the night, feeling a desire to be even closer subconsciously.<br><br>When his eyes opened in the morning the first thing he saw was her face. It brought a smiled to his lips and he gave her only a small gentle kiss, careful not to wake her. He slipped out of bed and closed the curtains. To anyone it would look like the bed was unoccupied, the purpose of the curtains was to conceal privacy. He took a quick bath and had some clean water brought up for Flora under some pretext or another. He had James smuggle up a dress, knowing James to be the sort of man who would not ask questions nor gossip nor even possibly make a connection that it was Flora. James, he believed, would not endeavor to understand the matter too well.<br><br>Then he dressed himself and laid out Flora's clothing so that she may dress. He chose functional clothing over pretty, and there was no corset. He stayed in the room on various pretexts, not wanting to leave her until she awoke. He continually peeked through the curtains at her sleeping face. He wanted to kiss it but he would not dare risk awakening her. He had already resolved to not to eat until Flora was awake but in his impatience ordered various dishes brought up so she could choose among them at her leisure. He ate nothing himself, determined to wait for Flora despite the appetizing smells. He managed, though, to sit at a desk and get some work done, despite all this, as unromantic as the notion was.<br><br>As he was doing so, a servant slipped through the door with a letter which Shropshire promptly opened from the Baron of Bridgeford addressing him politely as a peer and a man with whom he had had social contact many times and to their mutual benefit. He informed Lord Shropshire that he wished to strengthen their bonds and therefore desired greatly that the Lord should come to his home and grant Bridgeford the honor of entertaining him for the day. The letter apologized for the immediacy but also told him that he had something he believed that Shropshire was perfect for and he wished to show it to Shropshire in the hopes that Shropshire may take a fancy to it. It was a mount of the finest breeding, he assured Shropshire, which had belonged to a relative of his until recently. Since Bridgeford had a full stable and Shropshire had free space, perhaps he would be interested in taking it off his hands? Regardless of his decision, the Baron looked forward to the visit from a dear friend. It was signed just as cordially.<br><br>Shropshire sent orders for the carriage to be readied and that a response should be sent to Bridgeford he would visit him today though he could not stay too late in the evening nor could he say exactly when he would arrive, with profuse apologies. It was not too late in the morning, though, so he expected the Baron would not be too disappointed. Besides, he was supremely pleased, both in that he had gotten up early and that Flora had slept late, both contrary to their regular customs.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 20:05:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It is safe to say that when Flora woke, she was surprised. She was surprised it was already bright morning, when she usually woke when it was still dark. She was surprised to find herself without a chemise, all naked. Surprised she was in an unknown and luxurious bed with beautiful curtains, which she then identified as the earl's. When she remembered why she was in it, she was surprised to find herself alone, with the earl already up and gone, and was also surprised nobody had woken her. In short, her first visible activities of the morning consisted of sitting up, yawning, and a lot of blinking and looking down herself and around with a rather puzzled expression. <br><br>She sighed and scratched her head which made her mass of curls even more voluminous and unruly, but helped her to really wake up and think straight. She decided it was high time to get up, swung her legs around, and frowned again at the slightly sore and sticky feeling of her crotch. She blushed, then grew pale. She listened intently whether someone's approach could be heard, then hastened to get out of bed. It was of utmost importance to her to be dressed and look immaculate once the rumour spread and she would be exposed to the stolen or open glances of those who would gloat. <br><br>Her maid would know already she had not slept in her room, her bed had not been touched, nor had she been in it or anywhere near her own quarters at her usual time. Oh, why, why did she have to sleep this long, and on this day? She should have gotten up and left this room many hours ago, right after she had lain with the earl, what a fool she was, what a complete idiot, everybody would know by now! Her eyes by now had an expression of wild panic, such as one might expect in a thief who hears the inhabitants of a household raise the alarm. <br><br>What was she to do? And the sheets? There was blood on the sheets. From there, it was little difficulty to tell who had lost her maidenhead in this very bed that night. She did not want anyone to see this blood, this proof of her lost virginity which would have still been embarrassing, but not this shameful, even somewhat welcome were this the morning after her marriage had been consumed, but there would never be such a morning, such respectability, now. Hence, she did not want the blood to be seen, not in a compromising situation like this. She had rushed into it, had not expected it to come so soon, maybe not at all, that decision she had made last night. <br><br>She had not been clever, either, had not been circumspect, had prepared nothing and forgotten everything that might have at least postponed her moral degradation to be found out by all the household. Most likely, the one or other servant had already found a way to let one of Ms. Goodman's servants know Flora had not spent the night in her own bed. What would the good woman think? For sure, Flora was ruined in that lady's estimation who only recently had done her best to prevent Flora from falling into a state of disgrace and shame. All this had rushed through her head even before her feet had touched the floor. Covering her mouth with her hand, on the verge of tears, she gathered the bed-cover around herself and gingerly shifted the bed's curtains to peek out into the room. <br><br>Then, she saw the earl. Instantly, she grew calm as gratitude and tenderness replaced her worries. He had not left her here, alone, to deal with this as best she could, he was sitting right there, as if he had only been waiting for her to wake up. Her face lit up into a radiant smile, all the more beautiful and touching for the tears that had risen to her eyes. She snatched up yesterday's chemise where she had dropped it, wrapped it around her hips and, once more wasting no thought, following nothing but what her heart desired, all but ran over to the man whose eyes expressed so much tenderness and happiness. She wanted to throw her arms around him, kiss him, nestle against him, be close to him and feel safe, make herself believe that all would be well.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>23-08-2009, 20:57:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire turned to see Flora get out of bed and saw the confusion on her face. He saw the tears welling in her eyes and wanted to call out to her, to comfort her. But he realized he had been the cause of these tear and kept silent. He could feel her sadness infectiously welling up inside him and he had to promise himself he would make sure she wouldn't regret it, reaffirming a promise he had long ago known he had already given.<br><br>The curtains were still drawn and the room was still completely private, and though sunlight still came in well enough to light the room candles were still illuminating a few patches here in there because the entire room was totally sealed off from the sight of the outside world as if that would preserve their deed in more privacy. And it did, perhaps. Particularly because some servant's eyes would have trouble adjusting and would rather stay n ear the fire than the bed. But Shropshire could see perfectly in it, and so would Flora due to her status as having stayed there for the night.<br><br>But she noticed him soon enough and wrapped her chemise around her waist and came at him, looking happy and grateful. He, in turn, was somewhat taken aback by the novelty of having Flora come at him half naked but thoroughly enjoyed the sight of her. As she came forward he stood up and faced her, feeling a bit guilty he had left her in bed at all and hoping her unabashed happiness meant she had taken no offense. He had simply dropped whatever he had been doing up until that point.<br><br>When she came close enough he opened up his arms and took her tightly in an embrace, laying a kiss on her haphazardly. He kissed her again, more sensually this time, and kept on holding her tightly. He began to squeeze her a bit too tightly and loosened up after realizing just how much he was pressing her into him. He gave her another kiss, this one lighter than the ones before, and just looked into her eyes for a short time.<br><br>Then he spoke, "Flora... I had something brought up for us to eat. And I had a change of clothes brought. And there's some water in case you want to bathe. I tried to be as subtle about it as possible." His voice changed ever so slightly, "I mean, I don't want you to regret this. Not at all. I don't, but I did not lose anything tonight and I gained quite a lot." He seemed to be staring at her as he said and he absent mindedly adjusted a strand of hair so it was off of her forehead. His eyes returned the tenderness she gave to him. He wiped the tears out of her eyes, "Don't cry anything but tears of joy, Flora. Please, for my sake, or I shall feel like a terrible monster."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>24-08-2009, 01:35:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When he opened his arms and pulled her close, her worries were forgotten. Seeing the expression in his eyes, her heart gave a leap of joy. She welcomed his first kiss eagerly, however haphazardly it might be given, loved how his arms slung around her to pull her close and hold her tight. His next kiss was sensual, while his embrace was tightening so much he squeezed her, and by the time he loosened his grip, she was breathless and a faint blush of pleasure had risen to her cheeks. She stroked his face with the tips of her fingers when he kissed her for the third time and got lost in his eyes when he looked into hers. <br><br>When he told her of the careful preparations he had made, the breakfast, her clothes and even an occasion for her to take a bath, assuring her he had been as subtle as possible, what he had done for her touched her deeply, that he had been this circumspect, this careful to provide what she might want or need without drawing any attention to the fact she was here, had spent the night with him. "Oh, thank you, your Lordship, this is most.. I had been worried how to do these things, without making it known to everybody, what happened here, last night. I am so glad, so grateful!" <br><br>She kept looking up at him, wondering why he stared at her like this, attentive, tense and concerned, searched his eyes for the answer. His next word told her all she needed to know, and now there was nothing but tenderness in his eyes. That he should feel this bad on her behalf, if she were crying, sad, regretting the step she had taken, showed her how deeply he must care for her. The thought was startling, overwhelming. For the first time in many years, she felt she meant something to another human being, not as a means to get something, not as a pretty person or entertainment to have around, but as herself, Flora, just the way she was without any pretences or masks. <br><br>"I was just confused and worried and a little scared, I thought your Lordship had left and I was all alone and did not know how to arrange it all, how to do it discreetly. But when I saw your Lordship, it all slipped away, as if it did not matter anymore... I am happy, now." She smiled up at him, again, then gently moved out of his embrace. "I should better take that bath, before anyone comes in..." She murmured, turned towards the tub and tested the water, which, to her delight, still was warm. Before she stepped into it, she turned her back to the earl and cleaned herself between her legs under cover of the chemise, scrubbing away at the traces of dried blood and semen. <br><br>As she was done, she recalled the words he had said last night, that he wished he could see all of her. He had seen quite a bit of her already, but then she had been so happy to see him, eager to be near him, she had hardly thought of her nakedness. Now, showing her body deliberately, she felt awkward, but knew it was one more way of giving something to him, herself, a sign that she wanted this, still wanted it, wanted him, wanted to be his. She unwound and dropped the chemise and turned to face him, slowly, self-conscious and shy. <br><br>She did not pretended that this came easy or natural to her. She did it for him, wanted him to see and know her body the way he and no other knew her when they were talking alone. He had accepted and welcomed all she had said, all her faults and hesitations. In the same sense and manner, she now offered him her body. She could not bear standing there like this very long, though, it was too unfamiliar, too bold an action. She stepped into the bath to give herself something to do and distract her thoughts. She reached for a cloth and the soap and began to wash herself. She heard her stomach protest and laughed. "Breakfast will be most welcome. Is your Lordship not hungry? Why, your Lordship has not even tasted any of the food!"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>24-08-2009, 02:27:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she seemed happy and told him how grateful she was, he couldn't help but smile and had no words. Then his smile faded to something tinged with just a bit of embarrassment and said, "I have... some experience with such things, I will admit. Other women. I know who can be trusted to keep a secret, I know how to get things through secretly." As if it made what he had just said a little better he gave her another kiss. "As for me not being with you, I can only apologize for that. But I was up for some hours and while I had no wish to disturb you, I felt the need to leave the bed. I hope you understand. I am sorry that I caused you pain for event a moment."<br><br>When she turned to leave, he let her go but didn't draw back his arms so they traced along her as she left, gentle and feeling her. He nodded when she said she should take a bath. He saw her feel the water and watched her scrub herself, not wanting to take his eyes off Flora for any reason, even her modesty. He was just too enthralled with her, and her body was a part of her. Then she stood up and turned to him, revealing herself to him. She dropped the chemise, and went straight in front of him so there could be no doubt as to what she was doing. After a few moments he managed to almost whisper out, "You are beautiful... thank you." Then she stepped into the bath and began to scrub herself, Shropshire watched openly now, feeling he had been given leave to do so.<br><br>When her stomach growled and then said he hadn't eaten anything he said, "I was waiting for you. As hungry as I was I would never pass up a breakfast with you and your lively conversation." As he did this he brought her her clothes and waited for her to get dressed. As she was dressing herself, he pulled her chair out for her, before going back over to his desk where he had been working. He took out a few items and brought them over.<br><br>He sat down and put the items on the table. The first one was a small bouquet of flowers which, as he handed them to her from across the table, he said, "I was told that they were Scottish flowers grown here in England, though I don't know for certain. I certainly hope it is true because I do like to think this is your home and, though you hail from Scotland, you take root here in my English home." The second was a bottle with a bow on it, with various writing in Gaelic which Shropshire couldn't read a word, "This is supposed to be a good Scottish drink, which I hope you enjoy." After a few moments he pause, "If I have been fooled by the people who sold these to me and I was duped, please accept the feelings behind these if not the actual content of the presents as genuine." Then he took the third thing and fastened it to her dress, a small brooch engraved with flowers and "Flora" written at the center along with a diamond which he touched and said, "Also Scottish. I hope you like it." It was by far the most valuable thing he had given her so far out of three.<br><br>The last thing he did was take her hand and deposit ten pounds in it, closing her hand around the money. He said, "I handle your finances, and normally I will mostly put your money, your profits, towards your various maintenances and the like but will give you some money after every performance. Seeing as this is your first one, I have decided to simply deliver it all into your hands this time, as a small celebration." Actually, money had been lost, but he had decided to use this excuse because he wanted to give her some money and to simply give her money as a gift would imply she was a servant. "Congratulations on your first performance and debut." With that, he began to eat a bit sheepishly.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>25-08-2009, 00:21:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Sensing his embarrassment, Flora hastened to say. "Oh, that is good, I can rely on your Lordship's experience then, in these matters." She kissed him back with no restraint, the thought of his having had other women in this room in much the same way he had had her neither surprised nor saddened her. "But the fault was all mine! I should have been up hours ago, indeed, I should have returned to my room instead of falling asleep here, but I never once thought of it. Being with your Lordship, I was too happy, I forgot all around me." <br><br>That the earl should find her beautiful made Flora glow with happiness, she could not help but want him to be pleased with what he saw, she hoped he would want her again, want her with him, she had such a longing to be around him and watch him, touch him, do things together, not only those they had to keep secret. She wanted to know this man, not the earl, the man he was, as he had said he wanted to know her, Flora, in the way she showed herself to no other living creature anymore. She wished she could throw all the cares and worries about gossips and her reputation overboard and make a habit of just being with him whenever they felt like it. Like one of those careless, beautiful mistresses some aristocrats showed around with so much pride and nonchalant implicitness.<br><br>She tried to be less shy, feeling his eyes on her as she was washing herself, she now and then looked up over the high edge of the wooden tub and smiled at him, but more often than not, she blushed, too, and had to look away. It was not much different when she dried herself and dressed, that interplay of modesty and what to her felt almost daring went on until she had dressed fully, on that comfortable gown without a corset. It looked a simple enough garment, until she put it on. Once she had arranged its folds and wide ruffled sleeves over her elbow, though, with the fine chemise underneath and its breathtaking neckline, is charm was obvious. Indeed, it was the height of fashion to wear such gowns indoors these days, only indoors. The famous mistresses had their portraits painted in this new style, which could only mean it soon would be the height of fashion.<br><br>Ever since she had heard from his own lips that the earl was hungry and had been waiting for her all this time, Flora had made haste, her fingers flying, showing the routine and ease with which the former beggar made herself a representable lady. In her happiness, Flora looked her most beautiful, her features were lively and open, and she showed the earl so much affection in her glances and smiles that many a refined mistress would have laughed at the silly little fool who seemed about to give her heart to the first man who had claimed no more than her virginity. She had, quite unforgivable, lost her head over it, did not understand how to turn this moment to her advantage, nay, did not even think of it, and had she heard of ways to do it, she would not have tried those tricks. She was a perfect fool in this, but as of yet, a very happy one. <br><br>Flora quickly slipped onto the chair the earl had drawn out for her and glanced at the delicious, rich breakfast with obvious joy and appetite, then grinned up at the earl."Now, finally, your lordship can eat. Your Lordship should not have gone hungry because of me. Your Lordship should have at least eaten all yesterday's sweets!" She laughed, seeing before her inner eye how he had nicked sugary flower after sugary flower. A thought struck her and with amused curiosity, she asked. "That wintry night I was brought here, did your Lordship come to the kitchen to find sweets?" But then, her eyes widened in surprise and wonder as he began to give her present after present. <br><br>She brought her face to the nosegay, inhaling deeply. This first present would have been enough to impress her, she had not had nearly enough time to marvel at those flowers an enjoy their sigh and smell, leave alone answer his kind words before he gave her yet another present. Hardly had she read the words on the bow fastened to the flask before he already bent to fasten the golden brooch to the folds of her gown. She looked up at him, the nosegay in one hand and the flask in the other, speechless, as her innocent joy changed into awe at the sight of the costly brooch, the intricate beauty of which was reminiscent of the fine artwork she had seen in her childhood days. She had even seen her father weave such knot-work on top of and around the handles of many a&nbsp; claidheamh mòr, as her people called their sword. <br><br>"Oh, but, surely, this is too much, your Lordship, it is – all of it is from my home country, your Lordhsip, and truly beautiful and it is most kind and much too generous of your Lordship to present me with all of this, I ..." She placed the flask carefully on the table and would have risen to throw her arms around him in a better expression of her gratitude and joy, but, alas, the shower of generosity was not yet over, ten pounds were pressed into her hand. She cloud not believe her performance should have earned this much, nor that he should just give it to her, on top of all the presents he had just made her. Whether the earl was busy eating sheepishly or not, there was no holding back Flora now. She practically flew around the table, slipped onto his lap and slung her arms around him, whispering her thanks and covering his face and neck in so many kisses.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>25-08-2009, 01:07:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire simply nodded at her acknowledgment of his embarrassment, glad she took no offense. He enjoyed the kiss and when she said the fault was hers, he said, "Oh, never. You should have stayed the night in your pure bliss and I won't accept you sneaking around in the night. I want you to sleep here after we do such things so I can wake up to your face, and you may sleep as late as you want as far as I am concerned." After a few moments he added, "But I am glad I could make you so happy your entire attention was focused on me, I admit."<br><br>Shropshire found her modesty endearing and her body still attractive. When she put on the gown he had to wonder if James had chosen it specifically for such a purpose, and he wondered if James was in any position to know of such things. He had to say it was attractive, it showed off Flora rather nicely. For a moment he wondered exactly where such a dress came from. He wished she would just cling to his arm dressed like that for his enjoyment whenever he wished, but would never dream of making such a burden upon her reputation.<br><br>He saw her quickly dressing herself, quickly and elegantly but she always took the time to shoot him affectionate glances and smiles. He valued these more than her declarations of love because they were harder to fake and more spontaneous and they slowly nudged him until he was smiling at her dressing. He was happy that she was happy, and he was plenty happy otherwise in addition. His smile seemed to fade from happiness from what she was doing to a happy comfortableness at her presence shortly, though.<br><br>When she said he could finally eat, he said, "I hungered for nothing more than your presence, my Flora." After a moment he added, "That sounded hackneyed but it is true. Besides, those were your sweets and you are mine." He smiled, realizing he had just added an equally hackneyed phrase again. When she asked about if he was in the kitchen for sweets, he made an exaggerated scoff, "Of course not, I have sweets delivered to me. I was there to make sure Mary was making the right flavor." He gave her a small smile, "And I had no idea what I found at the time would be sweeter than anything Mary could bake." Again, he internally chided himself, feeling that what he said was too stereotypical but they continued to flow.<br><br>He got the right reaction, happiness, then she was impressed, and finally she was in awe, all the perfect reaction. He gave her a genuine smile. When she said it was too much, he said, "Flora, this was your debut both as a Lady and as a singer, not to mention I took your maidenhead and though that was not planned I hope you cherish it just as much. Three things happened this night that will never happen again, and they deserve to be celebrated." After he had given her the money she immediately slid around and began to plant kisses all over him.<br><br>After a moment of surprise he began to return her affections, holding her so she would not fall and shifting her entire body so she sat on him wholly and comfortably. His other hand moved up, almost on instinct, to her breast and lightly fondled her as his mouth continued to pay attentions to her face, not solely her mouth. The hand steadying her slowly came around her and soon it was pulling her tightly towards him in what would have been a one handed hug, part of his desire to be closer to her, to feel her. It wasn't that he wanted sex as much as he wanted contact, to feel her, to smell her, to consume her with his senses. And as she pressed into him that was just another sensation he craved.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>25-08-2009, 03:02:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"No sneaking around at night, but sleeping as long as I want in your Lordship's bed? If all your Lordship's wishes meet my own desires so perfectly, obedience to your Lordship's wishes will turn from a virtue to a favourite vice." She laughed, then added seriously, softly. "I cannot remember when I last slept this well or wanted to be with someone, around someone, as much as I want to be with your Lordship. Perhaps I was afraid of this, too, that I would become attached to someone so high above me in station."&nbsp; <br><br>Flora was no fool, at least, she tried hard not to be one. She knew the utmost that she might become was a mistress, and how long did that usually last? Weeks? Months? Maybe a year or two, even? Unlikely. Some men did keep the same mistress for a lifetime, but most discarded them faster than they wore out their shoes. But what could it possibly help her to keep reminding herself of those facts? Why make herself sad and resigned over what might not come for weeks, when she could enjoy these hours now, such a night, such a morning, seeing the earl infected with her own happiness?<br><br>"It is beautiful, that gown, is it not? They say such gowns are now very fashionable to wear indoors. The king's mistress had her likeness painted wearing one, and a few other ladies of the court, too. Has your Lordship seen these pictures?" Apparently, Flora thought the earl himself had chosen this dress for her. She would have been surprised to find out James had been the one to pick this fashionable gown for her. The coachman did not strike her as a connoisseur of fashion. <br><br>"Your Lordship should have woken me up, I must be poor company when I sleep." She smiled at the compliments the earl uttered with almost every sentence. She noticed that which he called 'hackneyed' in them, but she could not care. She liked what she heard, that he wanted to say all these pleasant things to her. Possibly, he suffered from his share of foolish thoughts and feelings that came with this morning's happiness. "Your Lordship is welcome to have all my sweets and me. If I knew your Lordship's favourite flavour, I would try to become that." She wrinkled her nose, and laughed. "Is not it strange, that I should have become this, I, who used to be the creature your Lordship found that evening in the kitchen?"<br><br>When he reasoned with her why his presents were not exaggerated, what could she do but accept? She did not want to spoil this moment, and in years to come, be they dark and sad or contented, she would always cherish to have a token, a keepsake, of this day, remembering her debut, her night with the earl, this morning. "The brooch shall always remind me of all three. The flowers must wilt and the drink will vanish mysteriously. Most likely, the money, too. Unless I sow it into something to keep it for a time of dire need, as I should..."<br><br>Finding herself instantly welcomed and more comfortably positioned on the earl's lap, Flora decided to stay right where she was until he would have enough of her. One arm slung around him, she let herself be decked with kisses, too, drinking all of it in greedily, his warmth, his fondling of her breast, his scent, his heartbeat, the way the light played over his hair, his hand that steadied her and pulled her close. She nestled against him and looked into his eyes, mutely asking whether she could sit here with him, like this, or whether he would prefer her to return to her place and eat in the proper fashion.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>25-08-2009, 03:58:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire smiled and said, "It is always good when virtue align with what we want, but we must try to stick with them even when they do not." He gave a small chuckle, "I give a woman I've seduced a lesson about morality, Hell has no hypocrite greater than I. Hopefully the Lord will find my other virtues redeeming and forgive me my trespasses." When she said she was afraid of being attached to him he said, "Shush now, Flora. Attachment is fine. It is only those women who make unreasonable demands that have anything to be ashamed of. Our attachment is the greatest joy I've had in years." He gave her another smile.<br><br>When she said it was a beautiful gown he nodded in agreement and when she said the King's Mistress had worn it he gave her a wry smile and said, "You look more beautiful in it, I am happy you only wish to wear it indoors for otherwise the King may snatch you up from me." James, at this moment currently petting one of the horses, felt a prickling on the back of his neck and sneezed. Shropshire and Flora remained perfectly ignorant of this, of course.<br><br>When she said he should have woken her up, he said, "You may be poor company, but you look like an angel in rest. An angel just for me, Flora." He smiled at her and was pleased when she took the compliments as good even though he felt they seemed hollow simply through the stereotypical sound, as if they had come out of a romance novel. When she said she would become his favorite flavor, he said, "Soft, as opposed to sharp, strawberry, mildly sweet and not overpowering but definitively present. But I would gobble you up in an instant no matter what your flavor, because it would be the flavor of Flora and that holds no comparison to strawberry." When she commented that it was strange she had been that creature in his kitchen he said, "And the King was once a lump in a woman's belly, if you'll forgive me. We all start somewhere Flora, but where we end up can be more important."<br><br>When she said she valued the brooch most he nodded and when she said the drink will vanish mysteriously he couldn't help but let out a small laugh. When she said she might save the money for a time of dire need, he said, "I will make sure you're never in dire need, Flora. Spend it on something you enjoy. Besides, starting on your next performance part of what you earn I will tuck away for you." He gave her a caring smile and said, "I will take care of you."<br><br>After the initial moment died down and she nestled into him, close to him, staying on his lap, she looked up at him mutely questioning. He smiled down and gave her a kiss on her forehead as a response. If there was any further doubt as to what he meant, he took a portion of the food and gently held it up to her mouth for her to consume, smiling at her. "You must be hungry, Flora, eat. You'll never starve again if I can help it." He was hoping she would return the favor since one of his hands was in constant use balancing her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>25-08-2009, 05:35:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora's own chuckle grew into a laugh when the earl gave this pretty speech on virtue. They both made poor saints, but then, saints, idolatry and papists, to Flora's deep regret, had been banished form this kingdom. She had heard of the pomp, the beauty, the cathedrals, the sacred music of the Catholics and secretly envied them all of it. She smiled and kept her thoughts to herself for once, caring more for what the earl said about her attachment, no, theirs. Theirs! "I wish I could always have your Lordship's affection and be worthy of it, yet this is most unreasonable, the world being what it is. I'm glad for any joy your lordship feels, so very glad we share this attachment, now. My best virtue is a beggar's wisdom, to not let tomorrow cast its shadow over today's happiness."<br><br>At his wry smile and comment about her looking better in such a gown than the king's mistress, so that the king would be tempted to snatch her away from the earl if he would see her in it, she exclaimed. "I will wear it only for your Lordship, then, so no other but your Lordship can feel tempted to snatch me up." She kissed the corner of his mouth were the wry smile had appeared, and cheerfully declared. "Much joy to the king and his harem, but I would rather stay right where I am and have breakfast with the company I chose." Unaware of Jame's prickling neck and his sneezing, she never even thought of him.<br><br>"Really? I have such weird and violent dreams, I ought to look like a strange wild creature, not an angel." she fell silent for a moment, then said softly. "Your Lordship looks very gentle in sleep, very peaceful, even when your Lordship is in pain." She remembered the night she had spent on the sofa, waking up every half hour to look after him. Since the earl was fully recovered, the memory no longer made her feel guilty and anxious. Her thoughts travelled further back and her voice sank to a murmur. "My father pulled faces in his sleep, the way he did when drops of sweat tickled him. They say I wrinkle my nose just like him..." Her voice trailed off. <br><br>Strawberries? "Real strawberries are better than any flavour, just as they are, warm from the sun... It seems, for my own safety I should always bring sweets or strawberries along to feed them to your Lordship, so I will not be devoured by accident!" When he commented on her magnificent life's journey, the way she had changed in those two years, by declaring the king had been a lump in a woman's womb, she shook her head and raised a finger in warning. "Your Lordship must not talk like this. The king was a royal lump in a queen's womb, he might have been of purest gold for all we know." She dropped her playful chiding and added. "The king ended up right where he belonged. It's more complicated to predict one's fate if one belongs nowhere." <br><br>"Your Lordship may laugh, but these beverages are widely known to disappear mysteriously, with everybody claiming innocence. We should better drink this one together one of these nights before it can sneak away all by itself." She grinned and winked. When he urged her to spend the money on something she enjoyed, she looked at him thoughtfully. "I begin to see why your cousin claims your Lordship was less prudent in money matters than herself." She recited in and imitation of Ms. Goodman. "Well, my dear, waste not, want not!" She laughed softly, almost fondly, at the memory, then looked at the earl. "I will go and spend it all, your Lordship, to prove I trust in your Lordship's care for me and your Lordship's management of my affairs both in his and my interest."<br><br>She read the kiss on her forehead as just what it was and made herself even more comfortable, smiling so pleased and dreamily she almost did not open her mouth in time for the food he was holding up for her. As soon as she had taken the bite, she picked up the fork and chose the best bit on the plates. She held the fork up to his lips and said in a dignified manner. "Your Lordship cannot be allowed to starve, either. Two years ago, on Christmas eve, I was given an office, and I still hold it, for all I know." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>25-08-2009, 18:59:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she said she wished she could always be worthy of his affection and always have it, he decided not to return with words but simply give her a warm smile, not in such a way it seemed he was approving of what she said, simply a warm, loving smile. Then he did speak, "There will be many tomorrows, though perhaps never again one quite as happy as this one. And I am glad this attachment of ours and this joy is mutual in every way, so that we may more greatly enjoy it."<br><br>When she swore to only wear it for him he gave her a disappointed pout, obviously fake, "You'll be wearing clothes?" Then it turned to a smile as she kissed him. When she said her father made faces in his sleep and her nose wrinkled, he lightly tapped her nose with his finger, "A wrinkled nose can be attractive, and your face was nothing but content last night, as far as I could see." His finger trailed down her face, over her lip, before dropping to his side again after leaving her chin.<br><br>When she said she should bring along sweets he said, "Though I certainly won't object, I must say you sate a different hunger which amount of sweets could ever help." When she raised a finger in warning he said, "Do not worry, I say such things only to you in trust you shan't go running around proclaiming them to&nbsp; the world. Of course our King ended up right where he should be, and of course he is a great man, but I still like to think the souls of Kings and cobblers are cast in the same mold." He was paraphrasing an old assertion by a philosopher from a few centuries back.<br><br>When she talked about how the beverages disappeared mysteriously he let out an other laugh, and said, "Indeed, we must not let it disappear on us and should make sure it ends up down our throats. Perhaps it will add some flavor to our already passionate kisses." He grinned in return. When she said his cousin was more prudent, joking, "I have much more money than my cousin, while the utmost economy is valuable in her, were I not to spend money how would half the merchants in the city feed there families?" When she said she trusted him and would spend it all, because she knew he would take care of him and look after her interests, he planted a kiss on her, smiling.<br><br>When she held up the bite from the fork, he opened his mouth and ate it, smiling, "Oh, my dear Flora, you no longer hold that office, you've been promoted. Now it will be much more enjoyable, after all, with a normal server I could never do this." He used his arm to pull her close again and engaged her in a long and passionate kiss while his other hand again found its way to her breast and the hand that held her slowly ran up and down her side. He was satisfying that desire again, the want to be in contact with her, for all his senses to be filled with her, and he came tantalizingly close to doing so. When he was out of air he stopped and said, "I don't think I shall ever tire of that."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>25-08-2009, 23:38:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora followed his example and answered his affectionate words and wishes with nothing but a smile, letting her eyes speak where words could only fail to express what was moving her. His jest about her wearing clothes made her laugh. "Only clothes that invite your Lordship to peel them off me again." The effect of her saucy grin and brave comment was slightly diminished by the blush rising to her cheeks. She even had to lower her eyes, her modesty getting the better of her. <br><br>The blush still lingered when she could only affirm his observation. "Then my face spoke the truth, last night." She paused, remembering the emotions and physical pleasures she had enjoyed. Her blush deepened, but she looked up at him nonetheless, braving herself to say more. "It was more than contentment that I felt, your Lordship. I... I greatly enjoyed the... pleasures of being with your Lordship. I would never have thought possible I should feel what I did." As his finger trailed over her face and lips while she was thinking of those sensations, a pleasant shudder ran through her, stirred by his touch.<br><br>The tingling would not leave, either, when he spoke of the different hunger he felt and which she could satiate. She understood this hunger now, he had awoken it in her, this hitherto unknown desire, he had the power both to create and satisfy this need. "I give your Lordship leave to still that other hunger whenever your Lordship wishes. I only recently found there was such a hunger in me, too, a hunger which hopes for your Lordship to have a good appetite, more even than Mary hopes to water our mouths with her creations." She felt awkward to speak of it, but she wanted him to know she wanted him, again, as he had made such generous concessions in case she disliked the act, while at the same time he had hoped she would share his pleasures and his passion.<br><br>She pondered the idea of kings and cobblers having been cast from the same mold. "But if that were true, why would we be that different from one another, why would we all be there but once, with no other ever being our exact same, not even if we have a twin?" She wondered. Thinking about this, a light frown was on her forehead, which disappeared as she joined in his laughter about the vanishing drink. "If it adds flavour to our passions, it will be the more welcome down our throats. I shall guard it jealously against the vanishing curse, so we can test its effects." She grinned while he spoke of his cousin and his shopping habits feeding half the merchants in town. "Only because, unlike so many nobles, your Lordship actually pays in gold. Too many nobles pay only with compliments and empty promises, which unfortunately only feed vanity, not the merchants' empty stomachs."<br><br>She watched him eat and was all bliss and tenderness, a little incredulous that she could be this happy, this much at her ease, sitting on the lap of the earl, who used to intimidate her to a degree she could hardly look at him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do. When he drew her into a deep kiss, her response was immediate and passionate, she kissed him back with abandon, savouring every moment. Her body reacted to the touch of his hands and she arched her back as she pressed into him, while his hand stroked her side and the other her breast. Her heart beat fast, she felt a sudden hunger for more, stronger than before. She wished he would take her again, soon, now, right here, might even have said so if she had not been too shy, when finally he was forced to break the kiss so they could breath gain. "I believe I would be very sad if your Lordship would tire of me."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>26-08-2009, 01:00:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lord Shropshiresmiled as she returned his talk but blushed as she did so and lowered her eyes. That modesty that lacked in so many women he still found charming, but he loved that she would still spar with him and not shrink from the occasion. He did not speak in return but merely planted another kiss upon her after her comment, attempting to reciprocate the joy her presence her gave him in part.<br><br>Then she blushed even more deeply and said she enjoyed it greatly, what they had done last night. She shuttered and he smiled at her and said, "I too enjoyed it, and I felt contentment and though I cannot say I have never felt such pleasures before I must say I have never in one moment wanted someone as much as I wanted you right there, I have never gotten such pleasure out of the act as I got from you." He gave her a light kiss and a smile. "And that is because it was my Flora, I think."<br><br>Then she continued on and gave him permission to have her whenever he wanted and he smiled, "That's good, for I shall be calling on you often then. I believe that was our deal, wasn't it? If you should like it I can call on you whenever I wish. And now that I have your permission I shall, and believe me that was only the simplest of pleasures, there are many other things one may do, the only question is which you like and which you don't." He smiled and said, "I will make sure it gets better if it is within my power. And if not, perhaps it within the power of that drink. Though perhaps it will lead us to such passions we will explode with them." Finally, when she said he actually paid, he said, in a non-serious manner, "I keep my promises, I pay my debts, and I always look after those who look after me."<br><br>He enjoyed the feel of her pressing into him, her arching back, the passion of her kiss, the reaction of her hands. He could swear he could feel her heart beating fast. When he broke the kiss a satisfied smile broke out over his face and his hand continued to stroke up and down her as he kept her comfortably in place. When she said she would be sad if he tired of her, he said, "Never, never, but it is a mournful fact that I cannot spend the day with you and must leave to pay social visits and deal with my own business." He knew it was drawing close to noon, and he didn't care, but he also knew he would have to leave eventually.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>26-08-2009, 02:45:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When the Earl of Shropshire's letter had arrived, the Baron of Bridgeford had been in high spirits. Shropshire had not named a time for his arrival, but that did not matter, he had promised to come, which was crucial to the baron's plans. Of course, there was a horse fitting his description, the horse might well catch the earl's attention. In all likelihood, the young man would want to bye the mare. But the mare was not all the good baron had in his stable or in his mind. Marriage was the name he could lend to his plans. The baron was about to try his luck as a matchmaker. <br><br>Things had not remained quite as perfect as he had hoped. The tranquil morning had been disrupted by the arrival of two younger relatives who invited themselves for the day in the most charming, cheerful manner. All the world knew, the baron loved to have the young folk around, he was a hospitable, jovial man, a widower with grown children. He filled his house with the warmth and laughter he was used to by inviting the younger generation, along with their friends. He prided himself of his table and of the fact that the higher ranking of his relatives frequented it so often.<br><br>But today, it was most inconvenient to have them here, he wanted Shropshire to meet his ward, Bridget. He did not want witnesses, nor a crowd of young, noble relatives running about the place all the time. But no two hours after the first pair had arrived, the elder brother of one of them came in, a young marquis, only to be followed by a group of five who had heard the others would be there, today. <br><br>Eight unwelcome visitors and no trace of the earl. For a while the baron had hoped he might yet be lucky and see the young people leave, but although three of them eventually rode off, hunting, their places were taken by the Duke of Welmesby and his sister, the Marquise of Bronnley. He resigned himself to his fate. With those two, their perfect circle was complete, none of the others would leave, now. Had the three eager hunters heard that the duke and marquise would come they would not have left, either. <br><br>At least, now, the occasion would seem all the more innocent. He could show Shropshire the horse and invite him in to meet the other young people. Then, he would see how the earl would react to see Bridget. Of course, Shropshire must have heard of her before, she would make an ideal match for the young earl in so many ways. The baron looked at her with fond eyes. Her features were pretty in a comely way, she had the gentle, round face of her mother and just the right amount of round plumpness. Her light brown hair and dark eyes enhanced the impression of gentle docility that would surely make a good, obedient wife. <br><br>Perhaps, the baron thought, it was even an advantage that the other young people were around, they were a clique, some of them rather unruly, hot-blooded, wild with the fire of youth, Bridget would stand out among them, especially in comparison to her distant cousin, the marquise. That young woman was maybe a little too tall, definitely much too thin, had proud features, wide-set, almost piercing blue eyes in a pale, freckled face framed by thick black curls. Now, despite her very elegant blue dress, she would set off young Bridget to her best advantage. Fond as the baron was of the marquise, in his eyes, she looked even less appealing next to his sweet dove, dear little Bridget.<br><br>Hence, the baron was doubly consoled with the noisy presence of the young people and hurried to greet Shropshire with obvious joy, when, finally, the earl's carriage came to a halt. His rotund figure made the baron pant long before he was near the vehicle. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His new wig was so laden with curls it was stiflingly hot under it. "Haha! Shropshire, there you are! I must ask your forgiveness, I've got the house full of young people today, they invited themselves over, the whole lot. Ah, there's no harm in it, for sure, they can keep my Bridget company. The poor girl must become bored with nobody but me for company..." From the house's open windows, laughter drifted by, and the baron smiled indulgently.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>26-08-2009, 03:26:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Earl stepped out to see the Baron running up to him. The Baron, as usual, was wearing the latest fashions to look respectable. The Earl, meanwhile, wore things that, while fashionable, never compromised his comfort. He knew the wigs would be hot and thus only wore them when it was absolutely necessary and chose a more comfortable one than anyone with fashionable aspirations would find acceptable. That being said, he was, despite it, at all times within the fashionable norm.<br><br>So, when he stepped out, he felt slightly under dressed. When the Baron came up and greeted him informally as 'Shropshire' he said, "No, indeed, I must ask your forgiveness. I am sorry that I am late, Lord Bridgford." He gave slight emphasis to the lord part, the Baron had no right to call him Shropshire instead of Lord Shropshire without knowing him much better than he did. All the same, he seemed to take no offense beyond the gentle reminder.<br><br>When he heard there were a bunch of young people in the house, and he heard the laugh, Shropshire became slightly suspicious. He had heard about a group nicknamed the Bridge Club that met here, of a particular political persuasion from his understanding. He had no interest in joining. Lord Shropshire returned his comment, "I should hope that she finds them good company but remembers her honor and position in society. But it is not my place to teach or even give you advice on how to tend to your ward, of course. Nor to give your ward instruction. I believe you mentioned a horse."<br><br>The Baron led the way to the stable and showed him the horse, Shropshire inspected it, looked at its teeth to determine the age which was slightly rude but a legitimate consideration in buying, and rode it around once or twice. He determined it was a docile horse, not suited for racing, but that would serve as a decent mount for anyone who should want it. The Baron said it was thoroughbred and offered it to him for seventy pounds, explaining that he had no use for the horse and that it was a burden upon his stable. After politely objecting Shropshire finally consented and they arranged for the transfer.<br><br>Thereupon Shropshire thanked him for the horse and appeared to attempt to leave, but the Baron politely and jovially stopped him and offered him hospitality which the Earl could not refuse. Soon enough he was inside and the Baron disappeared for a moment, pointing the way to a sitting room, and promising to return with confections, tea, and other desirable items for his and his guest's consumption. To Shropshire's eye this looked like he was trying to get him in with the Club.<br><br>Inside the room, four people huddled around a board and played cards with small fortunes being exchanged. Two men, obviously just back from a hunt, were bemoaning their lack of success while a third was quite openly bragging about his prowess at hunting. The remaining three were listening, laughing, and simultaneously carrying along a conversation that had obviously started before the hunters got there. As he walked in, he wasn't sure if anyone saw him, but he took a seat and overlooked scene. Then he noted another girl, who walked into the room shortly after him from another door.&nbsp; He sat there, awaiting Lord Bridgford's return.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>26-08-2009, 04:46:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Baron had soon corrected his mistake and clung to the formalities as if his life depended on it, sweating even more now, under the combined discomfort of social pressure and the infernal wig that the marquise had found so amusing. They all certainly would have laughed had they witnessed the baron being the most correct, formal, polite and almost stiff he had been in years. By the time the earl expressed his hopes that Bridget would remember her honour and position in society around his favourite guests, most of them his relatives and some in the king's good favour, too, the baron was having second thoughts. Was that really the kind of man he wanted for his Bridget?<br><br>Yes, the baron was sentimental about this girl. A sentimental fool, if the duke was to be trusted, who, with his sharp blue eyes, much like his sister's, had spotted the attachment the fatherly man felt for the chubby girl on the spot. Unlike the baron, he did not have a weakness for docile, round, young maids, he thought her as boring as her colours and as old-fashioned as her dress. Her dress was, in fact, new, but the colours she had chosen and those many ribbons gave her an air of, well, what was it? Maidenly matron. At once too young and too old to be interesting. All man of the court, the duke had spared her hardly a glance after his first curious inspection.<br><br>Some of the other young men were more gallant to her, tried to make her laugh or say more than the occasional murmur, but she had, in all the months they had known her, never once made an interesting remark or laughed. Occasionally, a pale, polite smile would grace her comely features, that was all. Just now, she had trotted off to fetch her basket or some other thing nobody had understood properly, because she had, as usual, murmured, not spoken up. She had hardly left when the Duke stated. "God, she's a bore. How can you bear to be that dull, I wonder? Spencer, give me that cup there, before you topple it!"<br><br>Spencer offered the cup and a comment to go along with it. "She's just shy." The Duke raised an eyebrow but made no reply, looked over at his sister instead, who was playing with one of the dogs, the youngest of the lot, who, even after a hunt, was not content with lying panting on the cool stones but ran about vivaciously and full of caprice. "There's a lively one. Shall I give him to you? What say you, sister is she shy or is she dull?" His sister looked up at him, laughing, but shaking her head. "No, don't. I'm glad my furniture survived your other gifts. Not to speak of my nerves. Bridget has been gifted with the new teachings for young ladies, she's accomplished, rather than educated. She doesn't say a word because that's what she's been taught to do until the day she is married." <br><br>"Well, I call that dull." The duke concluded the subject, turning to one of his friends to ask about the hunt instead, the game, the horses, the hounds. The others were engrossed in their cards, while Spencer had resumed the topic of Bridget with one of the younger of the earl's sons. Thoughtfully stroking the dog's ears now with her pale, long fingers, the marquise listened to them all while the animal watched her with loving admiring. When the bragging about the hunt grew louder and less realistic by the minute, she made a small, impatient movement, and saw Shropshire take a seat. <br><br>She knew not who this man might be, the others had not noticed him, and he had simply dropped into a seat. He could not be a duke or marquis, or she would have known him. She took no offence at his lack of manners, but she disliked the situation. He looked tense, disapproving, and sitting already or not, he should be properly introduced to them all. Luckily, with a rustle of skirts and fluttering ribbons, Bridget came in, followed by dear old uncle and a parade of servants carrying trays – time for tea, already? Well, well, with the baron's return, there would be proper introduction and she could watch and wait, without nudging one of the men into polite action for the new arrival's sake. 'I bet he's some earl', she thought, 'and uncle wants to show him his Bridget.'
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>26-08-2009, 19:27:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire watched the scene unfolding of them discussing how boring the girl was while some of them objected that she was just shy. Eavesdropping was both rude and a favorite past time amongst the nobility. Regardless he didn't find the talk of dogs nearly as interesting as the talk of the girl, which was just part of a general trend of finding people more interesting than dogs. He was simply waiting for the Baron to return, he might be introduced then, or make his escape, whichever the Baron allowed him he supposed.<br><br>The Baron came in with the servants and soon everything was served. The Baron introduced him as, "Lord Shropshire, the one who was on the continent recently." Shropshire didn't like the reference to his service though the introduction by the Baron held absolutely no fault. It was merely that he didn't like people referring to his time on the continent, but he strove not to fault the Baron for what had been not only correct socially but good natured.<br><br>The Baron then introduced the others, all of whom were perfectly polite but that Shropshire sensed wanted to get back to their respective activities. Only the Marchioness distinguished herself by politely inviting them to join in on their company and who did not seem to want to return to what she was doing, either by virtue of an impressive ability to mask her desire or the fact that she was actually interested in meeting with him. Last was Bridget who murmured and looked down and quickly returned to what she was doing, almost awkwardly shy it seemed.<br><br>Soon enough the Baron had conspired to put Shropshire sitting next to his Bridget while the Marchioness sat across from him. The card game had ended and some new players had shifted in, so four people were there. The Baron shortly excused himself, the Duke was having a lively conversation with Spencer and the remaining five crowded around, throwing in opinions or objecting or otherwise participating though it was obvious the group was centered around the two. From what he could make out they were debating the virtues of the philosophy of Thomas Hobbes.<br><br>Bridget seemed to simply be making needle patterns and staring down, uncomfortably, while the Marchioness was much harder to read. Shropshire found his mind wandering to try and find out what he knew of the Marchioness. He knew she was a widow, but didn't know if she had a widow's propensity for promiscuity as so many did. He knew her brother was the Duke but knew nothing else of her family. Of Bridget he knew only that she was an orphan and the ward of the Baron. After a few moments he pierced what he perceived&nbsp; as an uncomfortable topic with a random topic they could both address, "I hear both of you Ladies are Peeresses in your Own Right? I am sorry for your losses but I must admit it gives you a unique and interesting position in society." He wondered if he had hit on something they were often asked about or if they would just find it a topic of conversation.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>28-08-2009, 03:01:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				They all knew, of course, the baron's admiration for whoever had been involved in the war on the Continent, which he had always deemed a most noble course. They were not surprised when he added this, in his eyes important detail to the earl's introduction. They all allowed a small pause for the earl to comment, but were pleased when he did not break out into a long tale of his war-time experiences. Only the baron was disappointed, he had hoped the earl would grace them with an anecdote or two. <br><br>But the fact that tea and cakes and other sweets were served at this precise moment had more than made up for this minor detail, as it had allowed them to position the earl at his ward's side and the marchioness opposite him. This way, the duke would have a fair view of Bridget in half profile, her mild features and full figure gently illuminated, while the marchioness sat in the harsh, bright light opposite that made her freckles and bone structure stand out and her skin and eyes seem hard and cool against the blackness of her hair. <br><br>The marchioness immediately knew his game. Under cover of her thick black lashes, her eyes flashed over to meet her brothers', who smirked and, by commenting on Thomas Hobbes, raised a subject that must unfailingly bring about a discussion that would grant Shropshire the privacy of conversation with the young girl that the baron was hoping for. Where the duke was concerned, Shropshire was welcome to have Bridget, if the baron wanted this match. The baron did want it, even went so far as to make up an excuse to leave Shropshire alone with the ladies, sitting around their little table.<br><br>Bridget's eyes had risen from her elegant needlework when the baron had risen, but had dropped again instantly as soon as he had turned his back on their group. When Shropshire addressed the two young women, her eyes had left her work once more. From her expression, one could tell that she knew not quite what to make of the earl's question and would leave it to the marchioness to answer. She smiled politely, without looking directly at Shropshire, and resumed her needlework, moving her lips as she counted her stitches. She must have lost track of them when deciding whether to answer the earl's question or not.<br><br>The duke, meanwhile, had followed what went on around the table with amused, negligent interest, until the earl's question had reached his ear. His eyes rested in his sister's face, searching it for any sign of discomfort. He would almost have sprung to his feet to cross the room in a few of his long strides before he remembered. Of course, Shropshire would not have heard these rumors, he had been on the continent until very recently. He had not spoken with the intention to insult his sister by hinting at her disastrous marriage and implying what an improvement widowhood must be for her. <br><br>The duke strained to hear her answer, ready to casually abduct his sister should she show any signs of discomfort at the turn the conversation had taken. "My position... I prosper through the protection of my family. A widow's position is difficult, brings prejudices, expectations. Pressure is exerted both by society as by individuals. An unprotected widow must find it hard to withstand. The general idea is that a woman is nothing without a man and must necessarily want a new husband or a lover, more than anything else, from the day after the burial." Here, Bridget looked up, apparently not liking much what the marchioness had said, her thin mouth was set when she returned her attention to her needlework. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>28-08-2009, 04:27:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire took a moment to look at the two. They seemed a stark contrast. The Marchioness stark, white skin agains black hair with bright light that made her ever feature stand out. He noted that she was a bit thin but not at all undesirable. Meanwhile, Bridget was mild and gentle and somewhat plump, most would tell him she would be good for the birthing and rearing of children. He supposed he was staring at two different standards of beauty. He compared them to Flora for a moment before dismissing the comparison, wondered for a moment what she was doing, then returned to the moment. Then his mind wandered to another thought: he wondered how either of them would feel about a husband with a mistress. Not that he had any belief he would marry either at this point.<br><br>Shropshire watched their reactions closely. Bridget clearly did not feel comfortable answering the question and left it to the Marchioness. She began counting her stitches and the Earl realizes his question must have surprised her greatly for such a thing to happen, or perhaps she was simply not used to talking at all but he thought it was the later. She did manage to smile, at least. More importantly, he noticed that the Duke suddenly was looking at his sister and his mind left the debate on Hobbes, but he didn't know why.<br><br>The Marchioness showed no sign of noticing and answered calmly. She said she used her family for protection and spoke of the assumptions forced upon a widow. Bridget didn't seem to like what she said. Shropshire continued on and said, "A good family is a blessing, and I hope you find in them all the protection your heart desires. And I find it admirable that you would not tread on your husbands grave to get to a new man's arms, but I would hope you may find another man to comfort you in whatever manner you may wish." <br><br>He spent a few moments observing the Duke trying to see his reaction to what he was saying, though he did it subtly. Then he continued on, "I am sorry if I broach a sensitive topic... or some secret of feminine mystique but, myself having never been trained in domestics, could you tell me what is this needlework that so greatly consumes our mutual companion? I am afraid she is too terribly caught up in it and I would hate to disturbed her and force her to recount." He was obviously referring to Bridget. The premise was true enough, he knew little of needlework, but there was another reason. Broach and broached would sound similar to someone listening in and he wanted to see the Dukes reaction to if what he had just brought up was sensitive.<br><br>Meanwhile another of the men was bemoaning there was no alternative to Hobbes that was nearly as famous or influential and spoke of how, if there was one, surely he would have a stable of followers soon ready to defend his teachings to the death. Someone took objection and it was only an extremely brief time until the Duke's opinion was being called upon from all quarters. The man who had made the assertion who the Duke would have to face was facing the Marchioness and so the Duke would have to turn his back on them for a moment.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>28-08-2009, 08:11:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The marchioness spoke quietly, but with much warmth. "It is a blessing indeed. My family gives me all the protection and affection I could possibly want, for which I am very grateful." Her gaze was drawn to her brother and she turned slightly in her seat to look over at him. Their eyes met and a smile passed between them, along with that silent communication typical for them. It only lasted the briefest of moments, before the marchioness returned her attention to Shropshire. <br><br>"I fear I must disillusion you. My late husband is not the sole motive for my not marrying again as soon as possible. Since my position gives me a choice, I am determined to make it a good one." Again, Bridget's lips tightened. The marchioness did not encourage the girl to offer an opinion. She had no desire to pursue the subject further. Neither sign nor word of affection had accompanied her mention of her husband, nor did she reply to the hopes Shropshire had expressed. <br><br>His words held a possible double meaning, might even be too intimate in their nature, coming from a stranger. <em>'I would hope you may find another man to comfort you in whatever manner you may wish'</em>. She wondered, was it an innocent slip of the tongue of a man not familiar with the way such words were all too eagerly interpreted at court, was it a test to see how she would react, or an insult in disguise, an insinuation that she might be looking for a man to comfort her, rather than a husband? Time and his further conduct would show. The marchioness was not one to form an opinion in haste, she would watch, listen, observe. The more difficult it was to read another person, the more the challenge intrigued her.<br><br>Accordingly, at Shropshire's choice of words to initiate the next subject, the marchioness had looked at him with much interest if not curiosity, wondering what might follow. A choice bit of gossip? A daring indiscretion? But her face had soon resumed her former expression of polite attention. There was nothing exciting in needlework for her, but it offered her an opportunity to do the baron a favour. She made another attempt to draw Bridget out, move her to say something, or at least show the earl her work. <br><br>"Such needlework is almost as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. But I had the advantage of seeing this work earlier, and hope you will be granted the same favour." Her kind smile and little trick worked. Shy, but smiling, Bridget's plump little fingers eagerly spread the fabric she was embroidering onto the table for the earl to inspect. The design was a complex pattern, her stitches small and remarkably regular. Her work did not show much inspiration, but impressive patience, visible in the excellent, linear execution of endless rows of tiny, pearl-like stitches. <br><br>The duke had not betrayed his thoughts or emotions, if indeed he had been listening to Shropshire's words. He had made the one or other reply concerning the debate which soon became heated. The quiet marquis won everybody's full attention. Soon, they all pondered his complex question. Eventually, Spencer grumbled something too soft to be overheard at the other table, and the whole group erupted in surprised laughter. "Astonishing, Spencer, how amusing you become when you want to evade a question. I wonder, does your wife appreciate this blessed gift?" The marquis murmured, leaning back, his eyes fastened on Spencer, who grinned cheerfully, but sought refuge in silence. <br><br>In an attempt both to come to his friend's aid and to draw some attention to himself, the youngest of the group exclaimed in a low, urgent voice. "Have you heard? Darlington has sent his mistress packing. They say he left her because his new wife asked him to." Judging by their faces, this was a piece of complete and unexpected news. First to comment was the duke. "A fool, if he did." At the other table, pretending not to have heard, Bridget sat bolt upright and pressed her lips together as if her life depended on it. The marchioness, too, politely feigned ignorance of what was spoken across the room, but her eyes could barely hide her amusement ever since the marquis had spoken. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>28-08-2009, 23:20:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire saw the shift in her seat and the silent communication between the Marchioness and her brother but failed to divine what it meant. All the same, he simply nodded at what she said. When she said that she wanted to make a good choice and that her husband was not her motivation he said, "It is no disillusion, it does not decrease my opinion of you in the slightest nor do I fail to understand your sentiments. Indeed, your prudence is wise and your desire for a measure of control more than understandable. But it is neither my place to presume your intentions and feelings nor to insert unsavory implications into my comments."<br><br>With that he attempted to disavow the implications his words could have carried, except he knew the result could still go either way because it was an acknowledgment in a very subtle way that he was aware of the implications his words could carry. He wondered just how she would interpret it, what implications she would think it carried, as he was making subtle probes to determine the character of the Marchioness. The only thing that had stood out was that she had mentioned her husband with an utter lack of affection, not even indifference, just an utter lack, which told him that he was probably a sensitive topic and, more likely than not, she had had troubles with him.<br><br>When she looked at him with interest Shropshire hadn't gotten a reaction from the Duke but her reaction told him that she was as interested in the gossiping and indiscretions of court life as the rest of the group which was useful to know, however she quickly returned to her facade of polite attentiveness. She apparently divined his intention and tried to draw Bridget into a conversation. Bridget didn't speak but smiled and spread out the fabric, showing a design that the Earl recognized as complex but he knew little of the devices behind it. He said, "A lovely product from your labors and the one you wished for, I might hope." and gave her a small smile.<br><br>He had to admit that if she didn't talk much ever that she might be a bit dull, but he had not given up hope of coaxing her out of her shell just yet. The Duke and his friends, meanwhile, found their debate on this particular aspect coming to a conclusion and the Duke chided Spencer. Then a piece of gossip was sent around, that Darlington had sacked his mistress on the orders of his new wife. Both the women feigned ignorance, Bridget seemed uncomfortable but the Marchioness simply seemed amused.<br><br>This latest turn brought his attention back to Flora, wondering just what his wife would think of her. Some wives could be kept ignorant, others would not mind, as they merely embraced marriage as a practical expedient, still others would be in no position to object, but there would be women who would make a large fuss about it and that could give Shropshire a lot of headaches socially. And it wasn't a subject one could bring up with someone casually either. After a few moments he said, "If my Ladies would deign to humor me, I have been on the continent as you know and would be grateful for any news you could deliver me." He was, in other words, politely asking for gossip, though just news could be included as well. "I have very little to offer in return, unless you are interested in the latest goings on in France or the Netherlands or a few other communities with which you have no connection to my knowledge."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>29-08-2009, 02:29:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Of course, the marchioness noticed that his words revealed he was aware of the double meaning his earlier comment had contained. Since this was hardly enough to disclose his motive or reveal much about his character, she continued waiting and observing attentively. Bridget frowned at the earl's words, seeing in them the sort of encouragement better not given any woman. The marchioness should do what Bridget did, know her place and wait for her family to arrange a suitable match. The marchioness should be humbled by her experience, not made bold, after she had failed to make her marriage a success. Was it not a woman's place to grant the harmony of matrimonial life? The marchioness knew Bridget's position and had no doubt what was hiding behind the slight frown on her face.<br><br>"There are those who would deem both your words and their correct assumptions about my position and intentions as encouragement best not given any woman, leave alone one whose position gives her more freedom than other women can hope for. This, however, makes me the more determined to prove by my conduct and choices that in granting such freedom lies less of an evil than these others assume." Bridget looked up to meet her eyes, silent disapproval once again her verdict. It began to vex the marchioness, who good-humouredly had allowed herself to be placed in a light so bright it hurt her eyes for the sole purpose of providing the unpleasant opposite, a contrast to which Bridget's virtues and beauty would shine the brighter.<br><br>She had much patience with girls, knew how little they could help their uneducated, prejudiced state and how their heads were continually stuffed with ideas of married life that added a noble touch to self-sacrifice and dignity to silent suffering, but she began to resent the self-righteous conviction in Bridget that she would have made the marriage the marchioness had endured into a success by means of her virtues and disposition. Bridget was convinced that whatever the marchioness might have suffered had been brought about by her own faults and that she had, hence, deserved no better.&nbsp; 'You better pray you will be married to a better man than I was, and be grateful for the baron's and my attempts to help you find one.' But the marchioness concealed her sentiments and thoughts, of the few people she would confide them in, none sat at this table.<br><br>She observed with a smile the eagerness with which Bridget showed her work. 'What curious little monkey paws she has, it's too droll, the contrast we make.' She listened to Bridget's murmur, as she humbly expressed much gratitude and hid her pride well, but the marchioness knew how pleased she was upon hearing the earl's praise. "How much progress you have made since the morning, and still it will take you weeks to finish, I can only admire your patience." Her own idle hands rested long and pale on the table, while she waited for Bridget to say more, as this was obviously what the earl was hoping for. The girl, however, merely smiled her faint little smile and picked up her work where she had left it. <br><br>When the earl asked for news, Bridget murmured she knew too little, by which she indicated it was not a woman's place to offer opinions or speak at length of what concerned the world outside her experience. The marchioness found this a little ungracious and plunged into the subject as into her natural element, laughed and exclaimed. "Two year's worth of news and gossip? Since our fair companion declines the office, which is the natural result of her youth and the sheltered life she leads here, let me see what I can do to sum up the essential." <br><br>She then presented an account that relied heavily on her powers of observation, her organised mind and impressive memory. She mentioned everything of importance in an interesting and well structured way, including those rumours and private affairs that had influenced events. She had a profound understanding of the court's life and intrigues, the motives and strategies of the ones involved and the political situation it all had lead to. She did not offer her own views, but offered the facts in an amusing and informative manner. She lingered more on topics she could perceive the earl's interest in, made sure he could follow the often complex correlations at any point, allowed time for him to ask questions or direct her towards any topic that might intrigue him, and did all this in the most natural and charming manner. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>30-08-2009, 02:04:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire noticed Bridget's disapproval but could have no idea what passed through the Marchioness's mind as her face betrayed no hint of her thoughts. When she spoke he responded, "I am no relation of yours by blood, nor am I your husband, nor would I even call myself your friend having only known you for some brief minutes though I may yet hope to have two new friends by the end of this visit. I am not your superior and if anything you are mine. It is not my place to encourage you but it is not mine to pass judgment upon your position either. Do those men who chastise you, give those disapproving looks, really change your mind? Could they? Then I would rather have your friendship than gain a sense of self-righteousness."<br><br>He saw the exchange between the two and suddenly they became somewhat hostile, the Marchioness's look somewhat haughty and Bridget's look more disapproving. There seemed to be a hostile exchange going on in both their heads to Shropshire who just sat back, wondering if he had triggered it somehow. As far as he was concerned he had just allowed the Marchioness to keep her own opinion which was, to him, so uncontroversial it might border on spinelessness if he did it too often or on the wrong subject.<br><br>When Bridget expressed her gratitude he noticed that the Marchioness seemed to continue their unspoken feud. He was disappointed she had not joined in on the conversation, and wasn't sure if the compliment meant reconciliation or politeness. Regardless, the fact Bridget had smiled was something, but she returned to her work. He wondered if he would eventually forget she was here at all if she did not join in the conversation soon. Submission could be an admirable trait in a woman but at some point it was taken to an extreme which made them harder to regard as actual people. At the same time, too much independence could become a recipe for discord, though certainly not the only one.<br><br>When he asked for news, Bridget turned him down, but the Marchioness obliged him. Soon enough he had been brought up to speed, grateful for the Marchioness's insights but always aware of how she might skew things or what she might not know. Soon enough the topic was closed and he had been brought up to date on the two years of gossip, including a few juicy facts he could store away for later use.<br><br>After she was done, Shropshire duly thanked her, and said, after a few moments, "It appears most of the men at court have mistresses these days. Or perhaps it is simply because that someone does not have a mistress is not really news. However, having two women who may speak without fear of their husbands I am curious: just what is the feminine perspective on these... companions, shall we call them?" He was honestly curious, even though it wasn't the most polite subject. Then again, the Marchioness had just spilled two years worth of court gossip and Bridget had heard and, in doing so, both had lost all claim to be a blushing maiden who was shocked and appalled that such things happened so he could hope for an honest answer.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>30-08-2009, 03:19:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I rarely change my mind, but I can be convinced by superior reasoning. Further, I can be moved to act against my inclinations for the benefit of those I love or out of respect for another. Those who would chastise me are opposed more to the freedom of my position than to my person. They see a fortune they want to marry and it vexes them that the woman attached to the fortune should have been granted a will of her own and be supported in this by her family." The marchioness studied Bridget for a moment, before she continued. "I am an odd mixture of outdated views on education and too modern ideas, I fail our time's ideal of what a young woman ought to be. But I would rather stay true to myself than try to accumulate such charms and virtues as must be out of my reach."<br><br>It seemed this latter explanation had somewhat pacified Bridget. Indeed, it caused her too look up over her needlework, to scrutinise the elegant woman sitting opposite her. Suddenly, it dawned on Bridget what the marchioness was doing, had been doing all along, for her sake as well as the baron's, and she had the decency to display the faintest blush. She averted her eyes, ashamed of her relentless inner censorship of the woman who had, despite Bridget's finding so much fault with her, rather openly, too, never once spoken unkindly to her and had always helped to present Bridget in the best light, often at her own cost. That she should have been this ungrateful without even noticing embarrassed Bridget.<br><br>The marchioness in turn noticed this discomfort, could guess the reason and was pacified. Bridget was, after all, just a young girl, she had seen nothing of the world, had had no brothers to bring the world to her doorstep and no parent who had insisted on giving her the kind of education that the marchioness had benefited from. While the marchioness had presented the news of the last two years, marking with no little surprise that the earl seemed to hardly show any interest in what she related, except for the gossip, the rumours, the scandalous. <br><br>She had presented him the facts and news, the intrigues and power struggles, but what had caught his attention, had been gossip, idle gossip. She wondered, whether he had merely brought up the subject of news to direct the conversation towards gossip, thus scandal, so he could venture to ask such questions as were not deemed polite among strangers unless there had been some kind of invitation of such a topic, an invitation such has the marchioness had given by allowing his questions to lead into these regions. She gave a small laugh and the tip of her embroidered satin shoe gently nudged Bridget's velvet clad one. <br><br>"These days? That sort of thing has been going on for much longer, as surely you know." Bridget had slowly lowered her needlework and looked from one to the other, unsure whether she should speak. She had, indeed, a very decided opinion on the subject. She gingerly took up her needlework again and murmured in her soft, small voice. "I would hope a good and dutiful wife can be such a companion to her husband as to encourage him to abstain from all vices, including adultery." The marchioness merely smiled. Her opinion was not called for in the same way as Bridget's, whom the baron wanted Shropshire to consider as a possible candidate for marriage. Bridget was speaking, after she herself had been talking for an eternity, it was only right that the conversation and the earl's attention should now focus on the girl.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>30-08-2009, 19:36:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire simply nodded at the Marchioness's comment and then saw the process of her chastising herself for Bridget's sake. Bridget blushed slightly and the two seemed to have made amends, Bridget now no longer disapproving and the Marchioness fully satisfied. He was aware that the Marchioness tapped Bridget's foot to encourage an answer and was glad that the Marchioness had decided to support him in this manner.<br><br>He wondered if the Baron's designs, which he had guessed involved him and Bridget, were widely known in this circle or if the Marchioness was merely a master of discerning such things. Or perhaps it was simply because the Baron was not a particularly subtle creature, at least he hoped it was the Baron and not himself. All the same, having an ally here would help him, he had no doubt, in discerning Bridget for himself. He needed to know more about her if he would have any chance of marrying her at all. He would hope she would become more social as well, at least to a degree.<br><br>When Bridget began to speak, Shropshire listened intently. He gave her all the encouragement he could to get her to speak without actually telling her to do so. She said that mistresses had existed for much longer and Shropshire simply nodded, seemingly more interested in that she was saying something than what she was saying in that instance. Then she handily sidestepped the question, not actually telling him what she thought of mistresses but saying she would hope a wife could make a husband so abstain from such vices. Shropshire seemed to consider the answer, and could not think of how to press the subject without making it apparent for what reasons he was asking.<br><br>After a few moments he pressed on anyway, hoping her new found conversation would not be abandoned by her so quickly, "So you believe that it is the wife's fault if a man gives into this vice? Then what of the men who have no wife? And what should a wife do if a man were to fall into vice? I'm sorry, but I am curious about this new education you have been given for I know nothing of it nor it's results, being both a man and someone without sisters to educate in any manner. Knowledge will, perhaps recommend it one way or another."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>31-08-2009, 23:25:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				With the slightest familiarity both with the customs of arranging a marriage and presenting a possible future bride as if in a side sentence under the pretence of whatever might offer on the scale of social or private occasions, and with knowledge of the baron's character, it was hard to fail to perceive his intentions. At the very latest, at noticing his less than subtle way of creating precisely that sort of occasion by placing Shropshire with the ladies instead of the gentlemen and disappearing on some mysterious errand in the house himself while all his guest were left to themselves, it was impossible for the marchioness to not know what his plans were for Bridget and Shropshire. With far lesser powers of observations she would have arrived at the same conclusion with as much surety.<br><br>The marchioness was pleased to see Shropshire taking an interest in the young woman, predestined, in the baron's eyes, to become Lady Shropshire in the not so far future, and with Bridget continuing to make an effort at conversation. The marchioness kept observing this unusually young and rather handsome candidate with considerable interest. Would his and Bridget's natures be suitable? Their views and habits, their expectations, did they promise a chance of reasonable harmony within the household? This long loved far spread idea of affection growing within an arranged marriage as if by itself, viewed by the marchioness with dry skepticism as a rare miracle, indeed, could it come to pass between those two? <br><br>Of course, she had her doubts. There were many less suited characters and natures, definitely, joined in matrimony for life. The whole concept of conjugal bliss appeared a sham to the marchioness, when arranged as a deal. 'They should auction young girls', she thought, letting her thoughts run wherever they wanted while she sat in polite silence, 'it would be so much more honest. Or hang signs around their necks stating their financial status and their rank in society's hierarchy, accentuated by a few of the more desirable connections the girl would have.' Returning to the subject at hand, she wondered what precisely it was that interested Shropshire in the question of mistresses, and especilly in Bridget's views thereof.<br><br>With her own experiences at court, there was a cynical answer ready at hand. She felt herself quite willing to believe he was a clever, circumspect man to get that particular question answered before the first official interest in marriage was even hinted at. Hopefully, Bridget would give the right answers. Bridget, in the meantime, struggled to do exactly that, only, her ways of thinking were far less influenced by experiences and observations of life. Hence, her answer was this. "If a woman is a good wife to her husband, obeys him and does her duty by him, why should he wish to commit adultery?" Her eyes, in honest perplexity, met the earl's for the fraction of a second. "Men who are unmarried, of course, have it harder not to stray from the path of virtue, as they lack their companion in life, a family with its blessings and responsibilities."<br><br>She had warmed up a little, addressed herself almost more to the marchioness than Shropshire, next, after a short glance over at the duke. "Take Lord Darlington. He has recently married, and he has decided to give up his – vices, for the sake of his marriage, supported by his wife. I call it very considerate, would not you agree?" The marchioness replied in a level voice. "To throw out his mistress in that manner, where is that considerate? Do you expect it will be beneficial for their marriage? In Lady Darlington's place, I would never have asked it. Were I to see my husband treat his mistress like that whom he practically doted on for five years, it would make me wonder just how he would treat me, once the novelty wears off and he tires of the charms of my youth." Bridget, shocked, gasped. The gasp even had a name, if almost inaudible. "Eleanor!"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>01-09-2009, 02:02:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire was somewhat annoyed that Bridget, in his mind, had simply dodged the question again. He began to wonder if she simply was too innocent and naive to realize that such things were possible, which he found odd and perhaps almost disturbing on some levels. Though he was unaware of the thoughts going on in the Marchioness's mind, he did feel that the courtship rituals of English society were more than a little cumbersome. And social standards were as well. He saw nothing wrong with his affair with Flora but would keep it quiet for obvious reasons, and that was at least part of the reason he was sounding out Bridget, but he was also interested on another level: a woman who was pious and moral and totally proper might try to force various courses of action on her husband.<br><br>When the Marchioness responded instead of him he was grateful, it spared him the need to reply himself. He did take not of the Marchioness's name, Eleanor, and found her logic impeccable. His own reasons for wanting a wife to tolerate a mistress were somewhat more selfish. All the same, he doubted Flora, or most any mistress, truly believed they would someday marry their lover, and while he could understand the frustration of women who were neglected for a mistress he didn't want a wife who would demand his sole attentions. Shropshire fully intended a marriage of convenience but did not believe that should preclude him from seeking love, of the carnal or the emotional sort, elsewhere.<br><br>That was, perhaps, the biggest problem with Bridget. Her moral leanings. Her honest and naive belief in what she was educated in and the fact she seemed socially shy, awkward, and unaware. Ideally a wife should be prepared to support her husband in the social arena, but Shropshire could forgive that. However, her teaching and her training might attempt to bring him around to a lifestyle that he had no interest in; he was not a Puritan and the idea of strict obedience to what the Church told him was right and wrong held little appeal to him, even if that Church was the Anglican Church and headed by perhaps the most womanizing King in memory.<br><br>All the same, he felt a weight and as if he was expected to respond and replied, "If I may be so bold and so rude and so crass, your training, it appears, has failed to explain the full extent of temptation to you. A man need only see a woman to wish to commit adultery, though he may never follow through on that wish and even if he tries he may not succeed. In addition, in order for a woman to take away a man's desire for women would require a formidable effort on her part indeed. And I would say that a man may have an appetite for a woman as opposed to women in general, which his wife could therefore not satisfy. It is in our nature, though perhaps in our higher faculties to resist, if either of those could be taken as an excuse." <br><br>He continued, "As to Darlington's mistress, I cannot divine the reasons behind all parties involved, not being or intimately knowing any of them, but I should say that a mistress may certainly come to rely on her patron, shall we call him, and that being cast out may yet ruin her further. I would say as well that I do not see how a mistress can subtract from a marriage, except in the cases where one pays so much attention to the mistress as to neglect the wife, for surely the wife would desire a break from her husbands demands from time to time and the man, in turn, might seek out in a mistress anything his wife, being but a mortal Human, cannot provide herself, for no woman is perfection. However, perhaps my upbringing was not moral enough and I am simply of a libertine nature, though I do not frequent such circles." He gave a small shrug at the last comment.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>01-09-2009, 20:08:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				With a mixture of secret amusement and apprehension, the marchioness watched the effect Shropshire's words had on Bridget. Her own comment had unsettled the girl bad enough, but after her shocked whisper, Bridget had regained her composure. She had been thinking hard, perhaps preparing for a retort, but before she had made up her mind whether to speak or hold her silence, the earl had plunged into his initially reluctant speech. His first statement, Bridget seemed to take surprisingly well, but by the end of the second, she looked practically aghast.<br><br>'A libertine, most certainly!' Her eyes seemed to say as she gazed at her opposite. The marchioness, too, was struggling to keep her face straight, if for a slightly different reason. While she had heard Shropshire's explanations with interest and some satisfaction, she had been preoccupied with anticipating Bridget's reaction, her mind had phrased the words she suspected rushing through the girl's mind, and only under the pretence of rubbing the back of her nose thoughtfully, she had been able to mask the grin that insisted to steal onto her face. <br><br>But she was not heartless enough to let Bridget helplessly suffer the inner turmoil that rendered her incapable even of resuming her needlework. A change of scene and topic was called for, the marchioness decided, albeit with some regret, she would have loved to pursue the topic, but, no, with Bridget around, it simply would not do. She gazed out of the window with no other purpose than to establish a reason to say what she wanted to say anyway. Smiling at the sight of the flowers, she presented her words as if the idea had just sprung to her mind at the sight of the beautiful afternoon. "Lord Shropshire, would you do us the favour of attending us on a walk through the garden? It is such a lovely day."<br><br>Shortly, they all rose to their feet and walked out onto the path that lead them through the shrubbery, exchanging a few polite banalities, until Bridget, at the sight of the roses, found her excuse to withdraw for a short time into the solitude and silence she needed. She excused herself, murmuring she wanted to gather some flowers for the baron, declined the offer of help the marchioness had made, and was soon cutting and gathering flowers in a basket. It was a very picturesque scene. The marchioness turned to the earl with a rueful yet amused smile and said softly. "I'm afraid, we have put both our feet into it, up to the knee, and twisted our ankles in the process." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>01-09-2009, 21:59:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire rose with the women and followed the Marchioness out, participating in the conversation even though nothing of import nor substance was said. Bridget had had a rather strong reaction and he couldn't help but think that he had prejudiced her against marrying him, which he did not consider totally a bad thing but which he gained no pleasure out of either. Regardless he walked along without betraying a hint of this as he spoke or on his face.<br><br>When Bridget went to gather some flowers he watched and thought that this was probably the scene from all those romance novels where the hero fell in love and the heroine reformed him from his wicked ways, yet Shropshire could feel no unusual affection for the girl nor did he feel they would make a particularly good match. He simply saw a somewhat chubby woman who was quite naive gathering flowers for a relation, with no personal investment in the scene beyond the fact the flowers were lovely and the sun gave off just a little less heat than he would have otherwise wished.<br><br>When the Marchioness turned to him with a rueful yet amused smile he returned it and said, "Indeed, though I believe I have some rather interesting company stuck in as well." He made a motion with his head towards Bridget and said, "I believe I am now thought of as a libertine, as interesting a development as any I suppose. I must say, I like Libertines better than Puritans, not because I agree with either, but because the Libertines will, by and by large, keep to themselves, while the Puritans will... ban Christmas." After a few moments, "Though perhaps I am not aware of their dangers to women, not being one myself, seduction and all that."<br><br>After a few moments more he said, "If I may ask, when I mentioned your status as a widow your brother seemed like he was ready to shoot me. May I ask why that was? Has his death really been that great a tragedy to your family?" It was right she should mourn but bringing up the death was hardly grounds for starting a fight in Shropshire's opinion.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>01-09-2009, 23:31:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As if she had read his thoughts, the marchioness remarked, looking around at the garden that bathed in golden sunlight. "Oh, it looks warmer than it is." She then turned back to Shropshire and smiled up at him. "Methinks I can safely claim the same. It is most refreshing not to be the only one in this unlucky position, too." She chuckled softly, glancing over at Bridget and her flowers. "That will keep her busy for a while, I think. Shall we take a walk? I am sure she will hardly notice." It was so fresh outside it was almost chilly, walking at a good pace would keep them both warm. Also, the marchioness felt restless. She always did after she had been confined to a corner of the room with Bridget and her needlework for a few hours. <br><br>"You might be right there, Lord Shropshire, you have become a libertine in her eyes. I hope she enjoys the thrill of it, secretly. It is not as breathtaking as having a true villain or a highwayman over for tea, but it definitely is a start." She laughed, but it was a good-humoured comment, there was no ill will in her words. She did not find Bridget less dull than her brother did, but she blamed it on the girl's upbringing. She thought about Shropshire and Bridget, wondered whether the girl would develop an intention to save the man from his wicked temptations or whether she would shy away from him now, fearing him as a bad influence. <br><br>How much excitement could be at the bottom of that young girl's heart? Did Bridget harbour any secret longings and desires, passions even? The thought of Bridget sighing over poetry or handsome Shropshire was amusing. Shropshire, on the other hand, could he ever have romantic notions for Bridget? What to think of that possible match, how desirable was it, for all involved? Would the Baron get his wish? "I fully agree with you, this self-righteousness, bigotry and hypocrisy in most of the puritans, I find it unbearable." She shook her head, then smiled warmly. "Oh, I love Christmas, all our family does." She thought for a moment, tilting her head, then continued.&nbsp; <br><br>"Libertines can at least be charming, entertaining, interesting company, but they are equally dangerous an influence for both sexes. They have so many vices, they could deck us all in them." There was a small pause in their conversation, but a comfortable one. The marchioness glanced at him, smiled, then let her gaze pass over the neat rows of flowers and shrubbery and inhaled the clear, cool air, welcoming its freshness after hours of sitting indoors. <br><br>When he spoke again, she listened with a slight frown, then sighed and said earnestly. "Please forgive my brother, he is very protective. I am sure he must have forgotten for a moment that you have been abroad for two years and cannot possibly have known anything about any of it. My husband's death... It is common knowledge that our marriage was not a success." She turned to consider him, making up her mind whether to say more. "The tragedy in it all was that his death came as a relief for me."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>01-09-2009, 23:58:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire simply nodded and began to walk along a path he had chosen at random. Having never frequented the gardens before, he had no idea where it lead, but it seemed to start winding and to be a rarely used path though it was beaten out enough to be easy to travel upon. He appeared to examine the path, as if hoping that he had not chosen to lead them down to some dreary part of the manor or that it was not well traveled for some reason or another. All the same, nothing happened, and his attention quickly returned to the Marchioness.<br><br>He responded, "Well, it appears we are comrades in error to her, in more ways than one." He gave a small chuckle when she spoke of the thrill of being a libertine and said, "Perhaps I should arrange to start robbing nobles. For the few I actually robbed it would be none too pleasant but every lady in England would beg to hang off my arm. No, actually, just the foolish ladies in England, still, that allows me more than half of them, I'd say. But I'm sure that many of them would hold secret intentions in their heart to cure me of my wicked ways, is that not the trend? A wicked dashing rogue brought to moral clarity by a devoted pious wife? I have been on the continent two years." He let out another small chuckle.<br><br>Shropshire, for the moment, was not really thinking of Bridget. Romantic, though romantic was the wrong word and marital was the actual direction his thoughts had taken, notions had left his head for the moment rather preferring to enjoy the company of the Marchioness. When she condemned Puritans he nodded his head in agreement and then responded to her comment about Christmas saying, "At times I wonder if any house obeyed that ban. Mine did not. Indeed, sometimes I suspect Cromwell's wife sequestered a Christmas tree in the cupboard, though it is an unrealistic thought it is an entertaining one."<br><br>As to libertines he laconically remarked, "And they cheat at cards." He stated this as if it was another of their crimes, in line with their despoiling of virgins and drunken raunchiness, though there was a hint of comedy to the way he said it. As it turned out, the path lead to a part of the garden that had not been cared for in some time. It lacked the congruity that many gardens prized but was easy to move through and boasted an impressive array of plants haphazardly arrayed by nature alone.<br><br>He responded to her response, with just a hint of gravity, "That is a pity, not knowing him nor, in making this comment, knowing my place, I would venture to say that for you to dislike him so must have come from more than mere neglect and that he had many failings that, perhaps Bridget could have corrected in her piety. Or at very least suffered in your place." He said the last part mostly in jest, and obviously so. "However, now you have more independence than society has deemed women should and are free of him forever, so perhaps something good has come of it. As for his fate in the hereafter... that is left to God. Ours as well, in truth."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>02-09-2009, 01:58:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He lead her along a path the Baron would not have chosen, away from the elegant, representative splendour of flowers and shrubbery, artfully arranged, but to the marchioness, the returning reign of nature added to the charms of this part of the garden. They walked at a good pace, and soon she felt warm again. "Comrades in error, I must admit, I like the sound of it." She laughed at the picture he painted of himself as a robber, scrutinised him and declared. "With your face and stature, that scheme would turn into an instant success. Besides, an honest, straightforward robbery would be a welcome diversion to the ways the purses of nobles are emptied nowadays. Lord Shropshire, the gentleman robber." She declared as if to proudly announce him to an illustrious audience.<br><br>"Oh, yes, they would love that, reforming a villain, melting the heart of stone or reforming the wicked through the influence of their sweetness, self-sacrifice and, let us not forget it, exemplary virtues, it is the height of fashion among these young ladies." She chuckled, too, amused and a little regretful. As a woman, it was her lot to listen to such nonsense far oftener than a man would be exposed to it. She sighed, then laughed again. "Oh, you should hear them talk. Now, there are those who claim an education like mine does a woman only harm, but I think, those young girls' has not done them much good, either. Not that I would not love to be swept off my feet by a wicked, dashing rogue myself, but I dare say I would make better sport of the matter than handing him my prayerbook with a blush, once I found myself in his arms." <br><br>Now, this was a daring comment to make, but there was such an ease between them, it seemed not out of place. Besides, had they not declared each other, what was it, comrades in error? She, too, had conveniently forgotten Bridget and her flower basket, glad to have escaped her silently reproachful company. She felt she could breathe freely, out here, in the sun, the wind, the overgrowing garden. Christmas, unthinkable, really, what nerve a man must have to go and ban it. "We defied the ban, too, of course, unendurable, winter without Christmas. You should have seen them, how serious they all took it, like a bunch of conspirators, as if they were plotting for the king's return, not just the birth of the Messiahs." <br><br>"Oh, yes, they do, every single one of them, but most are so bad at it they loose more money than they make nonetheless." She smiled wryly, but with a laugh in her eyes that told she was no more serious than him. She caught herself thinking it would be a shame if he would marry Bridget, if there was one young woman of whom the marchioness could safely say she would never learn to appreciate his humour, it was her. <br><br>For once, the marchioness averted her face a little, allowing her gaze to wander over the crooked tree at her side, there was not a good memory she could conjure of the man she had been married to, on the contrary, as if a cloud had suddenly shrouded the sun, a chill ran up her spine. His jest was most welcome, she looked at him and laughed softly. "She would surely have tried, but long standing habits are hard to correct, my husband was rather old and died just the way he had lived." <br><br>Now, she had said rather too much. Then again, by now, who did not know he had died of a stroke, in a fit of rage, while thrashing a servant for some negligent offence? "That is exactly why I treasure my independence this much, few are as acutely aware of its worth as a woman who has known and hated the opposite.... Well, let us pray God has a sense of humour, then, our chances would not be too bad."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>02-09-2009, 04:12:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire gave another chuckle as she described honest, straightforward, robbery and said in jest, "Thieves do it wrong, though. Why break into my house or cut purse when they could be elected to public office and be paid for the public service of extorting thousands of pounds in bribes?" He smiled when she described reforming a villain and said, "Yet I somehow doubt many villains have been reformed that way, somehow I think that a great many women who run off with such romantic intentions end up in a bad position with an ill match, if they are so lucky that he marries them at all. I would not risk it, certainly, leaving romance for the novels."<br><br>He continued, "I, of course, am just ordinary old Lord Shropshire, not a rogue of any sort so far as I know. Ah, woe is me, with only my title, my wealth, and my sparkling personality to attract potential suitors." He shook his head at his own jest. "Hopefully it shall be enough. And if it is not, I shall just go around wearing my military uniform all the time, some women apparently find a man in uniform irresistible. Indeed, perhaps I could just leave them alone with the uniform and excuse myself and they shouldn't know the difference." He smiled a bit ruefully.<br><br>When she spoke of her education, he said, "Thinking is, of course, inimical to the feminine qualities of absolute obedience and entertaining no desires beyond that of a husband. In order to be a wife, they must suppress these urges such as 'thinking' and 'having lives of their own' and 'being anything more than a womb', as it is a proven theological fact that all natural urges are sins. But, judging by the quality of women at the King's court, women who hold these beliefs are a minority." When she spoke of a woman being swept off her feet to blush and hand him a prayer book, he let out a small laugh, "There, perhaps, is the way to their hearts. I need not make conversation or show them anything of my personality, I can just recite hymns and psalms and soon they will beg me to marry them." <br><br>After a brief pause he added, "I always found it uncomfortable to be reminded of religion during sex, it reminds me I'm sinning. Then again, perhaps it shall be different with a wife." He didn't seem too convinced of the last part. He didn't mind bold comments, it struck him as more familiar than bold, but, then again, being a man meant that bold and saucy generally meant describing sex acts rather than hinting at them. It was simply a double standard. He smiled when she mentioned the seriousness with which they celebrated Christmas and he said, "My father had many Jewish friends, rich merchants and the like. The source of our wealth, if that does not decrease your opinion of my family. Regardless, he would host a party for them, which just happened to fall on December 25th. Every year. If anyone investigated, they would all swear and up and down it was a Jewish thing."<br><br>He laughed when she made the comment about how bad they were at cheating, not wanting to recall having lost money to a few libertines before. Still, the gossip they had given him had been worth the loss. When she averted her face at his question he waited patiently, and said, "We must all pray God has a sense of humor or every one of us is damned forever. Yet I think he has one, though perhaps a sick one. Regardless, I should hope it has not ruined your opinion of men, for there are good and bad in both genders. And I should hate to think the men in your life stifle you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>02-09-2009, 17:44:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"You are right, honest thieving is no desirable option for a gentlemen with the merest prospect of being elected for an office. But you have to admit a public office does not come with the same adventurous flair." She shook her head, smiling. "That is sound advice you give there. Villains and romance are best left for novels. Applied to our lives, they make a sad spectacle and refuse to follow our desires as they so flawlessly do in three quarters of all novels. Though I must admit, reforming a villain never tempted me. Yes, attempting to reform or change any grown man, is not it a fruitless endeavour at best, and one a man finds vexing, unwelcome and averse to his nature at worst?"&nbsp; <br><br>In a highly satirical imitation of a certain well-known leading actress who, as the marchioness found, exaggerated her gestures to the point of involuntary ridicule, she heaved such a theatrical sigh and wrung her hands in a gesture of excessive despair the earl would, had he only once seen that actress, recognise immediately. "Alas, your lot is desperate. You have nothing to go for you than health, attractive looks, a pleasing manner, a good education and character, a fortune, a title, and a uniform. Your expectations are moderate at best, you ought to be grateful for the invention of foolish girls, they do better your prospects of ever finding matrimonial bliss and a chance to find yourself utterly reformed considerably." <br><br>She laughed and made him a mock curtsy, then sighed. "Yes, thinking is a very harmful activity if it goes on in a woman's head, maybe it should be banned, like Christmas. It is a bit cruel that we should be born with such strong natural urges, only to find that they are forbidden, one and all, if they give us but the least bit of pleasure." While the first sentence had been a cheerfully ironic remark, the question why morality and virtues had to be entirely opposed to natural inclinations and needs, had often made the young woman doubtful and confused in matters of religion. Could this be the divine plane of a loving creator? Did God despise happiness, joy, bliss, laughter, satisfaction of one's cravings, all the small things that made life pleasant or only endurable? <br><br>She did not speak immediately after his jocular comment on hymns and prayers being the way to young womens' hearts, she had the feeling there was more to come, and he proved her right soon enough. The marchioness was grateful for the time at court that had given her ample opportunity to practise the art of hearing such topics discussed without blushing. "If that is the case, I strongly advise against hymns, sermon preaching or excessive use of public prayer in your courting of young women. You might otherwise wed and bed a dutiful martyr whose highest ambition it is to never feel a sinful pleasure in her life and to extinguish that condemnable taint of sin in those around her."<br><br>If in the act between a married couple only enjoyment thereof was sinful, the marchioness could claim to be a virtuous woman, in that regard. She wondered what the earl's remark implied. Was he passionate, a good lover, a pleasant companion in bed? On the Continent for the past ears, he had no reputation in England, possibly not even a mistress one might ask after his habits, his inclinations, whether he was an understanding and gentle man, or demanding and indifferent to the woman's feelings. But a mistress was no reliable source, men could treat their wives horribly and make excellent lovers for women they fancied. Of course it was sinful even to think of the earl in that manner, be it only in the interest of Bridget. <br><br>She had nonetheless listened to his description of Christmas and the mention of his family's social connections to Jewish merchants. "Why should it decrease my opinion of your family? There are less honourable sources of wealth behind many a respected fortune. What is good enough for kings surely cannot be beneath earls." She smiled, picturing the scenes he had described. What a rare friendship and intimacy between his family and those Jews. Again, she wondered, could this hatred between the religions be God's will? She could only agree when the earl spoke of God's sense of humour as appearing twisted. To his question, she replied with genuine warmth. "My opinion of men is no less favourable than it is of women. The men in my life do not stifle me, both my family and friends encouraged me to use the independence I have been granted to my advantage." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>02-09-2009, 23:46:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He smiled at her and said, smiling, "Lord Shropshire, gentleman secretary, braving ink and quill and parchment to bring someone their tea." After the jest he merely nodded in agreement with what she said about reforming people, particularly villains and the realistic problems it posed. Even people who appeared mutable and adaptable could not change themselves, truly, they just had a particular type of personality, and to reform or change even them would prove most difficult. It was only possible to reform villains, he had learned, if within them the desire to be reformed already existed.<br><br>He did recognize the reference, not directly thinking of the actress but having seen the over-exaggeration done before in the same style. He took on a somber face, in imitation of the strict men who often served as unlucky moral paragons in plays rather than any specific actor and replied, in an overly stuffy voice, "My dear, it is true, but I have reconciled myself to my lot in life for it is what God has seen fit to grant me. I must make due with the pittance he has handed me. The only thing I may demand in a wife is fertility, though I may hope for more." He paused and his face returned to normal and he said, "I believe, in the play, this is the part where my character proposes to yours, hoping his desperate love for the women who cared enough to give advice would recommend him. Then again, I have been on the continent two years."<br><br>He gave a small chuckle at her mock curtsy and replied, not actually serious, "Religions, it seems, end up with they start with. Islam starts with the desert and ends with it, Christianity starts with suffering and ends with it, Judaism starts with the Jews and ends with them." After a few moments contemplation he said, "I have often thought to myself why so many pleasant activities are sins that seem to harm none but provide pleasure, and I have wondered if God truly looks down upon them. I suppose I can only pray not for despite this I have probably committed enough of these sins to be doomed."<br><br>He simply nodded as she spoke of a martyr and his face had a somewhat sour expression, the idea of a martyr simply annoyed him. He found them self-righteous, people who seemed to think they were better than those they were suffering for. And he had to agree in most women of that sort that was what he would find. All that aside, should a woman reject all sin and never feel the pleasures of it, that would not only obstruct him but cause his marriage to be less enjoyable in many ways. Shropshire did not judge women solely based by how they were in bed by any means but it was a criteria.<br><br>He nodded when she said she held him no grudge for his Jewish associations and said, "Many would rather soon rob and cheat and steal than deal with the Jews, for they are not Christians. But I suppose you are right, our King does not turn away their money so I should have no qualms about it. My family, though noble for some time, struggled financially for generations until a forefather of mine found the ability to swallow his pride and deal with Commoners and Jews. It is a habit my family has never given up, and ever since we have been wealthy." As almost an afterthought he added, "I'm sure Bridget would be horrified because of status and religion."<br><br>When she spoke of her opinion and how her family did not stifle her he said, "I am glad, and I hope you find happiness in your independence. There are many women who do not deserve such a thing, many men as well, but God has doled it out as he sees fit. You, however, I believe will use it as well as any nobleman and I may hope to aspire to be called the same." He wondered about what he had just ever so slightly hinted in his first phrase, about happiness in her independence, if she would ever resubmit herself to a man, for that was her only option to create a family and an heir, something Shropshire felt was an acute necessity for himself. He did not know where it rested on her own priorities, though.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>03-09-2009, 01:32:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The marchioness smiled in answer to his comment, then laughed at his imitation of a strictly moral character, heaved another formidable sigh and clasped her hands before her bosom. "Oh, unfortunate Lord Shropshire, just one demand and no way to tell whether this particular wish can be fulfilled by the bride of your choice. Your fate is most cruel." She resumed her usual manner, too, and continued. "Maybe you should focus more on the minor demands, those which you hope for, as fertility is the one thing nobody can possibly grant or foretell." Following his assumption that his morally upright protagonist should now propose to her melodramatic heroine, he questions the correctness of it by mentioning his time on the Continent. Misunderstanding him on purpose, she exclaimed in feigned astonishment. "What? Do they not even propose anymore on the Continent?" She chuckled, playing with the general conviction that, while England's morals were loose, France's were missing altogether.<br><br>Still almost grinning, she followed his statement on the religions, then grew more serious again, surprised at finding so many of her own thoughts and doubts expressed in his words. "Sometimes I wonder whether it can be wholesome, all this fixation on sacrifice and suffering. Does God really love long faces, strict rules, these earnest, joyless lives of duty and self-denial that are led in his name, better than he would like it if we would take this present of life he gave us with joy, if we were to strife to be happy and contented, grateful, loving, generous, pleased with what he gave us in every way, instead of destroying all thought of pleasure through threats of eternal damnation?" She had spoken with warmth, passion even, but stopped herself, religion was too dangerous a topic to discuss this freely.<br><br>Another moment of silence ensued, the earl was pondering something, the marchioness wondering what the something might be. Was he thinking about his sins, whether they might condemn him in the afterlife, or was he this serious because he foresaw a lack of such pleasurable sins a probably component of his married life? Impossible to tell, for her, and more impossible yet, to ask. When he continued on the subject of his family's connections to Jews and other commoners, she smiled wryly. "Surely, there is no better cure for pride than the lack of money or the greed for more. Sadly, most people tend to conveniently forget whence it came once it is in their pockets." His mentioning of Bridget made her sigh. "I am afraid you might be right there, but, please, make concessions to her age, her upbringing. She has much to learn, but here her youth is an advantage, her mind is still flexible and impressible."<br><br>Her smile returned when he expressed wishes for her happiness and spoke once more with much understanding for her situation and her choices. "I thank you both for wishing me happy and regarding me as deserving of the independence I enjoy. I have come to love it, this freedom, I admit it would be hard to give it up entirely, maybe impossible. I still have not given up the hope of finding a man willing to make some allowances for this need, but... Oh, I am almost as guilty, when it comes to wishing for the unlikely as are young girls with outrageously romantic ideas. I assume that time will cure me of many such vain hopes." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>03-09-2009, 02:24:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she said he should focus on something more minor that he could identify and said, in his normal tone, "I merely meant it to betray my desperate state, in our play-acting, for the vast majority of women are fertile and therefore it shows how little I am able to restrict my choices. Of course I do have standards as to what I want in a woman from minor to all important." After a few moments a wry smile crept to his face, "Should we be able to determine the infertile women of the world, surely, they would be the most prized of mistresses for they offer no chance of bastard children." He seemed somewhat amused at the thought, mainly the incongruity at what was expected of a wife and mistress, both of whom served the purpose of companionship.<br><br>When joked about France he smiled and nodded negatively, "They still propose, if the French love one thing it is pomp. I was invited to the honor of the Sun King's court for a while, the stories I could tell of the rituals. The King looks at you and that means he is rewarding you and your status rises instantly... hour long rituals involving the King simply rising from bed, he is treated like a God. When our King wants to rise from bed, I suspect he simply rolls off his latest conquest and steps off, and when he wants to reward you and make it known he approves, he just calls you in and says 'Shropshire, you've done well for us'. I think he's got it right, the French King wants to be a God like with the pagans of old but our King is simply content with being a great man." Shropshire remembered his time at the French court with mixed feelings at best, and a part of the belief about English superiority to the continent showed itself.<br><br>Shropshire simply nodded as she spoke with warmth and passion about religion and said, "I may hope it is so or I shall roast over a slow fire in hell." He sighed, "Well, the company will be interesting at least, I may hope. But I digress towards the subject of death, which always depresses me, so onto happier matters." He forced a smile, managing to make it only seem slightly forced and obviously to get him off the subject.<br><br>He simply nodded on her comment about his forefather. He could take offense, he knew, as she had insulted a member of his family all be him dead, but he knew there was nothing malicious in the comment and he even agreed with it. When she told him to make allowances for Bridget he couldn't help but think of what she said about changing people's characters and the impossibility of it. He wasn't sure even her youth could make her amenable to the changes and he had no wish for a bitter wife. This showed somewhat on his face.<br><br>When she replied to his comments on her situation he simply smiled and said, "Perhaps you shall find a man willing to grant it you some day. It will no doubt be a reduction in your independence but not necessarily an intolerable one. I would not begrudge someone I trusted to have both the good intentions and the wisdom and intelligence to act in both her own and my own best interest many freedoms. Alas..." here he was going to say Bridget but changed what he was going to say, "... there is very few such women in the world." His grammar did not quite correct itself.<br><br>He paused a few moments and after seeming to think, and looking the Marchioness over, he said, "Romantic ideas have their place. In case you were never guilty of the sin of enjoying sex, I should hope you meet a man who will change that." As he said this, he held his arm out in such a way that he was offering for her to take it, an intimate gesture. He had left her room to refuse and himself room to deny what it obviously was, but he hoped she would understand exactly what he was offering and accept. Shropshire had an affection for the woman standing next to him and a sympathy as well, she would remain a friend in any event. But she was quite pretty and a widow, so he could at least hope she would accept his offer, and so they would both enjoy each other.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>03-09-2009, 19:03:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The marchioness nodded. "I cannot help but think of our king and what a sad and complicated business it has become to find a suitable heir to the throne. But - would you indulge me and name what else you hope to find in your future wife?" This question she did not ask for Bridget's sake only, it interested her in general. His next remark made her frown thoughtfully. "You do have a valid point. To know such things in advance would have made many a life happier. I feel for any woman who cannot bear children, for any man who hopes in vain for an heir, for all children born out of wedlock. I would wish more men were inclined to do their duty by any children they might have fathered." She smiled and made a dismissive gesture in apology for her seriousness of tone.<br><br>The marchioness had been in France herself and impressed both by the king and his palace, her eyes&nbsp; brightened at the thought of the great beauty and ambition of Versailles' architectural concept. "Oh, king Louis is very clever. He forces them all to stay under his eyes and fight among themselves for recognition, I dare say he tamed them well!" She laughed, clearly admiring the French king and the absolute power he held. She had found the court's pomp and protocol impressive and beautiful. It frustrated her to see the English parliament demanding a say in too many decisions. She saw the dangers of absolute power given to a monarch, but the situation the power struggles between king and parliament had created was no better, often enough.<br><br>When the earl spoke of hell and claimed it evoked thoughts of death he found depressing and would rather avoid, the marchioness could only agree on all counts. Receiving only a nod in answer to what she had said about the nobility's habits concerning their finances, she explained. "Your ancestor made a wise choice. Indeed, I particularly respect your family for admitting it openly. At least half our nobles are in chronic need of money. Most care too little for whence it comes and openly despise those they financially depend on, disclaiming any connection. Many are notorious and unreliable debtors. Such habits annoy me, which was the cause for my shortness and tone. Do accept my apology if in being not clear I gave you cause to doubt my meaning." <br><br>Watching the changes on his face when he thought about Bridget, the marchioness discerned the direction his thoughts had taken and made another attempt in favour of the girl. "I earlier expressed my doubts whether it was possible to change a grown person. I perceive you see a contradiction here when I hope for a girl to grow out of some of her convictions. But she is so young, has seen so little of the world, of life, her education was one-sided and her beliefs have never been tested. The realities of our existence are widely unknown to her, other than in theory. Her mind and character are not yet formed, new influences could change much of what you see in her now. I changed little, compared to most, yet as a widow I am very different both from the girl and the wife I used to be." <br><br>She noticed, that, when he spoke of the freedom he might be willing to grant his wife, he hesitated and stumbled at some point, and she wondered what caused it, but could not be sure. "Oh, if it were only those freedoms I craved, I would say I was almost reasonable, but... I hope for the impossible, I would so wish there to be mutual respect, common grounds, a true liking for each other, some degree of affection and trust. To find all that in a match that is suitable for one of my rank and station is next to impossible, as I well know. Yet it is the one thing that could tempt me to remarry before circumstances make it a necessity or time would diminish my choices further." <br><br>She looked at him questioningly when he scrutinised her, but his words and gesture soon told her what he had pondered. His offer was not the first of this kind since she had become a widow, quite a few who had made it had been courtiers of higher rank than the earl, yet she refused him with more regret. Accepting his arm, she looked over at him, meeting his eyes. "You trust I will use my independence wisely. I wish to prove you right. Imagine my situation and options should I conceive. I could remarry in haste, placing myself forever in the debt of the man willing to give another man's child his name, or conceal my pregnancy, give birth in secret and abandon my own child. Either way, I would risk, as any woman does in giving birth, my life, my health, my ability to bear more children. In short, I could diminish or ruin my good prospects. Accept my friendship, Lord Shropshire, for that I can offer in good conscience. Yes, I claim it is a rarer thing to gain than such a moment of passion, for a handsome nobleman in your circumstances."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>03-09-2009, 23:41:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When she asked him to indulge her about what he wanted in a future wife, he thought for a few moments and said, "Though I fear it may be dodging the question, what place my wife will occupy in my household as well as what I will expect of her will vary greatly based on who she is. I could expect a wife to be totally obedient and submit wholly, or I expect and certainly allow her great independence, depending on what I thought of her. There is no one good position for a wife, no one type of woman who makes a good wife."<br><br>When the Marchioness spoke of illegitimacy and infertility he simply nodded somberly, and ventured to add, "Our King takes care of his bastards. Though I have none to speak of, I would like to think myself a man who would care for them and make sure they are comfortable, though I would see my heir inherit my title and lands." In other words, he would find them a place in society that was well off, but he would not try to change their status from Commoners, something that would be an extreme effort and expense on his part. As she talked of the court he simply seemed to agree politely, himself having a somewhat lower opinion due to his lack of reverence for the King and being forced to watch the King rise out of bed for far too long.<br><br>When she spoke of his finances he responded, "My father told me that if I payed my debts I would never be short of money. Though it may seem paradoxical so far he has been right. Though I must say my relationship with the Jews can be an annoyance at time, many times I walk by a street vendor and he claims to know me through a relative. It is well intentioned but when they give me a discount or something free of charge, I must say I often have little to do with it." Jews were famous as bankers but the majority could be found as street vendors and minor merchants. Regardless, he changed the subject from her apology.<br><br>When she spoke of changing Bridget he said, "I have only my own experience, I am afraid, and I must say that I was firmly set in my opinions then and they have not changed so greatly now that I am older. No, I think she shall not change so drastically. Even your marriage, I doubt, changed you from a dull paragon of piety to what you are now. And I should not gamble on the fact that she will change, nor would I trap her in a horrible marriage to effect such a change." He was expressing his doubts openly, something he found surprising, but regardless he did not regret his words.<br><br>When she spoke further of what she wanted he simply said, "You are a romantic, I think. Not as dangerous as those girls chasing villains but a romantic all the same. All I can wish is that your romantic fantasies come true. I think you may yet find him with all your attractions of person and station." She accepted his arm, making him quite happy, but then went on and he found out she had refused. After a pause where he gathered himself again, he responded in a tone that obviously held nothing of ill will, "I understand, and though I believe that a good relationship is not inimical to good relations," He used a euphemism again, "I would not force the issue. I accept your friendship and only hope I have not lost face, honor, or your opinion of me with my request."<br><br>They returned back, breaking their arms apart so that they were walking side by side before they came into view, returning with Bridget who had scarcely noticed they had left. A short time afterward Shropshire excused himself and bid a goodbye to all, promising to see them all again to the Baron's delight as he saw this as a success. He returned home, reflecting on the issues and rewards that Bridget potentially offered. He reached no satisfactory conclusion by the time he had reached his own home. It was not quite dark but the day was certainly ending.<br><br>He went up to his room and saw the back of an unmistakable head: Flora's. It was a welcome relief, Flora, who he knew already, who held nothing uncertain for him in the future, who would not reject him and would love to lay with him again and would not demand the strict norms of society nor a marriage contract in which the woman was almost bought and sold. And she had a wonderfully pleasing figure, which he had to admit added to her charms. As he walked in and closed the door, making sure servants would not come in, he walked up behind her quietly so she would not notice.<br><br>Once he was just behind her, he put out his hands so he looked like some kind of comical villain, before he spoke in what seemed to be a tired and disappointed voice, "Wearing clothes again, Flora?" Then his hands shot down, one around her waist, one down into her dress and onto her breast to fondle her, while his lips sought out hers and planted a long kiss. Once he had withdrawn he moved his lips close to her ears, "Flora... I want more of last night." His hands, meanwhile, traced down the sides of her arms and her shoulders. "I need more of you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 01:20:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The marchioness had been rather thoughtful on their walk back to the house, after she had assured the earl that his request had not lessened her opinion of him. What had tempted her, if only for a moment, to consider his offer, she was not sure. He was, of course, an attractive man in many ways, had looks and a demeanour that spoke for him, but she thought the greatest attraction for her had been the manner in which they had conversed. They had connected in some way, so much so it had been easy to forget he was a stranger she had met for the first time mere hours ago. She had spoken to him almost as if to one of her old friends, the ones they were heading back to. <br><br>When Bridget came into view, who obviously had not even noticed they had been gone this long, content with collecting her many flowers, she could not help but wonder whether the earl would ever truly consider her a bride. He had doubts as to her character, whether she would have the temperament and views he liked, and she could only agree with him. The marchioness might have some romantic ideas, but did not chase dreams or set her mind on the impossible. So, she wondered whether, in the end, the earl would take Bridget for what wealth and status she offered, regardless of his foreseeing that they might not be well suited concerning their characters and temperament. As a friend and distant relative, should she try to help forward the match?<br><br>They sat in the house for another half hour, around the fireplace with the others, Bridget had arranged her flowers and even made a few timid remarks, looking fresh and young and quite charming, the baron, who had finally returned, had been all politeness and visibly pleased that the earl appeared to have taken an interest in his ward. The young man had drawn him into their conversation and by the looks of it, the visit had been a success in the eyes of most, even though the earl declined to stay much longer. <br><br><br>At Shropshire's house, the day had been passed in much its usual fashion for Flora, she had her lessons, had practised her instruments and done her vocal exercises. At first, she had been full of&nbsp; thoughts of the earl, of the night and morning she had spent with him, but soon her love for music and her discipline had banished memories and daydreams that would have distracted her. In the early evening, however, it was time for her to study and write a few letters. The latter was a rather dull occupation and her thoughts had begun to stray more and more often as she kept looking at the nosegay the earl had given her in the morning. She had been wondering when he might be back, hoping he would want to see her and that she would spent this night, too in his bed, his arms.<br><br>It was in the middle of one of those absent-minded pauses that she suddenly found herself addressed by the very man she had been thinking of. She gave a start, her heart leaped and her quill was unceremoniously stuffed in its holder. She was about to jump up and turn around when she found herself wrapped in his embrace. He slung one arm around her waist while the other slipped into the generous décolleté of her gown, closing around her breast. He stooped down to kiss her, and she turned in her seat to sling her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to his deep, hungry kiss. She felt hot and breathless, the touch of his fingers on her skin, the way he fondled her breast was no less to blame for this than the kiss itself. <br><br>Hearing his voice close to her ear sent another shiver down her spine, adding to her own longing, the need that had stirred the moment he had touched her. As he caressed her bare shoulders and traced his fingers along her arms, she rose to her feet. Both her joy at seeing him and her desire for him were unrestrained and undisguised. Today, she had applied her lotions and perfumes with greater care than even for her debut, just in case the earl would want her again, because she knew he liked to smell these fragrances on her and enjoyed the smoothness of her skin. She had even used a balm that was said to not only soften a woman's lips but to kindle the fires of passion in any lover that kissed them. In full confidence of the balm's almost magical properties, she rose to the tips of her toes and kissed the earl again, pressing her body against his, urging him to give in to his craving for her.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 01:42:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire took her in his arms as she pressed herself against him, enjoying the kiss in full even as he slowly moved them both in the direction of the bed. He tasted something that he could not identify on her lips, not at all unpleasant, and her smell was divine, and he loved the feel of her smooth skin which he touched even through her dress, pressing himself into her once again. He wanted to feel her again, to take her in with every one of his senses. To have them overwhelmed by nothing but her, by her completely. The kiss only broke when one of them could no longer hold their breath, but they were at the&nbsp; bed.<br><br>Shropshire gently seated Flora on the bed, expecting her to know to remove any clothes that would get in the way, while taking off his own garments in the mean. He stripped himself of them quickly, thinking nothing of leaving them scattered upon the floor, and eagerly entered the bed with her whether she was done or not, embracing her and planting kisses and running his hands along her eagerly. When he was done and she was ready, his fervor seemed to slow somewhat and he embraced her and planted kisses which lasted longer and pressed their bodies together more so.<br><br>In that moment, there was nothing beyond Flora and the bed, and the bed only because he could not deny the feeling of the sheets. As he kissed her he tasted her and as his hands pushed her closer to him he felt her, he smelled her sweet smell mixed with the smell of their arousal and he saw a vision of beauty. In some small part of his mind, perhaps, he knew that this infatuation would not last forever and in the morning she would merely become a lovely woman rather than this object of obsession but that did nothing to lessen the feeling, the intoxication.<br><br>With one final kiss to the lips, he said, "I want to try something with you." He moved her so that she was sitting upright and then embraced her closely, so she was sitting in his lap with her legs on either side. His hands slowly moved down and guided her so soon she was on top of his manhood and it shortly entered her. He began to thrust back and forth while his hands went around her back and, more passionately, he kissed her face again and again, aiming for the lips but occasionally missing without seeming to mind.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 02:59:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Kissing passionately, they made their way to the bed, where lack of breath forced them to pull apart.&nbsp; The earl gently pushed her onto the bed, but she rose again instantly, pulling the combs and pins out of her hair, nestling with her gown. As eager as her hands were, her excitement collided with her impatience, but finally she had undone all buttons and hooks and could pull first the gown and then the chemise over her head. She kicked off her slippers and felt the earl reach out for her, pull her back onto the bed. His hands and kisses soon were all over her body, leaving a trail of sensations in their wake.<br><br>Her eyes took advantage of the gentle light the fireplace and candles provided and she took in his body with some curiosity, especially his member which she had never dared to look at before. Last night, it had been dark and she had not seen it, either. She would have liked to look at him more, but he left no time for it, soon there was nothing but stroking and kissing and she left it to her hands to explore his body. She squirmed under his touch, as his hands passed over her hips and waist, lingered on her breasts, then moved down to her thighs and sex. It felt incredibly good, but she wanted more. When he pulled her close and she felt the whole length of his body against hers, his warmth and weight, his hands gripping her buttocks, the ache of her desire increased and she longed for him to take her again, thrust into her as he had done the other night.<br><br>She moaned and kissed him hungrily, pressed her body against his and savoured every moment. She knew so little of this, she could not tell what to do, how to do it right. She wished to please him, to stir the same sensations and hunger in him that she felt, but all she could think of doing was to imitate him, learn from what he did and what she liked best, hoping her doing the same, touching his body in the same way would please him. When he pulled her onto his lap, she helped him as best she could, and gasped as he entered her. At first, it burned as he stretched her, but as soon as he began to push into her, slip in and out of her wet, slick opening, her arousal turned into passion. She moaned, leaned back and pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts, let his rhythm take over, faster and harder as his urge grew stronger.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 04:31:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As their rhythm began to match Shropshire began to move harder and faster, increasingly going rougher and rougher as he planted kisses in a more and more erratic manner all over the place. Soon he guided her hands so she would hold onto him and then freed them to pay ample attention to her breasts, matching the motions he made and the way he played with them to his ever increasing thrusts. Eventually he managed to lock onto her mouth and kissed as his tongue explored deeper into her mouth, keeping them together as he moved ever harder.<br><br>He could feel her wet, slick, and tight, her walls around his manhood giving him the carnal pleasure he got from this act. He felt his own member, hard and aroused and ever seeking to enter into her and feel what his primal instincts had him crave. He could feel his erection as full as it had ever been, causing him to gasp at times from a sudden rush of pleasure even as he was entering Flora's mouth. He felt her mouth too, tasting her lips, his hands felt her firm round breasts and ever sought out the right spots and the right ways to play with them to both give her pleasure and satisfy his desire to explore her body.<br><br>Soon he was moving a bit to violently and their position shifted so that they both fell and he was on top of her and she was below, but it was different from before. Before he was being gentle while now she was no longer a virgin and he was moving faster, and harder, ignoring worries he might have about his wounds. The entire experience was more passionate, rougher, more enveloped in the Earl's lust as he began to feel the waves in his body and the twitching in his member and shortly thereafter, with one mighty final thrust, he released his seed inside Flora, letting out a long moan as he did so. <br><br>Afterward he pulled out of her but still lay on top of her, his hands now caressing her softly as opposed to stimulating her, his kisses more tame, and his pressure less sexual in nature upon her body. He said, in a way that conveyed everything he felt, with just the right mix of emotions in his tone, "Flora..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>06-09-2009, 03:49:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When the earl had finally collapsed on top of her, Flora was panting, unable to speak. She would not have known what to say in any case, she was too overwhelmed by the ocean of feelings that had taken possession of her, had washed her away and tossed her about like driftwood. How could it be that something, anything at all, should feel like this? Two days ago, asked to name what could stir the most intense and overpowering sensations and emotions in her, she would have named singing, convinced nothing could possibly ever outreach the thrill of dissolving her whole being in it. <br><br>That being with a man could be like this, she would never have thought possible. Why, some of it might have looked clumsy, comical, even, to an onlooker, how the earl's kisses had missed her so often, how their greedy, eager copulating had toppled them over in the middle of it, how they had been moaning, coughing shoving, pushing, blindly grabbing at the other, and yet... None of it had mattered, as if nothing had existed anymore outside this experience, nothing had been there but her and him, they might even have ceased to be two separate beings at the height of their passion. <br><br>She had murmured her protest when the earl had pulled out of her, so much had she wanted him inside of her, while heat had coursed through her again and again, her sex had shuddered and tightened around his member as the aftermath of her lustful peak had gradually ebbed away. She lay very still, now, her muscles seemed to have melted away, her limbs lay heavy and tired where she had flung them around his body. Her skin, more sensitive to his touch than ever, was wet with their sweat. When she moved again, tracing her fingers idly up his spine, she felt drops of sweat that had collected there, almost to a trickle. <br><br>His dark hair had fallen into his face, was sticking to his forehead and temples. She reached up to stroke the wet strands away, an expression of wonderment and tenderness in her eyes neither of which she could ever put into words. His face had lost all its sternness, he looked years younger, almost a different man. She traced his features with the tips of her fingers, smiling, then lifted her head to kiss him. She could not get enough of him, wanted to drink him in with her eyes, to touch him and feel him. <br><br>The old curiosity was there again, too. All of it, their sweating and panting, her longing to be close to him and touch him, her wish to see all of him, brought back something she had completely forgotten about when he had come in. "I've ordered hot water to be kept ready for a bath...?" She met his eyes, a slow smile spreading over her face, then even a blush, at the thought of her own sinful ulterior motives behind this innocent sounding suggestion.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>06-09-2009, 18:16:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire gave no thought to their clumsiness or what it might look like from the outside, the thoughts simply did not occur to him, for the moment their was simply Flora and himself and no matter how awkward or odd they looked it mattered not to him. He lived in a world of social mores and strict etiquette where a big enough loss of face could be disastrous in so many ways that he left them at the bed. Flora was not only a beloved companion but an escape and the outside world did not apply here in bed.<br><br>Shropshire continued to kiss her but more gently and purposefully, always on her lips. Meanwhile, his hands ran up and down her gently, caressing her without focusing on any spots but gently feeling her. The fact she had protested him pulling out had only registered after he had done so and he would not realize what it had actually been until later, at the moment all there was for him was his senses and what they took in. He could not explain it but his kisses tasted inexplicably sweet, his hands tingled with sensation and he could feel a heat in himself he could not describe.<br><br>When she reached up to move the hair form his head, there was a strong tingling wherever she touched, but that was soon subsumed by the focus on her eyes. Her eyes which gave off a feeling of warmth and tenderness and love which caused him to kiss her again without intending to, slowly, his eyes not leaving hers until they closed for just a moment as their lips touched, before pulling away again and continuing to stare down. He still felt the tingle where the tips of her fingers had traced and were tracing.<br><br>She smiled at him and said that a bath was ready, then blushed. He kissed her again, on the forehead, and got off of her, standing at the side of the bed and offering his hand. He helped her out of bed, not because she needed it but because it gave him and excuse to hold her hand, and walked close to her all the way to the warm bathwater which he had not noticed before. He helped her in, out of politeness, before getting in himself. He made no secret that he was looking over and appreciating her body, smiling, but his eyes continually returned to simply stare at her face. The bath tub, though large by most standards, still put them quite close together.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>07-09-2009, 04:10:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lying there with him as she did, his hands stroking her, caressing her with such tenderness, a feeling of peace, of utter contentment had spread through her. And happiness, yes that must be it, perfect bliss. The way he treated her, looked at her, it subtly invited her to forget the gulf that&nbsp; separated her from him, his nobility, her humble origin and a chain of events that had left her a destitute vagabond. It would have been so easy to pretend they were equals, just for a time, in a moment like this, when he made her feel as if she was precious to him. <br><br>If she only at least knew his name, his first name, just to think of him by that name, not even to ever say it aloud, or maybe, sometimes, to herself, when she was alone. But she pulled out the little needle of reason and pointed it at the pretty bubble. Puff. Two years ago, she had promised the earl never to forget she had come to his household from out of the gutter, no matter how high she might rise in the world. The memory of that first evening, of her starving body, clad in stinking rags, and his look of utter disgust always worked miracles when it came to curing silly ideas of equality. <br><br>The bursting of that bubble had no effect on her mood however, did not make her hesitate to caress him, nor did it caution her against offering so much of herself to him, allow for the feelings she could not successfully fight even if she wanted to. Between his kisses, a smile had returned again and again, broadening into an embarrassed grin when he kissed her on the forehead. Had he noticed why she wanted to take this bath with him? Did he know how abashed and curious she was, that she had been looking for an excuse, an opportunity to look at him when he was naked, to see his manhood, maybe touch it, under the pretence of washing him – it?<br><br>The first glance she stole at his face, though, while she took his hand and slipped of the bed herself, to try and find out the answer to these questions. His expression betrayed no hint of a suspicion, which made her more daring. While they walked to the bath, hand in hand, very close, she allowed her eyes to travel over his body, following the route her fingers had already taken, from his broad shoulders down to his slender hips, his buttocks and legs. They returned to the hips again, lingering there, then shyly glanced at his flat stomach, his loins – only to shy away at the last moment.<br><br>Which was not the worst thing to happen, because just then they had reached the bath tub and he was smiling down at her, waiting to help her in. She lowered herself into the almost hot water and sighed contentedly, beaming up at him because it was still this warm, and – saw. So, that was what it looked like? Transfixed, she looked at it, longing to reach out and touch it, just very lightly, to hold it, only for a moment. She sighed and bit her lip. But now, the earl stepped into the bath and sat down opposite her. Shyly, she looked at him. Had he noticed, would he mind? But inside her, there was a turmoil of excitement and she was rather pleased with herself. She had seen it, and she had not even blushed. Spontaneously, she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>07-09-2009, 17:41:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire was smiling, he had no idea why but there was simply a feeling within him that had broken through his self control and caused him to smile. He could have forced it down but he didn't want to, which was in part Flora's appeal. She made him smile, she made him happy, in ways that society with its own strict rules stifled. Flora would not judge him, nor would she expect him to be proper, she wouldn't expect anything but the simplest and most basic manners which Shropshire gave freely, so long as this emotional connection persisted. And their connection was another source of joy. And that was all that was in the smile, unembarrassed joy.<br><br>He had no idea of her designs as they walked towards the bath, but he noticed the way she was stealing glances and where her eyes were wandering. He noticed where her eyes were drifting until she suddenly averted her eyes after almost reaching his manhood. Her face betrayed just a hint of embarrassment, it seemed to him like she couldn't bring herself to look at it or that she felt like what she was doing would be some kind of transgression. Shropshire didn't mind, and wasn't ashamed to have her look at him naked. After all, he liked looking at her form, and her seeing him was no less intimate than what they had just done.<br><br>Then, it seemed, Flora saw what she had shied away from on accident and stared at it, seeming transfixed. The Earl didn't mind and, in fact, didn't really seem to react at all, he just smiled like he had been. Then she leaned over and kissed him, which he returned waiting until she pulled away, making his smile just a bit more vibrant. He needed something like this, something that he loved and that he knew was waiting for him, to calm him and sooth him and give him joy and he was ever so grateful for having found Flora all those years ago. He didn't think of her as that starving girl in the kitchen, as a commoner or a gutter girl, she was Flora.<br><br>There were a few moments where he soaked in the bath and seemed to be considering something, then he gently took Flora's hand and kissed it. He had decided that she had shown more than ample interest and would undoubtedly forgive him if he had simply presumed wrong. Instead of letting her hand go, he took it and guided it underwater, down onto his shaft and left it there. He looked at her and said, "If you want to see my body, if you want to feel it, it's yours. If you want to feel... it," He searched for a word and came up with a euphemism, "You can. And if the water gets in your way we can do it later, after I'm dry. I don't imagine you know a lot about men's bodies but, with me, you don't have to be so shy."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>08-09-2009, 03:31:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her somewhat&nbsp; stormy kiss, born out of sudden confidence that she would, eventually, find ways to learn more about all of this, ways to understand, ways, also, to please him. She longed to do that and felt helplessly frustrated, fearing her ignorance and possible clumsiness would lead to her making mistakes and render her first attempts tedious rather than enjoyable for the earl. There was no respectable woman one could possibly ask about this, leave alone a man. She would have liked it best by far to learn from the earl, but without exposing him to unskilful attempts or turning their time together into yet another lesson. She did not want to break the spell, the indescribable sweetness of their being together this way.<br><br>"Oh!" She had been so lost in these musings, she had not anticipated what his taking of her hand might lead to, and found it, all of a sudden, closed around the very thing her thoughts had dwelled on so often now in the past half hour. She dared not move, held her breath, merely looked at him as he spoke. "Oh, yes, I..." In her hand, his member gave the slightest twitch, and she smiled, instantly distracted. She very gently ran her closed hand along the full length of his shaft a few times, fascinated, enjoying the astonishing smoothness of his skin, soft as her own skin, if not even softer. <br><br>She tried to peer through the surface of the water, but all she saw was darkness and her own, rippling&nbsp; reflection as it danced on the water. Yet she did not mind, quite liked to explore blindly, to concentrate solely on her hand and what she felt. She reached out with her left hand, too, traced tentative fingers along the underside of his shaft where her hand did not quite close around it. Her fingers encountered his balls and she cupped them in her hand, moving them around while the other still held and stroked his manhood in long, regular movements all the way from its root to the helmet. <br><br>For the moment, she had forgotten her worries whether she would not be clumsy and displease the earl. Her curiosity directed her left hand to the head of his sex. Finding it a slightly hooded, with a sleek dome partly hidden underneath this skin, she felt reminded of her own small button in its folds, the one which could give her a wealth of pleasure but was tender beyond compare. With this in mind, she only traced her fingers over and around the dome very lightly, along its outlines, the gorge in the middle, the hole. She began to tenderly circle the head of his member with her index finger and looked up at the earl.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>09-09-2009, 01:01:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire had surprised her, he could tell. She didn't seem to move a muscle but she didn't seem to blush or shy away in embarrassment, though she didn't quite manage to get words out, which Shropshire took as a good sign. This was confirmed when she smiled and he smiled in return. If she wanted to touch him so, she could, not only because he would let her touch any part of him he wished but because her hand on his member did cause some stirring within him. This was not at all wrong to him, and he wondered how she would react if he asked her to... he couldn't find the word. What he did to himself, at times, when no woman was forthcoming.<br><br>Then she started to run her hand up and down it, surprising him in a pleasant way. She even used her other hand to fondle his&nbsp; balls, something he had not experienced in some time. As she continued to fondle them soon they tightened and came closer to his body as a reaction to his arousal. Her stroking, meanwhile, was having the desired effect and he was quickly getting a full blown erection. If she had continued the way she was she could have undoubtedly brought him to a full erection and then to orgasm but she turned to exploring a new part soon enough, her hand still stroking, which accelerated the process.<br><br>Her fingers began to dance over his head and he reached a full erection. Her hands were gentle and tender and stimulated him in combination with her hand running up and down his shaft. When she looked up, he was looking at her intensely. There was an obvious look of pleasure on his face and, while not the same, he imagined there were some similarities to the way he looked when they were having sex. It was the same stimulation from the same source, after all, the only difference was the method. His breath was a bit heavy, but it was apparent he liked it both from his eyes and his face.<br><br>As she continued to do so, soon he felt a heat rising and his manhood began to pulse. He let out a sharp gasp, not being able to help it, as he came again. After he had finished he looked at her and gave her a large smile, saying in a loving voice, "Thank you, I didn't know you could do that for me." He didn't for a moment think to ask where she had learned it, or even if she had learned it, such thoughts were for the outside world for him, for the moment.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>09-09-2009, 02:28:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her own look of surprise would have been enough to tell the real she had never done this before, even without her reply. "I did not know, that, either. But... Oh, I'm so glad your Lordship like it!" She said honestly, still a little awed by the experience. For it had been an intense experience for her, too, to look into his eyes which held such intensity, see him react to what she did. She had felt his member grow harder, fuller, heavier in her hand, which had encouraged her to continue, to close her hand a little faster around his shaft, run it along its lengths in smooth, increasingly confident movements, while the fingers of her left hand had continued their gentler caresses, the circling and stroking. <br><br>She had seen the tension grow in his body, the increasing lust, had seen the passion built up and recognised the signs, the look on his face. Her own face had relaxed into a smile as she did all this, never leaving his face, his eyes, intrigued and fascinated by what she saw, what she felt in her hands. Yet she had not expected to bring him to that peak of lust they had experienced together, even when his breath grew faster, heavier. Under her hands, she had felt his manhood pulse, then, a ripple had run through his body and twitching a few times his member had spent and relaxed, slowly growing soft in her hand. <br><br>The earl had not stirred throughout this, had merely gasped towards the end, but she had seen that he had liked what she had done. She now let go of his member, so it could settle against his body and rest. There was no mistaking her look, she might be surprised, but she was happy, glad she had&nbsp; discovered a way to give him pleasure as he had given it to her before. This small matter, as it might seem in the eyes of some, had changed much for her. Up to this moment, in what they had done, the earl had taken the lead, he had touched her, aroused her, caressed her, she had been so overwhelmed and inexperienced she could do little more than stroke him, try to anticipate his movements and&nbsp; help him, them, find a rhythm. <br><br>She wanted to know so much more, how she could please him, heighten his desire, kindle its flames, but her lack of knowledge and skill no longer frustrated her. Little by little, she was beginning to see it as a journey, a series of discoveries. She would be guided in this by his reactions, she could watch his body, his expression, if she only was attentive enough to the signs she already recognised, she would learn more. She leaned back against the tub and watched him with a slight smile, looked at his body, the scars from his wounds, his shoulders, every bit of him that was above the water. She decided he was a very good-looking man, surely most women must agree that his body was attractive, indeed. As she sat, her hands dreamily caressed his legs, and without noticing it, she began to softly hum one of the popular love ballads one heard at all street corners these days.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>10-09-2009, 01:37:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire was glad she was excited but the look on her face told him that she hadn't known what she had done. That surprised him, but he kept it hidden, glad it had happened anyway. She had done quite well and if that had been a mistake he couldn't imagine what it would be like when she was actually trying. As he recovered, he managed to take his hands and scooped out the ejaculate that had came out, having no desire to bath in that. Anyone who didn't know what he was doing would just see him taking a bit of the water and throwing it into a deposit for such waste.<br><br>As she let go and it drifted down, he began to think of her and the joy she had given him and the look on her face. He soon noticed she was looking at him and simply sat there, letting her look him over. He even liked that she looked at him, that she appraised him and found him attractive if her reaction was anything to go by. In fact, she seemed to have a slightly more confident air around her, as if she was more certain of her choice now. As she caressed his legs and hummed he smiled at her gently, she seemed to be off in her own little world which he could only hope he was a part of.<br><br>He soon got an idea, and took a cloth and dipped it in the water and lathered it up. He gave her another smile before faking a pout, "We're supposed to be bathing, Flora. If you aren't sure of how to do it yourself, I'll help." Before she could respond he gave her a wicked smile and took the cloth and began to rub it all over her, less in a cleaning motion than to get her wet and to trace all over her, paying special attention to her breasts, and to cover her in the suds. As he did so, he slowly drifted closer, inspecting her intensely and working on her like he would a piece of art, gently yet firmly and focusing on every delicate feature.<br><br>He wasn't trying to arouse her, or at least not in the normal way. While he was being intimate with her here, he wasn't trying to have this end in sex. He covered made sure to cover every area, even those intimate ones where his manhood had pierced not too long ago, and made sure to feel every bit of her, ending with a soft kiss. He smiled at&nbsp; her and put the rag in her hand and said, "There, I think you can do it, now. Why don't you show me what you've learned?" There were two possible routes she could take, in his mind, either she could run it over herself and give him a show or she could use the opportunity to clean him as he had just done to her. He trusted her to be gentle and sat back, open enough should she take that option.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>10-09-2009, 04:10:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora was very surprised to see something as silly as a pout on the earl's face. It would have surprised her on any man's face, unless on a very effeminate one's, but on the earl's usually stern features, it look practically outlandish. She laughed at his playful reprimand, and willingly underwent the procedure of his washing ritual, for such it seemed, judged by the attention and care he gave it. She soon was all attention herself, his firm, gentle movements felt soothing and caring, but also stimulating, especially when he lingered so long on her breasts. He had hardly begun washing them when her buds already stood up, rosy and saucy, loving the attention, hardening more whenever the cloth passed over them.<br><br>All this rendered Flora slightly breathless and even restless, and she squirmed as he turned his attention towards other parts of her body. It was not much better when he washed her buttocks, her thighs, and when he reached between her legs, she gasped and had to hold on to the tub or her sudden jerk would have made her slip under the water. Her cheeks were flushed and the colour of her eyes more intensive. The earl might not have intended to arouse her, but the effect was undeniably there, and after he had kissed her and leaned back again, handing her the cloth, it took her quite a few moments to collect herself. She nodded, soaped the cloth and moved over to him.<br><br>She washed him with the same attention and care with which she had done it when he had been injured, massaging his muscles, working steadily and in a smooth, relaxing rhythm. She concentrated on this task, as it allowed her to settle down again. She was embarrassed, she had seen the earl had not meant her to feel what she had felt, and with the prejudices and restrictions of their time, it felt as if she had been guilty of lewd conduct. She hoped, of course, he had not noticed, but she was sure it had shown, how could it not. She chided herself that he had only meant to do her a kindness, and what a kindness, just imagine, an earl washing a former beggar!<br><br>When she had finished, she also washed his hair, massaging the soap into his scalp and rinsing it afterwards with fresh water from a can that stood nearby. Then, she washed her own hair, too. It took more time and soap. To rinse that mass of hair which hung down too her knees, she had to stand up and hold it up above the water. She was no longer shy before the earl, standing naked and busying herself with her hair almost felt natural. Hence, she was neither awkward nor coquettish, took her time, did it just the way she had learned as a child. Of course, this was a pleasant sight, given her curves and the graceful limbs, and the amount of bending, twisting and lifting of her arms this procedure warranted. When she was done, she piled her hair up on top of her head and held it in place with some pins and combs, so that it would not slip back into the soapy, cooling water. With a smile to the earl, she stepped out and reached for the towels, holding a few of them out to him, too, in case he also wished to leave the bath.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>10-09-2009, 20:11:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire realized he had made Flora squirm under him and was sorry he had stopped but it had already been done. When she took a few moments to collect herself he almost felt bad he had done that, and he began to turn over in his mind how to make it up to her. And, judging by what he knew, that meant he would have to tell her what she had felt was fine and, if anything, it was his fault for not bringing her to climax, but he could not think of how to broach the subject before she went to work on him.<br><br>As she worked on him he sighed a few times out of pleasure, though different from the manner of before. He noted her embarrassment and it made him feel somewhat worse. Despite the prejudices of his time, he wanted Flora to enjoy herself here as much as he did and, though he could not speak for Commoners, he certainly was not from a culture where the lie women did not enjoy sex existed. Then again, the upper classes tended to be more libertine and the lower more prudish. He enjoyed it thoroughly and nodded in thanks after she was done, his entire body feeling light and better than it had all day.<br><br>He wasn't expect her to stand up but quickly realized what she was doing, and took the time to appreciate her twisting and turning curves, at times thrust out directly at him, a sight he invariably enjoyed. He had always enjoyed her form, and now was no exception, she was beautiful. He was glad she didn't seem to shy, that she was openly doing this with him there, feeling at ease. When she held out the towels, he took them and stepped out after her. He smiled at her and gave her a kiss and said, "Next time, I think I should make you squirm some more. Would you like that?" With that, he grinned and he hoped, he had made it clear what he thought and it was also a promise that he would make it pleasurable for her again.<br><br>With that he dried himself off quickly but thoroughly. After he was done he waited for Flora to do the same, then smiled at her and gave her a peck on the lips. Then he took her hand and, smiling, lead her to the bed. As he stood over it, he opened up the sheets for them to get in. However, instead of gesturing for her to get in, or getting in himself, he embraced Flora. He pushed her body into his and held her close. He whispered into her ear, "I want to sleep like this, our bodies intertwined and pressing and close." With that he moved their embracing bodies onto the mattress, pulled the covers over them, and kissed Flora gently, holding it for some time before stopping.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>11-09-2009, 04:22:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				His smile, his kiss showed her that he was, at least, not angry at her. She looked up into his face, seeking reassurance, but his words gave her more of it than she had expected. Flustered, feeling very warm again, suddenly, she stammered. "Oh... Yes... I... I'd like that very much." The latter had come out in a rush, accompanied by a blush and a shy smile. At his grin, her smile became more relaxed, and she followed his example, quickly dried herself and loosened her hair again to wrap it into a towel and squeeze the wetness out of it. She had to repeat that process often, with her mass of hair, the linen fabric was soaked in no time. Finally, though, it was only slightly damp and she wrapped one last towel around it like a turban. <br><br>She was glad she had done this, as the earl clearly planned for them to sleep now. He took her by the hand as he so often did, and lead her back to the bed. He flung back the covers and she was about to crawl in, when he took her in his arms instead, holding her very close. What he did was of a nature that might easily have rekindled the flames of her passion, but he whispered into her ear that he intended to sleep like this, and promptly manoeuvred them into the bed. Lying this close to him, his long, tender kiss might have excited her even more, but it was so gentle in nature, not passionate, not hungry, a caress, a loving embrace that wrapped her into warmth, security and comfort. <br><br>Flora was not sure what he wanted now, but then, she almost never was. It was as if his signals were constantly either contradicting themselves or alternating. Unless he explicitly said what he wanted to do or wanted her to do, she could never tell where things were heading, what he craved, what he merely tolerated. Earlier, although it was beyond her how he could expect her not to be aroused by the manner in which he had touched her, given his experience with women, he had clearly not meant to arouse her, but it had not bothered him, either, what he had said afterwards indicated he saw nothing wrong in it, would do it again, that he wanted her to enjoy it. And now? Was he tired, did he want to sleep, was that why he had said he wanted to sleep with their bodies intertwined, pressing close? <br><br>She decided it must be so, for he had already positioned him just the way he had said he wanted to sleep. "Good night, your Lordship." She murmured softly, lying very still, in his tight embrace, her eyes open. By and by, her thoughts settled down. Why, it was easy, really, she would just do what he told her to do. He was the master, after all, he knew what he wanted and would tell her of his wishes as he saw fit. She would just stop to try and read his intentions, his moods, his wants, she was so unsuccessful with it that it was best not to attempt it, for that only lead to confusion. She closed her eyes and began to drift off to sleep. Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow I'll get up early again. She wanted to work on her score, her secret passion. Already, her head was so full of ideas she just had to bring them out or she would burst with them. As she lay, sounds flooded her mind, harmonies, melodies...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>11-09-2009, 19:18:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire, unaware of the confusion in Flora's mind, smiled at her gently settled in and had her nestled against them, both their bodies pressing and close and nude. He could smell her, he could feel her, he had or had had those sensations which he desperately craved of her. But it was getting late and, though he tended to stay up a bit later than most, now he had no desire in his mind except to fall asleep, here, with Flora. This was, to him, the pleasantest evening he'd had as long as he cared to remember and he would not have traded it for most anything, nor Flora for any other woman to share it with, her presence banishing any other women from his mind.<br><br>Flora began to fall asleep before him, and Shropshire watched her eyes slowly grow heavy and close and felt feelings of tender affection. After she had fallen asleep, or perhaps just when her breathing was slow and her eyes clothed so she was on the threshold, he whispered, "Goodnight." and kissed her gently, then let the heavy burden of tiredness be lifted from him and release him into the strange realm of dreams. He dreamed pleasantly, seemingly aware of the close presence of Flora and their bodies pressing together, and not totally pure dreams either. But come morning he would remember none of it except what was left behind in a good rest and a pleasant disposition.<br><br>In spite of the good sleep, or perhaps because of it, he woke up earlier than he was used to the next day. He woke up just as a few shades of light were peaking through the darkness. The sun, he knew, would be rising very soon. He looked up, for some reason not at all reluctant to get out of bed as he often was, and looked over at Flora. Her peaceful face made him think of a few hackneyed cliches, but that didn't diminish them at all in his eyes: every one was true. At this moment, she was his sun, she was the only thought in his mind, she was all he wanted. But he knew that with the sun the real world would rise and he would return to reality, where she was a mistress and he was a noble and their tenderness was, at best, stolen and hidden from the world.<br><br>All t he same, he gently kissed Flora and speaking softly and nudging her a bit said, "Flora... Flora? Flora, get up. I want you to see something." After he had stirred her he took her with him to the window and cast open the blinds, letting the world flow into the room. The sun was rising, slowly but brilliantly, painting the sky many colors, and Shropshire smiled at Flora and came to her side, putting his hand around her bare hips and kissing her. He said, in a somewhat breathless voice, "Good morning."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>12-09-2009, 18:28:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Flora had fallen asleep peacefully, wrapped into the earl's arms, wrapped also in the sounds of her own inner music. For a while, her sleep was dreamless, but after some time, scenes enfolded before her eyes. The wild Atlantic, cliffs and heather, whin and the sandy beach. She was running, with her brothers and sisters, the other children. They were chasing each other with long, slimy, bright green strands of weeds, shrieking and laughing. Their bare feet were white and rosy, a stiff breeze caught their hair and lifted it up about their heads in wisps and clouds. <br><br>Flora sighed and smiled in her sleep, the laughter, the laughter! She was running as fast as she could, her small feet hammering on the wet sand or spluttered through the waves hissing onto the beach. She stared out over the dark waves, the white foam dancing on them, watched the gulls sail and stand in the air, the dart down. Over the murmuring, hissing, whispering and rolling of the waves, she now heard wood batter against wood, and knew the boys were pretending to have a sword fight, practising what their father's had told her. She hopped to the group of girls kneeling in the sand or walking about, their eyes fixed on the sand. <br><br>"We're making a picture, it'll be huuuuge! Come!" And so they were drawing, forming the sand, looking for shells and pretty stones to lay out or decorate the ornaments, intricate spirals growing into animals, a running horse, a grim wolf, a wise raven, a seal, a salmon, and so many more. For hours they were busy, connecting their animals through intertwined vines, the branches of a tree, a tree of life. Even the boys became interested after a while and helped them. Their little group fell silent, they worked in deep concentration, full of growing awe and admiration for their creation. She was happy, so happy, she wanted to stay here forever, here, be where she belonged, with her family, her friends, in the sun, by the sea, at home. Home!<br><br>But of course, it could not last, it was only a dream, after all. The sky grew dark as if a shadow had fallen over it, and cold crept into her every limb. A hand gently shook her shoulder, forcing her to leave, banishing her dream, calling for the other Flora, who was not carefree, never free, a London beggar-maid, a songstress, the new mistress of an earl. Her eyes fluttered, then opened, gazed into the earl's with a forlorn expression, momentarily disoriented. "Your Lordship?" She asked, then heard him say he wanted her to see something. She shuddered in the coolness of the room, but when she stood by the window, watching the sun rise in all its glory, her blue-green eyes grew wide and bright at the sight of such beauty. She never took her eyes from it once, but nestled against the earl as she whispered. "So beautiful!"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>12-09-2009, 22:55:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire tore her eyes from it with a gentle hand under her chin and gave her a long, gentle yet passionate kiss in front of the rising sun. After he had finished he said, "My thoughts exactly." though his tone implied he was referring to her. "I only hope what you dream of was less appealing than what I brought you to." He moved one arm and the window was cut off from view again, he didn't want anyone to see them nude together, but he continued to hold Flora for a time. Then he let go with one final kiss, "But alas, we must wear clothes and go back to our daily lives."<br><br>He released her and hoped she had made provisions. She had, after all, been waiting in his room. If not, he would send a servant he could trust not to gossip or question, but his own clothes were in his own room. He walked over and first put on some perfume, a common thing for both men and women in order to hide the smells prevalent to the time, and put on clothes that were more or less normal fair. Comfortable and good looking, respectable but nothing too uncomfortable. He put a sword on, as was fashionable for the times, though until his stint in the military he wasn't the best user of it.<br><br>He saw a small box, it was his jewelry box. Men wearing jewelry was considered decadent rather than effeminate for the most part, which was something nobles were, at times, expected to appear. He opened it and found a smaller box within. There were several necklaces, each a miniature version of his coat of arms, minus several details so that it wouldn't violate regulations on who could wear it, with the words above it, "From The Right Honorable Lord William Grayson, the Tenth Earl of Shropshire". It was an old family tradition to give them to extremely close friends, patrons, or those who the member was a patron for in turn. It bound the two together. It was not worth a lot and yet of good enough material a noble could accept it without shame, nor would a commoner find it overly flashy.<br><br>He debated giving it to Flora, they had not known each other long. But she was here, with him, and she had given him something she would never get back. They were already very close and he had few doubts it would end soon, and all that aside, it was already known she was his patron and so no impropriety would come of it. It was, after all, natural that a patron show affection for their ward in such a form and since he was the patron of her voice few would suspect he cared for her in another way. Even if they stopped being lovers, it would be something she should wear so long as she was a singer under his patronage. Besides, it offered another form of protection for Flora: anyone who saw it would have the fact she was under his protection staring in their face. And, he had to admit part of the appeal was that it, in some small way, marked her as his. Not as property or chattel by any means, but still his Flora.<br><br>He finished dressing and waited for Flora to finish whatever she was doing then walked up to her. He took the necklace in his hands and put it over her head. He said, "If I could ask a small favor of you, this is nothing of great value or grand beauty, but it shows that I'm your... patron." He wanted to say lover but didn't, that wasn't what it meant to the rest of the world. "If you would wear it whenever you go out, I'd feel much better." After a few moments he added, "It'll help you too, if you ever need to invoke my name it will work as proof." He delivered her a kiss and said, "This is another thing I won't order but will ask." After he had said that, he offered a smile, and then his face began to change into its normal stern form for the day ahead.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>14-09-2009, 17:48:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The marchioness, her brother Henry and their friend Phillipp, the marquess of Whitborough were on their way to pay a visit to Ardgrain's estate in Scotland. They were on a mission some would call a social experiment. Could they cure Ferguson of his gambling habits and turn him in a more useful member of society? The three had cooked up the first step to their amiable intrigue by creating the bait and trap that forced the proud young man to accept their help in handling his disastrous financial affairs. <br><br>Ferguson, the eternal gambler, had actually agreed to play a game of cards over their right to help him. He had lost, now felt bound by his honour to accept their offer. They had already been able to gain a first impression of his true financial situation and what had lead to it. Now, they hoped that on visiting his estate, they might find a few options to render it more profitable by re-organising things, maybe creating a small industry. They were known to have an eye for possibilities and it was rumoured even the king had, on occasion, asked the duke for advice or ideas to help fill his chronically empty pockets.<br><br>So, here they were, all three on horseback and in high spirits. The scenery was beautiful, the weather fair and the prospect of visiting Ferguson, that amusing chap, was fair too. Also, a chance to escape the stink of London for a while, go riding, hunting, instead of sitting in the theatre, dancing and talking to powdered bores, was something especially the duke was craving. Then there was the health of his best friend, the often melancholic Phillipp with his frail constitution, which could only profit from exercise. Last but not least, Eleanor would enjoy the liberties and carefree time spent with her brother and their dearest childhood friend, the only one who shared all their secrets as they shared his.<br><br>He was a cousin, but they had been as close as siblings through a great part of their childhood. The bond they had established during their early years had survived all challenges and was as strong now as it had ever been. Spurring their horses into a gallop, they crossed the last sloping hillside and soon arrived at their dedication. Their luggage had been sent ahead of them on this last day of travel, together with a letter informing Ferguson they would arrive during the afternoon. They had made it in good time, too. With cheeks rosy from the exercise and exposure to the wind and sun, with bright eyes and ruffled hair, they dismounted and waited for their host to greet them, while their horses were being led to the stables. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>15-09-2009, 01:34:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire had received an invitation from Ferguson to visit when court was out. Now that court was out, he had made preparations to travel and set out north in a carriage. He took just James and Flora, it was not totally proper but he had no doubt that Ferguson would both put his own servants at Shropshire’s disposal but that he would pay no mind to the small impropriety. He had done many worse in his day and wouldn’t even consider it something gossip worthy. They bypassed Shropshire’s estate and went straight to Aberdeenshire where the Ardgrain estate was. They spent some time traveling, stopping at several inns, and soon passed into Scotland which was, at first, not marked by anything more than James’ announcement.<br><br>The land began to slope up and down by James drove beautifully and they weren’t jolted any more than could be avoided. At the first inn they stayed at in Aberdeen they were greeted by a cheerful smiling woman who told them “Welcome to Aberdeen, sirs and miss, where the Highlands are low and the Lowlands are high and no one can quite agree which&nbsp; we are.” in unaccented English. The mountains were mostly wild for much of their visit, though they went through several farmed areas and near a few towns and one or two cities. As they advanced further towards the estate, it became colder and cloudier and, if one took the time to notice, the days were getting shorter.<br><br>Soon enough they reached Ardgrain’s estate, which was situated on a plateau overlooking a sheer cliff into the sea and surrounded by farmlands. There was a mound that surrounded the estate and marked its outer limits and farm land within. Driving along the road it was apparent to see it used to have multiple winding roads but it had been a long time since it had been prepared for invasion and a straight road had been cut through. Every now and again they saw a small fortification, it was apparent this had once been a formidable defensive position. Still, many looked picturesque, and were maintained with plants on them now. There were also a few forests and patches of natural beauty which were not in vogue but still appreciable.<br><br>As the main building came into view, the fields and farms were replaced by a mass of flowers. They were somewhat wild but many were not from around there, they had obviously been planted for decoration even if they had been left to grow wild afterward. Again, not in vogue yet not unpleasing to the eye. It was not exactly possible to say what the main building was, whether a castle or a manor house. It was made of ancient stone and surveyed the field of flowers, higher than even the rest of the plateau. There were three towers in front and they formed a thick wall higher than the rest of the building and concealing it behind the wall. When they entered through the gate, a long tunnel with several openings on top, they found the inside was much less militaristic.<br><br>A keen eye might have caught positions to fire into the courtyard and the fact it was ultimately a place for mustering troops, now more beautified and more a garden, but the buildings were lower and had been made as barracks and stables and a small town to service troops and give peasants refuge. As they passed one of the more ornate buildings for gentry who had taken refuge there, they saw a woman with strikingly brilliant red hair fixing her hair. Now they served as a place for servants and various other buildings, largely empty. Through another tight passage, which would be hard to attack, was a four story building nearest to the edge of cliff. It was relatively small building, with maybe three to five rooms on each floor, but at the top flew a flag with Ferguson’s heraldry. Though it was not immediately apparent, one could see corners had been cut in maintenance and that the servants were not in the best of discipline.<br><br>James hopped off the front and opened the door. He moved to help Flora off, but Shropshire stepped out and beat him to it. After they were down from the coach, Shropshire saw servants carrying luggage that wasn’t his. He chatted with James about what was going on and James promised to look after the luggage, carriage, and horses, and after going up to the servant in charge he was obviously and crassly rebuffed. James was greatly surprised by this and confused as to what to do.<br><br>Another servant, who had obviously recognized Shropshire, ran up and yelled at the other one in Scottish. The other one got into a heated debate which he eventually lost and apologized to Shropshire, though not wholeheartedly, and soon enough their luggage was being unloaded as well. The other servant introduced himself as Ian Ruadh, Ian the Red, and indeed he had a very reddish complexion and red hair that obviously revolted against being shaped into a respectable haircut. All the same, he was polite and begged forgiveness for the indiscretion of the other servant.<br><br>He bowed to them both and asked them to follow him. On the way there, he made small talk. It wasn’t exactly proper for a servant but not an outright rude thing to do. He told them that the only two people who were their peers, people that were on their level of socializing, was a priest, Alastair MacAndarson, and the Mistress Mairi NicMhoire who planned to be the Lady Ardgrain within a month or so though there had been no formal proposal. He also told them the luggage they had seen belonged to a party of three who were already with the Master. He apologized several times for the amount of stairs they had to climb, and often offered to stop for a break though he never appeared tired himself.<br><br>They entered the room where Ferguson and the three all sat, the servant tactfully coughed, indicating Shropshire and Flora were there. He bowed and exited quickly. Ferguson looked at Shropshire for a confused moment, then realization dawned on him, then horror. He stood up somewhat awkwardly and made the introductions, starting with introducing Shropshire due to their relationship. He still managed to attach ‘lovely’ to Flora and ‘beauty’ to the Marchioness, the other men had no such benefit and Shropshire had added only ‘my kinsman’.<br><br>After this politeness was out of the way, he looked at Shropshire, somewhat horrified again, and back to the three, as if searching for some way to make a horrible transgression right again. In the end, he took a refuge in comedy, and said, "Well, now I cannot gamble for I would be leaving one of you out of the card game." and gave them all a somewhat nervous smile. He looked somewhat like a man standing before a magistrate who was to judge him for some horrible crime who was trying to pretend he had done nothing without angering the magistrate by his lack of taking responsibility.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>20-09-2009, 20:06:54</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Ever since that morning the earl had given her that token of his patronage, Flora had been wearing the chain around her neck, not only to go out, but always. This ensured she would never forget to put it on. It was like a protection, this official gift, although in some way, too, it marked her as his property, or so Flora felt, it was at once a symbol of trust and of ownership. There were a few, very rare occasions when Flora would secretly rebel against this implication. She was a mistress, had forsaken her virginity to please her patron and show her gratitude, because there was no man she could have married, anyway. Being what evil tongues would call a whore now, should she bear the full weight of moral disapproval - for living as if she was a man's wife? <br><br>She was like a wife, a virgin when first he had her, not supposed to seek pleasures with men she might crave, marked as his, but never truly his, leave alone openly addressed as his. All the world would suspect or know she shared his bed and none of them would ever mention it. The earl would not be compromised or disadvantaged, he would marry, have an honourable life, children he would leave his wealth and title to. Flora had never thought about it before sharing his bed, which was remarkably naive and stupid, but - what if she should be with child one day? He, of course, would not want a child with his whore or his mistress. What man ever did? <br><br>Men tired fast of their mistresses for countless reasons, pregnancy often being top on the list, and if she allowed her feelings to override her caution, she would find herself cast off and destitute, unless that earl of hers was as noble as she preferred to think. Or so said Betty Garble. This Betty was a clever thing and responsible for the calculating ideas now invading Flora's head. Betty Garble had said 'A man intoxicated with a woman will say all sorts of things and might mean them, too, but having had his way, once the novelty's gone, he starts looking for a new plaything. Woe and alas, it doesn't take long before a man with money finds one.'<br><br>Betty had stemmed her hands into her hips and said. 'You better learn to play the game.' By that point, Flora had been angry, ashamed, and no longer inclined to ask what she had really wanted to know of Betty, how to best do those sinful things Flora thought a mistress ought to perform well. A frustrating and pointless visit, the wonderful fragrant lotion aside she had purchased from Betty on that occasion. Hence, Flora had left London wrapped in her thoughts, a beautiful green dress and the wonderful new fragrance, as inexperienced and ill informed as she had ever been on the subject of sexual intercourse. But soon, the long drive, the endless bumping and shaking of the coach, the small adventures and misadventures of such a journey had driven those thoughts out of her head.<br><br>Once they had crossed the border to Scotland on their way to Aberdeen-shire, she had begun to feel excited, to see Ferguson again, to live away from London, to spend so much time with the earl, and at such ease. What did it matter what Betty had said, maybe the earl liked her just as she was, why else would he have taken a virgin and not an experienced woman into his bed? And maybe he did that, too, had some women he went to see when he wanted variety and tired of her naive charms. As long as he was happy and contented with her, why should she worry. Flora had grown more and more cheerful on the way, had made the earl laugh, had told him funny little anecdotes he had missed when he had been away, the latest gossip among his servants and among the tutors.<br><br>She had drunken in every detail of Ferguson's estate, her eyes bright, glad the long hours in the coach were over, glad they would meet Ferguson, sleep in proper beds and – well, what else? The earl had never mentioned any purpose of the visit or anything that might expect them there... When the earl had helped her off the coach, Flora gazed around in surprise, listening to the loud dispute the servants had. She, naturally, understood every word, grinned and leaned towards Shropshire to translate. Being led up the stairs by a servant constantly chatting on about Ferguson , the priest, the lady who wanted to be married to Ferguson within a month but to whom Ferguson had not even proposed as of yet. Again, Flora grinned, pressing the earl's arm. <br><br>The grin disappeared in preparation of greeting Ferguson, then would have appeared again at his expression, but was beaten by a superior desire to be polite and discreet when Ferguson, shockingly surprised by their arrival, started to introduce them to his three noble guest. Obviously, none of them was a clergyman or Ferguson's eagerly hopeful future bride. Flora curtsied beautifully, the guests rose to greet Shropshire and 'lovely' Miss MacCrimmon in much good humour and with amusement sparkling in their eyes despite the straight faces they pulled, declared it a pleasant surprise indeed to see them here and to see Shropshire again. The rest, they left for Shropshire and Ferguson to sort out, for there seemed to hang an impressive swordie of doom over the bonny Scots laddie's head, waiting to be swung by stern-faced Shropshire.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>20-09-2009, 21:30:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire moved off to the side with Ferguson and there was a short discussion. Shropshire seemed mostly neutral if as stern faced as ever, whispering quietly, while Ferguson's whispers became a bit loud and he gestured emphatically with his hands, obviously embarrassed and frustrated. After a short while Shropshire and Ferguson returned with Ferguson taking his previous seat and Ian reappearing in a surprisingly convenient, perhaps even planned, point with two more chairs for Flora and Shropshire. He didn't speak, merely bowed again and left.<br><br>They were all sitting around a table with two couches on either side for two people but which could, uncomfortably, hold three. Shropshire and Flora's chairs were at the head of the table, though Ferguson quickly offered to take the chair and give her the couch which was more comfortable by far. Shropshire did not seem to mind, as if his stern face somehow made the firm wood and somewhat inadequate cushion less uncomfortable. They were obviously the first chairs Ian had come upon that he could move without getting several other servants involved, which was impossible due to considerations of time.<br><br>Shortly thereafter Ferguson returned with tea and a few cakes beside it, both obviously hastily assembled. He placed them on the table and poured out two cups for the new visitors, though his dress showed he was not normally a man who served in such capacities he was obviously capable of doing so. He contrasted quite favorably with the servants who had been below and had seemed unruly and undisciplined. He asked if there was anything else and Ferguson waved him off and he left again. As he descended the steps noise could be heard from outside as something clattered to the ground, and his steps turned into a run down the stairs.<br><br>Ferguson sighed, whether it was for Ian's or his own plight one could not quite be sure, but then he broke into his customary smile with most of its nervousness gone and said, "I can only offer my apologies and assure you I can accommodate all of you without trouble. It is true that I invited Shropshire up here but I had forgotten. I hope I have not inconvenienced you." Shropshire took a sip from the tea and nodded negatively. "And I hope this surprise has not ruined this trip for you." He was now addressing the Duke, Marquess, and Marchioness. "But I believe you all to be good people, though English every one of you, save dear Flora, so surely you'll get along grandly."<br><br>He sipped his own, half full tea, and said in a somewhat more embarrassed voice, "I have told Shropshire the reason for your presence, and how it came to be. But such somber business need not dominate our entire visit, correct? Scotland is a lovely country and my own little patch is fairer than any spot in England." He grinned again, he was testing the waters somewhat with his comments about Scottish superiority. He knew it was fine with Shropshire but he had no idea how his new guests would react. "I believe we were discussing such somber things, however. I believe we were talking about my financial state?" He was somewhat embarrassed again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>22-09-2009, 00:01:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				With amusement, the illustrious guests who had arrived first had observed the two relatives debate in their corner and the hasty preparations for tea. They found the state of finances deplorable and were almost sorry for Ferguson, although even a short glance at the mess he was in had shown them how much of it was of his own making. But it was highly amusing, at least for visitors, to observe the servants in this household. The situation now was almost ridiculous, to think he had forgotten Shropshire was coming, that look on his face – that alone had been worth the trip.<br><br>Flora had gladly accepted a more comfortable seat, after those many hours on the roads. She was a little shy in this company of nobles, but managed not to show it. She also had seen that the men were pleased with her appearance and that the marchioness had looked at her rather kindly. While the earl and Ferguson had been talking, there had been an exchange of compliments, friendly and in very good taste, and to her surprise, her tension had already begun to ebb away even before they were all seated and had been served tea and cake by Ian. <br><br>"Ruined the trip? Not at all. My sister seems to like you, Lord Shropshire, which I take as a far better recommendation than the Baron's, who speaks most highly of you, indeed, and also very much." Here the three guests chuckled softly, the Marchioness met Shropshire's eyes and raised her left eyebrow ever so slightly, remembering their conversation in the garden and the Baron's eager attempts to make Shropshire stay a little longer, to secure him for his Bridget. <br><br>The duke must also have thought of Bridget, for his clear, cool eyes passed between Shropshire and Flora with obvious satisfaction. So, this was the singer Shropshire kept, what a pretty thing, no, a beauty, and the things he had heard about her voice... She must be a charming little mistress, just what a man needed who might end up married to a prudish bore. The only thing worth mentioning about Bridget was her money. Ferguson should marry her, to make his misery complete. "Oh, yes." The marquess had meanwhile answered Ferguson in his soft, ironic voice. "We English are a very loving people, you'll always find us in clusters, especially in the wilderness." <br><br>The three watched Ferguson dance on the hook from which he dangled in his attempts to free himself. They were all too willing to let him off, nobody wanted to embarrass him in front of his relative, a pity he had managed to do it this thoroughly all by himself. "Scotland is a beautiful country indeed, and its people are most charming. Indeed, it's too lovely a day to spend over books and accounts, and your new guests must be tired after their long journey." Smiling, the marchioness created an opening to change the subject and let her glance pass from Ferguson to Shropshire and on to Flora.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>22-09-2009, 01:56:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire nodded at the Duke in acknowledgment of the praise and said, "I should only hope that she does truly think of me highly. I, in turn, value her opinion of me more than the Baron, though such things should not reach his ears." He gave a wry smile, "For, I suspect he thinks I am spending this time daydreaming and attempting to imagine just how I will propose." He took another sip of his tea, excusing him from continuing down that line of thought. He did see how the Baron looked at himself and then Flora, he seemed satisfied, and if that was his reaction he had no problem with jumping to any conclusion. Even the right conclusion.<br><br>When the Marchioness met his eyes and raised here eyebrow Shropshire gave an almost imperceptible nod in return. He wasn't sure whether she was asking if he remembered their time together or if she was asking for a repeat, but either way the answer was yes and so he answered correctly. He thought of what he had been told, she had spoken of him often and well, that was always a good sign, particularly with a woman whose company he valued so. He just hoped they would have time to go out strolling together again, though his thoughts drifted back to Flora and he thought that the two should certainly become acquainted. A Marchioness as a friend would not hurt Flora, and besides, the idea of both their presences on a walk was tempting.<br><br>Meanwhile, Ferguson was glad they had taken his comments well. He was eager to get off the subject of his financial situation and the moment he was given a chance to change the subject by the Marchioness he said, just a bit too eagerly, "Yes, it is truly a grand day. We should do... we should do... something." He floundered, perhaps out of a lack of ideas or perhaps out of excitement. Shropshire suggested in an unobtrusive way a subject with two words said simply they seemed to only be one word, "Flowers, hunt." Ferguson immediately caught on and said, "Yes, the ladies should be able to busy themselves in the fields of flowers, a cornucopia of pretty things, while we men can go to the woods, there is some good Scottish game there and they're close by. Maybe ten minutes by horse."<br><br>Shropshire stopped a moment and said, "A doctor has told me that I should restrain myself from strenuous activity. If you'll excuse me and not think me ill or effeminate then I would ask to go with the ladies." It wasn't quite true, but the fact of the matter was that Shropshire didn't really want to be around while guns went off. He could be, but there was no reason to force himself into something unpleasant for the sake of hunting. Ferguson seemed to accept this, still somewhat giddy from the subject having changed, and said, "Well, the flowers are just outside as you saw them coming in. I'm sure Shropshire will tell you the story about why they're there when you're outside. Is this agreeable to everyone?" Ferguson, from his face, obviously already thought the answer was a resounding yes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>23-09-2009, 03:37:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Duke chuckled. "That would be a bit too much to ask, don't you think, that she should truly think highly of you after less than an afternoon in your company? The baron is a good man, but not the sharpest wit in London. He's wildly determined to like you and can't wait to welcome you in his home again. He seems convinced you and that young lady would be a perfect match." The corners of the duke's mouth twitched, as usual, the baron's lack of common sense and knowledge of the human nature amused him. He liked this good-natured, simple man very much, but his judgement was only to be trusted in matters of a monetary nature and regarding garden architecture.<br><br>The marchioness had raised her eyebrow to share her amusement about the way the baron had arranged Shropshire's meeting with Bridget so obviously and awkwardly, his long absences and monologues, his urgent invitations. She would have been baffled had she known that Shropshire had interpreted her brother's casual remark as if she had spoken of the earl often and well. She had only mentioned once that he had been pleasant, interesting company. What more was there to say after a short conversation in the garden? <br><br>His wish that she should befriend Flora, had it been known to her, had brought a reaction more likely to satisfy the earl. The marchioness would be pleased to introduce the young lady to the circles in which she herself moved. All heads turned when Ferguson stammered his brilliant proposal. Here they sat, just a few hours off their horses, had barely drunk a sip of their tea each, Shropshire and Flora hardly arrived from what was a long and tiresome journey, and Ferguson proposed a hunt? Of all people present, he must be the only one who would be happy for more physical exertion, especially of the kind spent on one's behind. <br><br>"Let's postpone that hunt, if you don't mind. We've been in the saddle all day and your other guests just arrived after hours of being tossed about in a coach. Let's at least have our tea and a bite of that cake before you rush us out again." Exclaimed the duke in mild rebuke. The marquess leaned closer and looked at the earl with concerned, kind eyes. "Sorry to hear you're unwell, Lord Shropshire. Nothing, serious I hope?" The marquess, himself not of a stout nature and with a brother who had never fully recovered from his severe war-time injuries, felt compassion for all who suffered a similar fate. "I dare say the ladies are a fair and pleasant company. Let's all go together and have a look at those flowers. I'd like to hear that story myself." He proposed amiably.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>23-09-2009, 17:23:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire took another sip of tea as the Duke chuckled and spoke to him. He replied, "A good opinion then, should we go much lower we will soon be saying the Marchioness despises me for the turn of phrase is limited in its execution." He took another sip of tea and noted the Duke said his opinions regardless of how tactful they may or may not be. A luxury fit for a Duke, he supposed. He continued, "We are largely agreed on the Baron's character. Whether the Baron and myself are agreed on other points is a choice piece of gossip to be gleaned from the right drawing rooms. I must catch wind of it myself, you see, so I may know where I am told to stand." With a combination of a small wry joke, though his face failed to show a trace of humor, and a well placed comment he sealed the path of inquiry against entry.<br><br>Ferguson, who had not up until this point been directly challenged, took the Duke's rebuke defiantly, more in his eyes than in his voice. He said, "I'm sorry, I'd forgotten, you're English. Horses are a noble beast for transport but spook more than Human legs at gunshot." He was implying the Scottish preferred to hunt on foot, in his opinion a superior mode, something not wholly untrue and yet the Scottish nobility now days was thoroughly Anglicized.<br><br>When the Marquess leaned closer and kindly hoped it wasn’t too serious, Shropshire replied, “There are several holes in my chest, which will never heal enough for my tastes. It is not so much that I am sick as I am perpetually afraid of tearing them open for each time I do I risk catching a most lamentable malady or death. What I have been forced to give up is nothing so grievous, but perhaps one day I shall attempt it. Not for some time, however.” After a sip of tea, “All that aside, at the moment I have no desire to smell powder.”<br><br>When the Marquess suggested they all go and look at the flowers, Ferguson, still somewhat displeased with the Duke, said, “I would not wish to disturb the good Duke’s tea nor to rush my guest.” After a moment he said, “However, I think that is a lovely idea, delicate and beautiful flowers to please the eye and a rousing story to please the ear.” He sat back, he hadn’t touched his tea since the Duke had rebuked him but he sipped it now. Shropshire, meanwhile, seemed to have left Ferguson to his own devices and simply sipped his tea. Ferguson added, “It rests with the Duke.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>23-09-2009, 20:18:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The duke smiled. "Wouldn't it be unreasonable to form an opinion on any person based on a single afternoon's visit? The limited time and the rules of social decorum don't allow us to see very far into a&nbsp; person's character. One may have a first impression, and you made a good one on my sister, that much I can say." He turned to look at the marchioness, who nodded with a smile. "Definitely. If that first impression holds true, Lord Shropshire may safely assume I think highly of him." The duke then replied to the rest of the earl's statement. "There isn't any gossip around yet, regarding that matter." <br><br>He at once informed and reassured Shropshire, then he sighed, thinking of the aging Baron. "The good baron may on occasions blunder in his own parlour, but he is a man of discretion outside the family circle. And those blunders - it's his age, I'm afraid. He hides it well but - I've known him all my life, he's changed over the past ten years, especially the last three or so." Seeing the defiance in Ferguson's eyes, the duke raised his hands in resignation and laughed. "You leave me no dignity, do you? We've been on the road for days. This morning we got up at dawn and we've been in the saddle ever since, I'm simply too tired to hunt, be it on horseback or my own feet." <br><br>The three knew his main concern was to spare the marquess whose pride would have forbidden him to admit he was once again so exhausted he truly needed the refreshments and time to recover. He had found the stairs challenging; to make it through the hunt would be a torment, and not without risks. Hence, the duke had protested against breaking up the company and hurrying on to activities. The ladies were too welcome an excuse to get his friend the necessary rest without his loosing face. <br><br>When Shropshire described the consequences of his injuries, the marquess nodded thoughtfully. "I hope you will recover fully. I'm sure your prospects are good, you look well for a man recently wounded." He smiled sadly, thinking of his brother who still could hardly raise from his sickbed and was in constant pain. When Ferguson again showed his displeasure at the duke's wish for them to be allowed to taste the refreshments that had been served moments ago, the duke took it with good humour, although it was decidedly rude both to not allow ones guests to eat with a minimum of leisure nor to make allowances for their fatigue after many days spent on the road. "I'm an awful guest, I'm afraid, lazy and greedy. A stroll to see the flowers would be lovely, indeed." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>24-09-2009, 00:19:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire simply nodded to show his agreement with the Duke, agreeing in principle but thinking the Duke had missed the meaning of his words twice. Regardless, this was the quickest way to end the spectacle. He simply added, "I am glad that a foundation has been laid, then, and hope that we both have sufficient leisure and insufficient supervision to remove the obstacles of time and the rules of social decorum." When he said there was no gossip the Earl simply nodded, he hadn't thought so, but it was an important thing to know.<br><br>When he sighed, that caught Shropshire's attention, and the man seemed fond of him and explained what was happening. Shropshire said, "I have no doubt he is a good man, or that he has his virtues, but goodness is not the only virtue our society values." He could make no comment about the Baron's aging, there was nothing tactful to say and nothing at all sufficient beyond the realm of tact. Still, he had put down the tea when he spoke, removing the barrier of the teacup and saucer between them.<br><br>When the Duke did not engage Ferguson, but did not seem to regret what he had said, Ferguson's temper was neither dispelled nor given direction. In the end, he simply said, "English." And took an overly violent bite from a cake. He leaned back in his chair. He was at that point where pride disallowed thoughts of giving up that supposedly righteous anger and yet there was no active vent for it.<br><br>Shropshire said, still in the low voice of confidence, "I doubt I ever shall fully. Dashing through the fields on a wild mare may forever be forbidden to me. I believe this limitation on my life minimal, however. I must admit I might use it as an excuse to avoid certain activities, though it is not a wholly honest excuse." He looked over with a face reacting well to the expression of sympathy. He saw a sad smile on his face and thought he might have had some similar experience, or perhaps a relative had. "If you would please pass this along to the Duke for you are closer: His father left him with nothing but pride." He hoped the message, while cryptic, would serve as an apology and an explanation for Ferguson's behavior.<br><br>The Duke's displeasure showed, if only ever so slightly, and Ferguson simply decided to ignore it and that the worst revenge would be to take him out and pretend he had volunteered eagerly the entire way. He called forth a servant and whispered to him, the whispers went back and forth and the servant departed. He said, "It will take some time to ready everything, unless you'd just prefer to wander in the fields until it's ready."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>24-09-2009, 19:22:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"There will be more occasions should you chose to visit the baron. You are likely to meet us there, he loves to entertain family and friends." Whether the duke had missed Shropshire's meaning or merely preferred to let it appear so was impossible to tell. Naturally, he noticed the veiled criticism of the old baron the earl's words contained. He knew the baron's faults, but to hear a man the baron had welcomed into his house and to marry his rich niece speak of him this way did not please him. Aware this resulted from his sentiments towards the old friend of his father's, he let matters rest.<br><br>Ferguson, meanwhile, had lost their favour. After the duke had admitted his fatigue and explained yet again why he did not feel up to go hunting this day, Ferguson had merely muttered 'English'. The three exchanged glances. The duke's voice was level. "Our apologies. We have inconvenienced and angered you. Our bet was a fool's errant. Regard your debt as settled. We will have our servants prepare our departure and will leave before the evening." There had been more than enough show of the nature of Ferguson's hospitality to demonstrate how unwelcome they were.<br><br>The marquess added apologetically. "It was a foolish idea, I should not have persuaded the others to go along with it. We had no business to stick our noses into your affairs." Why had he thought there might offer a chance to find a position for this proud man whose manners were unpolished, even intentionally rude to his own guests, nobles of superior rank? The marquess had made an error of judgement. He smiled at Shropshire. "I hope you will eventually recover fully. It might not be likely, but it is not impossible." He passed Shropshire's message on to the duke, who nodded. <br><br>He might have made allowances beyond the decision to not bear Ferguson a grudge, had it not been for the action their host took next. To have Ferguson intentionally and repeatedly ignore his express wish not to go hunting after a full day on horseback and to see him make arrangement to force both the duke and his exhausted friend to participate in exactly the hunt neither wanted to join, was too strong an insult to be ignored. His voice was coolly polite. "Such preparations will not be necessary. Please do not strain yourself to demonstrate more of your generous hospitality."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>25-09-2009, 00:25:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire nodded to the Duke and said, "Indeed, I might have gone again before now but I fear that he might take my presence to indicate something regarding his ward. I do not want to give him signals or give him thought for worry or anxiety because, should I act as if his intention does not exist, and I think we all agree there is intent with him, my activities will seem strange to him and cause him great distress. So, I must sadly avoid that place for now."<br><br>When they said they were going to leave Ferguson simply slumped back in his chair and made a motion with his hand of indeterminate meaning, though not violent enough to be an insult. When the Marquess apologized he said, "You won the right. I was the one who bet it." In that moment he seemed a bit more melancholy than angry, but when the Duke coolly told him such preparations were not necessary the anger shot up into his eyes again. This time, his voice contained none of the virulence, though, replaced by the contempt that implied the Duke had been in the wrong, "Well, your Grace, I'm sure at your house you can maintain the paths through your fields and the statues and far flung bits that make up an estate. You are acutely aware I cannot. If you want undusted seats, overgrown plants, untidied statues, go on."<br><br>It was obvious that the intercession of the Marquess, his comment in between the Dukes, had ceased most of the moment of the anger and it started to die again after his comment to the Duke. He said, his voice fully melancholic but not trying to evoke pity, "I'll have my servants reload your things and prepare provisions. You can leave whenever you wish. I'll see you off or not as you desire." Shropshire, who had been ignoring Ferguson until now, knew this would be the eventual result. Ferguson's anger was fearsome but if one did not react or rebuke him it lost momentum and died as quickly as it started. And he always regretted it afterward, though he would never admit it. "And I suppose the walk isn't going to happen either."<br><br>This was a familiar pattern to Shropshire. Ferguson would mope around for the day, end up crying at the futility of life and all his accumulated problems, and then return to his usual cheerful self. He would refuse all help, as per usual and probably push away the next attempt to help him as well. Shropshire simply sipped his tea, and said to the Marquess, "It is not impossible, and I hope for it dearly. Still, it is nice knowing that there are others who care for my safety. To be alone in this world, bereft, and unwilling to take help, truly that is a lonely fate." The last thing he said was louder and Ferguson, knowing it was meant for him, simply gave Shropshire a face that was a strange cross between ire and resignation.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>26-09-2009, 00:41:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The duke's eyes, so similar to his sister's, thoughtfully rested on Shropshire for a moment. "I will talk to him, if you want. I would be very discreet, nothing too open and certainly not to your disadvantage. I believe these matters are best cleared up instantly. I think it would be a relief to the baron to have fewer candidates to chose from, he hesitates about his decisions nowadays." The marquess inclined his head, his kind eyes on Ferguson. "I did indeed win the right, but I had the others persuaded to help me coax you into it. It is not good to force advice or help on someone with a trick. Through this bet, I forced your hand, that was not right. I meant well, but did you a wrong." The duke, who had insisted from the beginning that it would not do to force one's help on someone unwilling to accept it, was too good a friend to feel pleasure or satisfaction at being proven right. <br><br>When Ferguson compared his own estate to the duke's riches as if lack of luxury and wealth been a reason to leave, his patience was sourly tried, indeed. He made one last, effort, however, to make Ferguson understand what the problem was. "You know very well we knew what state of affairs expected us here long before we came, as well as you are aware of our having come to try and help solve some of these issues. If your pride prevents you from accepting help, go ahead and let it all crumble to pieces. All I requested was not to force us to go hunting today, but apparently, that was too much to ask of you." Here, again, the marquess intervened, placing a hand on his friend's arm as he leaned towards Ferguson.<br><br>"His grace would rather have offered you friendship and help, leaving you a choice, but I insisted to force you into accepting our help by means of a bet. Now you have us here because your honour left you no choice." He sighed and smiled at his friend, ruefully. "As to the hunt... His grace often is a better friend than I deserve. We are fatigued, but he spoke up knowing it was hard for me to even climb the stairs. All my life, I have been frail, weak. Yet I have always tried to keep up with others, often at a risk to my health. Seeing my present exhaustion, and for the sake of my pride, his grace dismissed the idea of a hunt and asked to allow us to linger over our tea, so that I can recover. Had I swallowed my pride and admitted to my weakness, you would not have felt this strongly disappointed and his grace would not have had to speak out more energetically."<br><br>The duke heaved a sigh and looked round at Ferguson as if to say 'there, now it's all out in the open and up to you'. He refrained from speaking, however, aware that his level and straightforward manner of addressing such issues might not agree too well with a temperament such as Ferguson's. The marquess, almost out of breath already from having spoken at such length and possibly in some agitation, too, merely smiled at Shropshire in obvious agreement with every word the other had uttered. The marchioness meanwhile smiled at Ferguson. "Well, if you think you can bear our company a little longer, I am sure we would all like to see those flowers, later, and hear their story."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>26-09-2009, 01:48:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire took another sip from his teacup which was getting perilously low at this point. He said, "I trust this will not reach the Baron's ears, but I have the feeling Bridget is the kind of woman who will be happy with a severe, god fearing husband. I could provide neither of these things in quite the way she desires, and I am more a man from London who, though not without respect for God, would no doubt appear wicked before her." He figured this much was obvious, he had just brought a mistress with him. He said, "So, if you could gently introduce the topic I would drop by his estate myself. And, of course, I hold nothing against Bridget. To say a woman is not my desired wife might be a compliment to her after some of the sentiments I expressed along with your sister." He nodded towards the Marchioness recalling the talk of mistresses.<br><br>Ferguson was honestly surprised at this and said, "I don't want to force you to go hunting. When you said you didn't want to go hunting, when did I talk about hunting? I'm not talking about hunting!" He cried out the last part, more loudly than he meant to but out of surprise rather than rage. "The field has paths through it. There's a charming little retreat where you can set up a table, it's surrounded by some old statues set up by my ancestors. But none of it is cared for. It needs to be prepared, cleaned up. It's all in walking distance, the trails aren't hard, and there's no game worth noting. My grandmother walked there to die every day in her old age, albeit with a servant supporting her. I can think of very little less stressful."<br><br>When the Marquess leaned towards him he quieted down and listened. When he spoke of his condition and what had transpired on their side, he looked at him strangely, as if he could not comprehend why the Marquess had done this. He said, "What's so shameful about being weak? If you'd told me I could have arranged it to be on the ground floor. I'd have given you a room on the ground floor. I was going to give it to Flora because she's the lowest in rank, but if you wanted it I'm sure Flora would gladly have switched. And if you can't make it down the path I'll carry you, but I daresay you're stronger than my grandma was. And like I said, there's seats there."<br><br>Ferguson was too agitated to notice the Duke's look but his temper had already died down and he was now drowned in confusion instead. Still, when the Marchioness smiled and said she would still like to see the flowers, he said, "Fine, the preparations will keep for the rest of the day. It won't be ready for a bit either, it has to be done carefully, you see. It wouldn't do to have a statue smashed and some of the growth is quite persistent. Besides, I have no desire to see you leave." He looked at his tea, the aftermath of the scuffle had left him with absolutely no appetite. In a way he looked forward to losing himself in the old story, it might restore his mood totally.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>28-09-2009, 22:53:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"You might be right there. I have been thinking myself she was better suited for an older husband. But then, that is only my personal view. It is no secret that women in my family receive a different education, nor would anyone be surprised to hear I prefer to find such an education and an intellect, an eager mind, in a woman. I would rather risk to occasionally argue with my wife than to find her a sulking, obedient little martyr and a constant bore." The duke stated this with a smile and a slight shrug, then listened to what Shropshire added. "I will let the baron know in such a way he can accept it without loosing the respect he has for you. I find the girl dull company myself, without holding anything against her, either. We are simply ill suited in too many ways to be pleasing company for one another." <br><br>At Ferguson's outcry, the duke raised an eyebrow, then gave a small laugh and bowed. "In that case, I must ask your forgiveness, for it appears I misunderstood your intention. I had the impression you still meant to engage us in that hunt you had been talking about." He listened to the description of what Ferguson had intended to show them with obvious interest, his face relaxed and open again. It appeared he was a man whose feathers might be ruffled easily, but who also understood the art both of forgiveness and apologising for mistakes he had made. There was, indeed, more apparent pride in his features than in his character, something which was not his fault but nature's design. "Well, then, the way you describe it, it must indeed be worth a visit and should be none too demanding for either one of our company. Maybe we could take some refreshments along and enjoy the afternoon sun along with each other's company?" He offered, hoping his apology and interest might appease Ferguson.<br><br>The marquess spread his hands when met by Ferguson's bafflement. "Well, I might ask you with as much astonishment what is shameful in having inherited so little money, as it cannot be your fault? Yet it does hurt your pride. My pride is hurt in a similar way by suffering of what is considered unmanly weakness, and which I cannot help. I have heard remarks and jests about it all my life, I have younger brothers who are strong, capable men, I envied them and felt ashamed, being small and frail in comparison. No, no, I will be fine, I just need a little rest after the ride..." <br><br>He had listened with unease as Ferguson had proposed to even carry him and have him change his rooms with Flora. It was just the kind of well-meant offer, of fuss, that wound him deepest in his pride, being compared to a grandmother who could hardly shuffle her feet anymore. He stared into his tea, blushing faintly, lost in his thoughts, hoping they would just drop the subject. Meanwhile, the marchioness gave Ferguson a warm smile. Hoping to entirely dispel the cloud that had settled over his temper, she said lightly. "Well, then, we will not leave. This whole thing seems to have been no more than a misunderstanding, and we would all be fools to let it spoil this beautiful day and the enjoyment of such pleasant company. We should dwell on it no longer, I think. It might be just the kind of thing we will laugh about in years to come, when we all sit together and recall it..." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>29-09-2009, 02:30:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Really, I was thinking she would be well suited to a young Puritan man. Then again, perhaps it is merely my wish for non-conformists are the type I am less likely to run into at a ball. As you have said, she is not the most lively." He was talking of a recent act of Parliament that said that Catholics and non-Anglicans could not hold government posts and therefore was less likely to be ran into around London during the massive balls or social events. Puritans qualified as non-conformists. "But I have my opinions well known, I am no libertine but prefer to be libertine rather than puritan. I prefer the man who drinks and gambles to the man who bans Christmas." Shropshire took a final sip of tea and said, "Bridget... I must say I cannot get into her head but I do wish her happiness."<br><br>Ferguson simply nodded at the Duke's apology, and though he did not offer an apology the way the Duke took interest obviously pleased him. He said, "Yes, well, that was the entire plan." When the Marquess spread his hands Ferguson quickly said, "Well, it's different, my money problems..." Ferguson cut himself off, he was going to say they were his own fault but he stopped short. He said, "If you were made fun of... That's what friends are for. I'll beat them for you." Ferguson held out his hand, apparently seriously offering, "God knows I need your financial help, but I can beat a man as good as any." He noticed the blush and decided to drop the inquiry but was in the awkward position, he couldn't bring back his hand without being seen as rude, but he did so shortly after.<br><br>When the Marchioness said the entire thing had been a misunderstanding Ferguson gave a small chuckle and said, "Shropshire told me something about that once... something like, 'More likely we'll look back, laugh nervously, and quickly change the subject'. I found it quite clever." He stood up quite suddenly and said, "Right, well, if the will is there we can get there. Something of it should already be set up and the overgrowth shouldn't be too bad. Don't bother carrying anything, there's another set there, part of the preparations and all." He walked over to the door and said, "Well, I'll leave to make sure everything's right. Follow at your own leisure, Shropshire knows the way." He exited quickly, somewhat excited obviously or perhaps just quick to make amends.<br><br>The path was indeed as Ferguson described, along level ground and more or less straight except for a few gentle curves. The overgrowth mostly consisted of flowers spilling over into the path and a few vines which some servants were studiously clearing away. The walk was moderately short and it was easy and slow, and they were there soon enough. There was a slight hill at the end which was gentle enough to climb and commanded a view of what appeared to be an endless field of flowers, really a trick played on the eyes by sudden drop offs such as the cliff by the sea, the only other distinct thing was the wall of Ferguson's manner. There was a large circular stone with several jutting stones out of the ground with runes on them which had something obviously added by Ferguson or one of his predecessors, a cloth covering for the sun, and several chairs and jutting stone in the center being used as a table, also scrawled with runes, with some tea and snacks laid out again. Surrounding the area was several statues, mostly older ones of warriors which looked extremely worn but there were a few that looked, while ancient, more recent, particularly one of a cross, another of Jesus, and another of some kind of Saint. These last ones had been cleared last.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malina</strong> on <strong>29-09-2009, 22:30:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Fast-forwarded a few hours, or was it more or less, who could tell, the group apparently found themselves surprisingly soon, seeing that the preparations had been described as being of the kind that would 'keep for the rest of the day', at the place Ferguson's grandmother had frequented so often in her hopes to die there. But the group probably had become accustomed, by now, to these sudden unannounced changes in what they had been told to expect, and so, apparently, they had all trodden along the path to the place prepared for the next tea in succession to the one probably never finished, but then, maybe it was finished before they left, who could tell?<br><br>What had happened in the meantime must be left to guesswork, but the ladies, perhaps, had found occasion to become better acquainted with one another by means of soft murmurs and whispered inquiries, leaving the chief part of the conversation, if there was any, to the men. For sure, when they had set out, the marchioness had been offered the arm of the gallant marquess, which she had taken instantly and had held on to with much customary intimacy while they had made their way along the hastily cleared path. The two had made soft spoken conversations, smiling and laughing a lot, and had exclaimed on occasion to point out the one or other plant or view that had caught their interest or admiration.<br><br>Flora, probably, had given her arm to the first who had offered his, and as it had not been the duke, it might be save to assume it would either have been the earl's or Ferguson's. The duke meanwhile, unless engaged in a prior conversation, if, of course, there was one, would have joined his sister and friend, allowing the newly arrived guests an opportunity to talk to their host without being overheard, interrupted or encumbered in what they wished to say by the presence of a stranger. He had the habit of taking long strides and made up for this difference in speed by coming to a halt now and then, eying the flora and fauna, down to the insect life, with pleasure and curiosity. <br><br>All guests had many words of praise once the place was reached, that view on the field of flowers, the statues, the runes, it all raised much curiosity. The duke, marquess and marchioness soon had bent over the runes, wondering how old they might be and whence they had come, asking eager questions of their host as to their origin, nature, language. The place itself raised much curiosity, too, from which it soon became obvious that Ferguson would have to narrate much more than just the tale of those flowers, yes, that he would please his guests decidedly by completely draining the well of knowledge he had concerning this place, down to the last detail. Smiling and expectant faces met him wherever he looked, animated by their interest and delight at the unique nature of the place. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Songstress and her Lord (Malina &amp; Sure)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sure</strong> on <strong>01-10-2009, 00:01:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shropshire preferred Flora's company to Ferguson's, offering his arm and walking along with her slowly as the Duke admired the path and letting Flora decide to stop if she so wished by gently matching her speed. Every now and again he commented to one or the other and received an answer, though Ferguson seemed happier now and lead them from the front his heart obviously set on his objective of getting them there. Shropshire, as always, seemed to show less emotion and be cooler about the subject though he commented on the loveliness of the flowers when called to. Still, he smiled occasionally and exchanged words more often.<br><br>Ferguson, delighted by their questions soon moved over and began answering them while a smile was on his face. He was glad both to be proven right and to be in the better graces of his guests once again. He said, "The locals say the language is Cruthinian, the scholars call it Pechtsish, there's an old manuscript that has a translation into archaic Scottish and which has been translated into modern Scottish by an ancestor of mine. The text says the stones are a mix from Ireland, England, and Scotland, though there's no reason given as to why, except some speculation. Namely something about the unity of the three major tribal groups. The only date we have for when it's from is the existence of the Pechts, who predated the Roman presence on these islands and lasted until the tenth century." He was clearly getting into his role as a scholar.<br><br>Shropshire had released Flora to listen as she pleased but had himself sat down. He had not only heard this before, he had read the book and played at this place when he was extremely young. It was now a pleasant rather than a wondrous spot. He walked up to a spot and pointed it, "There's an inscription in Latin here, but that doesn't mean a lot really. It could have been medieval, from a Roman soldier, and regardless of who made it the entire place would have predated their visit. The inscription declares the place a shrine to a dead God. The other runes seem to be telling a story and commemorating something. It's never been translated to English, actually. It's a story about a hero who quests and so on and is ultimately rewarded by a God with the gift of alcohol which saves his people by making water drinkable." He was saying this matter of factly and obviously enjoying playing the professor still. But he realized he was out of material, and stood there hoping for more questions.<br><br>Shropshire, meanwhile had poured out the tea for everyone and was back to sipping it again. He did help out Ferguson by saying, "That's not the story of the flowers, though." He took another sip of the tea and stood up and walked up nearby, apparently deciding hearing a story once again was better than being left to his own company. Ferguson nodded and said, "Yes, but I want to make sure they don't have any questions before I move on." He looked at them, obviously eager for more questions.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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