fly to the time of day//simon basset

twenty

The fastest courtship upon record occurred during the markedly wet season of 1804, when Miss Mary Leopold secured a betrothal over a plate of sugared almonds and licorice in just four and a half minutes. Of course, Miss Leopold and her new husband would leave London mere hours after their wedding. Reason unknown. Of all that I have imparted to you, dear reader, there is but one bit of wisdom you must heed most. One can never know the truth of a marriage hiding behind closed doors.

Beware indeed, blushing newlyweds. You know not the future that awaits. Will there be hardship or indignity? Or will one's future see the rarest accomplishment of all, a true love match? As for which of these fates await the eager matches of the season of 1813, only two things will tell... Time, and, as always, this author.

My courses came the night of the concert. Simon and I have been distant since. I know he is glad that I am not with child. He can keep the stupid vow he made. I shall continue to live my life with Ezra, a happy one. Simon and I can live under the same roof but I will not compromise my happiness for him. I will keep going to show him that he has not ruined my future.

Simon and I are having a portrait painted of us by Mr Granville. I wanted Benedict to do it but he said he was not yet ready. The second he is I will be his first client. He will paint a nice portrait of Ezra and I.

"You are permitted to smile, Your Graces," Mr Granville tells us. "Might you both move a bit closer as well?" Simon and I barely move closer.

"Better," Mr Granville tells us.

"Once this portrait business is settled, I shall quit London. Tonight, perhaps," Simon tells me.

"And draw new whispers about the state of our marriage?" I ask. "I would prefer otherwise. Now that we know I am not with child, you should depart London at the end of the season, with the rest of the ton, as planned. It is but a few more days."

"Very well," Simon says.

Mr Granville stops painting and looks at Simon and I. We go back to smiling and he nods his head slightly.

"And as to the matter of the Hastings ball on Friday... might I count on your attendance?" I ask.

"It seems I have little choice in the matter, seeing as I am one of the hosts," Simon reasons.

"It shall be your last such commitment," I assure him. "This time next week, our ruse will be well and truly over."

"Ah... Um... Apologies, but this is not working. Perhaps His Grace might place his hand on the duchess's shoulder, so that you both can look as happy as you surely must be," Mr Granville tells us. Simon and I do as we are told. "My word. The very picture of devotion."

Mama and I are walking through the flower market.

"I have made my decision," I inform Mama. "The Duke and I are going our separate ways. It is for the best, truly."

"I know I do not always say the right things. And then the things I do say, well... They are not always what you wish to hear. I am only able to offer you what I know. However difficult forgiving someone may be, it is necessary to move forward," Mama offers.

"That is not up to me, Mama," I inform her. "The Duke is choosing to nurture some grudge against his father instead of allowing himself any... any kind of happiness. However am I supposed to forgive that? However are we supposed to move forward from there?"

"Your Grace?" I turn to see Lady Featherington with her housekeeper. "I do hope you are finding everything you need for Friday's ball. It will certainly be the event of the season. Of course, my young ladies will have to hear about the wondrous festivities the next day, seeing how they did not receive an invitation. Prudence, in particular, is in tears about it. Is she not, Mrs. Varley?"