Thanks, WickedStar. He killed that guy with his smexiness, of course.

Yummy yummy men!! So delicious. Must nom-nom. Sorry. Here is my new favorite male Sim. His name is Ferdinand.






He's a little bit (okay..maybe more than a little) bad. But I think it suits him.

Oh, he's really cute. I love the more masculine Sims. Oh, and if you want some great male hair, Nouk doesn't have a lot of it...but what she does have is gorgeous!

Yay! Another ANTM favorite of mine uploaded!

Thank you so much for uploading her. I lurked for much of the competition and judged a couple of rounds, and I absolutely loved Eden.

Coming from a huge Pearl Jam fan, nice likeness and thanks so much. I've never seen a Vedder Sim before, and I've always wanted one!

Or you could go into Bodyshop and enable the outfit you want them to wear as "swimwear"

Woops! I suppose I should fix that, shouldn't I? I'll get right on it. And I'm glad you're enjoying!

The Greyson Family



“Well, Lucien. Is she the woman I hired you to find?” Andrew Debbington asked, his thin lips curling into a sneer.
 


Lucien nodded, maintaining a stony facade, refusing to let the rigid mask slip. “Yes. Lucy Greyson. She has Rutherford's facial features, and she hasn't changed much since childhood.” He gazed down at the small portraiture he held between his fingers. It depicted a girl of around seven or eight with distant, forlorn eyes. He would never forget those eyes.



“I suppose I'll no longer be needing your services, then,” Debbington replied, a grin slithering into place. “You'll receive your compensation after I marry the chit.”



Lucien felt the blood drain from his face, and his eyes widened only a fraction, before he nonchalantly inquired, “You intend to marry her? Isn't she illegitimate?”

Debbington raised an eyebrow, “Not that it's any of your business, but yes. I intend to escort her to the king's ball. She'll fall for my charm, and we'll be married within the month. My coffers are depleted and I need a new source of income. Rutherford's brat, no matter her legitimacy or gender, is receiving all of his wealth, as stipulated by his will. So we will marry, and you, of course, wouldn't tell a soul about this little conversation, or you will find yourself without the much-needed 10,000 pounds I'm paying you.”



Lucien nodded his acquiescence and removed himself from the room. He took a hackney to his two-story townhouse and walked through the front door, muttering to himself, “I'd never planned to get married.”



“To whom may I send my congratulations?” Lucien's butler, Curruthers, questioned with the glimmer of a smile hiding beneath his stoic features.

Lucien looked in shock to his butler, but his expression quickly changed to one of delight. “Curruthers, would you care to meet me in the study?” he asked.

Curruthers inclined his head in affirmation. “Of course, my lord. And I'll send Roger in to bring you some brandy.”



“Make that two, my friend. You'll need some, as well, before we're finished,” Lucien called over his shoulder with a grin.



Curruthers entered the study and took a seat beside Lucien. “So who is this woman who has stolen my masters' heart?” he asked.

Lucien shook his head and replied, “Not my heart. My honor. Her name is Mrs. Lucy Greyson. She's a widow who owns a bakery, and the illegitimate daughter and only child of Lord Horace Rutherford. She is to receive all of his estates and wealth.”



“Well, that's wonderful, my lord!” Curruthers interrupted. “I know how hard you've been working to replenish the funds, but marrying her will just speed up the process.”



Lucien laughed bitterly and replied, “You've not let me finish. I'm not marrying her for her money. But  that is what Lord Debbington intends to do. He learned about Mrs. Greyson from his dying father, whose last wish was that his dear friend Rutherford's daughter would be found and receive her inheritance. Debbington hired me to find her, and I did. But I didn't know he was going to marry her. I know him well. He belongs to my club. He's a cheat and cards and cruel with women. Mrs. Greyson is a decent woman. So I'm going to get to her first, and marry her before Debbington can.”



All happiness drained from the butler's face and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, sir,” he began. “What are you waiting for? If Debbington is half as cruel as you say he is, he'll already have set his plan in motion. I suggest you begin wooing the woman immediately.”



An hour later, Lucien nonchalantly sauntered into the bakery, an aloof grin plastered on his face. “Are those cookies ready?” he asked Lucy who found it impossible to hide her surprise.



“I thought I scared you away earlier,” she said, trying to keep her voice even while she haughtily raised an eyebrow.

Lucien put a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, “My lady, do you think me such a coward that a few words could scare me away from a beautiful woman?”

Lucy felt the heat seeping into her cheeks as they flushed red, but she managed to maintain enough composure to ask, “My Lord. What is the meaning behind your flattery?”



Lucien's throaty chuckle reverberated through the room, causing Lucy's heart to beat erratically. “I have no hidden agenda. I was merely captivated and bespelled this morning. I was compelled to return ask to escort you to the king's ball.”

The blood drained from Lucy's face. She didn't know how to dance, and she would surely make a fool of herself in front of this dangerous and enchanting nobleman. “I – I – I don't have anyone to look after my children,” she stammered.

“Don't be silly, child,” Claire called from the bottom of the stairs, her hands on her hips. “I'll look after the little ones. It's about time you start enjoying yourself.”



“Then it's settled,” Lucien said winking. “I'll be here for you around eight.” And as quickly as he arrived he was gone, leaving Lucy to worry about how she would ever survive that night.



The following morning Lucien received a summons to the Debbington estate. He strolled into the lavish manor, completely at ease, and was sent to await Lord Debbington in the study.

“What do you think you're about?” Debbington growled as he stomped into the room ten minutes later.

“What are you referring to?” Lucien responded with a smirk.

“You know exactly what I'm referring to. Greyson and her money will be mine. I don't know what you were thinking asking her to the ball, but I will charm her away from you. And after we're married, I'll see to it that you're never heard from again!” Andrew shouted, his usually aesthetically pleasing features twisting and distorting into a monster-like countenance.

Lucien sighed petulantly, “So I suppose that means I won't be receiving my 10,000 pounds? I really rather needed that money. I guess that means I'll just have to marry Mrs. Greyson myself.”



Debbington turned red with anger. “Get. Out.” he managed to force between his gritted teeth. Lucien just laughed as he walked away. This was proving to be an interesting week.

It's been awhile. I've had awful writer's block these past few months, but I'm back with my newest installment. As always, I hope you enjoy reading and I would love to hear your comments!

The Greyson Family


Lucy Greyson pulled her hair back tightly and greeted the still darkness of the very early morning with a smile. It had been exactly one year since her husband David had died, and she was finally able to put aside her mourning habit. Her smile faltered as she reflected on the past eleven years of her life. But those distressing thoughts were brushed aside with the shrill cry of a hungry toddler.

“Hello my darling little boy,” she murmured into her son’s hair as she lifted him from his cradle. The little boy sighed in contentment as he rested his chubby fingers against his mother’s chest, fascinated with the gentle, rhythmic pulsing of her heart.



The serene picture was broken with the loud clamoring of two little girls rushing into the room. “Mama! Hannah pulled my hair!” Elizabeth cried, her lower lip jutting out into a childish pout. Her eyes welled with sticky tears.

“No I did not!” Hannah exclaimed, trying to look innocent, but the knowing smirk plastered on her face said otherwise. Lucy raised her eyebrow at the young girl, who sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, maybe I did. Sorry Lizzy,” she relented momentarily.

“Are your chores finished?” Lucy asked abruptly and sternly, inwardly grinning at her girls’ downcast eyes, knowing that they hadn’t even been awake long enough to begin the chores.



"Well, no,” the girls muttered in unison and stalked from the room to start the chores they had hoped to abandon that morning.



Lucy sighed and turned a tired smile to her little boy, welling with hope and pride for his future. But the buds of her wishful thinking were trampled as the sound of the heavy wooden knocker pounding against the door reverberated through the house. Lucy put the toddler back in his crib and walked downstairs to await the caller. She certainly wasn't rich, but she still had the luxury of a fully staffed house – a luxury that wouldn't last very long if the bakery's sales continued to drop.

The elderly woman walked into the room, her head held high, but her steps unsteady and timid. Lucy turned to greet her caller. “Mrs. Greyson!” she exclaimed, her eyes brightening with genuine joy at the woman's presence.



Claire Greyson's aged brown eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips unraveled into a smile. “My dear, Lucy. I came as soon as I could, but it's just so hard to get these old bones moving. But I'm here now, and I'll help with the children while you run the bakery. It must be so hard for you now that our David is gone, but don't worry dear, I'm here now.”

Lucy allowed her lips to curl, allowed herself to smile, but shadows filled her eyes at the mention of David's name. Things were difficult now that he was gone, but they had been unbearable when he was alive. She turned away from her mother-in-law and called over her shoulder as she left the room, “It's getting late. I have to open the bakery. Please look after the children.”



Lucy walked into the bakery and was greeted by her rather harried looking cook. “Ma'am, I just finished the customary twelve loaves, but I've run out of supplies for the cookies! And if the customers don't get their cookies, they'll be so very angry at me.” The plump, middle-aged woman wrung her wrists in her nervous fury. Her cobalt eyes were wide with anxiety and her mousy hair gray hair was in a mild state of disarray.



Lucy smiled patiently and took the woman's shaking hands between her own. “Don't fret, Winnie. I'll open the store now and begin setting up. I'll see to any customers while you purchase the supplies. If anyone wants cookies, they'll just have to wait.” Winnie grinned, relieved and assured. She took the banknotes that Lucy offered and hurried to the store.



“Wait for those marvelous cookies?” a gruff voice questioned from a shadowed corner as the door shut behind the apprehensive cook.

Lucy felt the blood drain from her face as she turned to view the source of the voice. She inhaled deeply, trying to settle her quaking nerves and said in a perfectly even, unwavering tone, “Sir, I would ask you to please remove yourself from the shadows. If you're here for money, I regret to inform you that we have very little, but if you're determined to take it, please do it quickly before my cook returns and suffers an attack on her nerves. She's the only thing keeping my business afloat, and I really can't afford to lose her because of a scoundrel like yourself.”



In the dimness of the early morning light, Lucy could hardly make out the shadowy form steadily making its way toward her. Lucy's pulse leaped at the base of her throat and her breath quickened in a panicked fury.

“I am merely here to taste your famous cookies,” the stranger said, his voice a low, haunting rasp tinged with the smile he wore.



Lucy narrowed her eyes suspiciously and questioned, “How did you get in here? And why were you hiding in the corner?”

“Simple questions with simple answers,” he stated as he stepped into the light. His black hair was unfashionably long, cascading in gentle waves over his ears. And his eyes – the bluest of sapphires – were piercing as he pinned Lucy under an intense gaze that she couldn't tear her eyes away from. Her heart continued to beat erratically, but she couldn't be sure that it was mere danger she felt. “But, before I answer them, let me first introduce myself. Lord Lucien Masters at your service. Now, as to your first question – I merely walked inside through the unlocked door. You really should be more careful about locking it. Any blackguard could waltz right in here and take all of your valuables. And to the second question – I fear the answer is much more shameful. I fear I've found myself in a financial bind and was hoping to charm your cook into letting me have a free taste of your cookies.”

“Well, sir, as you can see, there are no cookies, nor will there be for quite some time, so unless you plan on purchasing some bread, I must ask you to leave,” Lucy said and began to turn from the man.



Lucien glided forward, and standing dangerously close, he put his arm out and stopped Lucy's retreat. “But my dear Mrs. Grayson. That is your name, isn't it? I fear you're forgetting one thing. I am your social better, and because of this, you may not ask me to leave.”



Lucy's eyes widened and she gasped, “How did you know my name?”

Lucien chuckled and replied, “It's not exactly secretive information. You own a bakery. I was searching for one. The Hertwick's pointed me in your direction.”

Lucy blushed. “Of course,” she replied. “How silly of me.” She glanced up and her eyes met Lucien's. The intensity was still there, but hidden deep in those fathomless orbs was a weariness that Lucy wouldn't have guessed about him. He was not the cocky aristocrat she had pegged him for.



Lucien broke into an assured smile, as if he had sensed Lucy's insight. “I suppose if I won't be tasting any cookies, I should depart. Thank you, Mrs. Grayson. It has been a pleasure.” Lucy thought his voice was tinted with mockery, but before she could form a response, Lucien had disappeared through the front door. A tiny smile sprang unwillingly to her lips. He had been one interesting character. It was a shame their paths would probably never meet again.

The prince isn't awful. He's just, well, a prince. But I adored writing for Eli. He's so...twitchy!

Sorry I haven't updated in awhile. Classes have been extremely hectic lately, and I haven't had time for much else. But I recently started my Spring Break, and I've had time to get this update done.



Welcome to Chapter 3. I hope you enjoy.



Lady Margaret Siegan - the dowager duchess of Southampton, and Queen Charlotte sat in the dowager's drawing room, calmly sipping tea. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows and flitted around the room, haphazardly illuminating its contents. Margaret and Charlotte regarded each other with guarded, yet friendly smiles. They politely conversed about the weather and gossiped about the town's inhabitants, but behind that facade, simmered a rivalry that no outsider could see.

“I have heard that Lady Hertwick is to make her debut at your ball,” Margaret remarked, her gray-tinted eyebrow shooting up, ever so slightly, into a barely discernible arch.



A sly smirk slid onto the queen's lips as she replied, “Oh yes, the poor dear. I shall be acting as her chaperon. I have such big plans for the girl!” Her crystal blue eyes narrowed menacingly at the older woman, daring her to to make a snide remark.

“Indeed,” Margaret replied. “Young Victor is of an age now, is he not? Oh, but so is my Levi's boy. They're quite similar aren't they? Why I would imagine that they would be the best of friends! Why is it, do you think, that they aren't?”




Charlotte's eyebrows shot up, obviously surprised at the dowager's blatant insinuations. But her regal demeanor never faltered. She cleared her throat briefly, stalling to gather her thoughts, “Why they've hardly spent much time in each other's presence. I'm sure once they go off to school together, they will become much more than mere acquaintances.”

The clock in the hallway sounded the time. Three o'clock. Charlotte stood suddenly and said, “I'm sorry, Margaret. I had not realized how late it was. The king will be expecting me.”

Margaret stood and curtsied to the queen, “Of course, my lady. But speaking of King Victor, when can we expect another little one in the royal brood? It's been so long since the prince was born. Your subjects are eagerly awaiting another child.”

Charlotte smiled tightly. She suddenly felt very tired, as if life had just become too much for her. She wondered if Victor had gone through with her challenge. Praying that he did, she replied, “We're hoping to make an announcement soon.” She bowed her head in respect to the older woman and quickly removed herself from the room.



Margaret sighed as Charlotte left. Her heart ached for poor Victor. Charlotte was so transparent, and she quite obviously had no love for the king. Margaret had noticed that all of Charlotte's smiles were forced, giving away the fact that she hated her station in life, hated her husband, and certainly didn't want any more of his children. She remembered the former royal couple and how much they had loved each other, how the king had worked so hard to build an extravagant kingdom – all for his queen. Margaret had been a child when Simon arrived, but she recalled living in straw huts, surrounded only by dirt, water, and guilt for crimes they had never committed. She shook her head to clear it of the haunting memories and returned to her day's plans.



Levi Siegan, Duke of Hartshire, was widely regarded as the most disreputable rake in Ambrose Valley. He was a charming man, with laughing chocolate eyes and a ready smile. He had once led a very safe, sheltered life that was greatly approved of by the rest of the ton. But his wonderful life had fallen to pieces with the birth of his son, and the consequential death of his beloved wife.



So now he sat, a broken man, across from the beautiful and diverting Cherilyss Gray. She smiled at him – the wondrous smile of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. His eyes roved over her, alighting on her most intriguing body parts. Her dandelion hair. Her full, succulent, ruby lips. Her tiny waist and thick thighs. She had few flaws, and the ones she did possess, he chose to ignore. Fine wrinkles marred an otherwise perfect complexion, giving testimony to her age, but this just assured Levi that she was precisely the type of company he needed to keep. He had no patience with the innocent, simpering debutantes who were hardly out of the school room, not to mention younger than his only son. He shuddered at the thought of taking a mere child to his bed. He had loved once before – a pure angelic young girl. And all it had brought him was heartache.

“My lord,” Cherilyss said, interrupting Levi's brooding. “I asked if you intend to call or fold.”




Levi looked down at his cards. Rubbish. He folded them onto the table with a sigh, and flashed one of his easy grins at Cherilyss.

“I believe you have me beat,” he said with a yawn. “I tire of this game. Maybe we could find some entertainment elsewhere.” His words held a world of meaning, and he watched in delight as a smile washed over Cherry's features.



“Indeed we could, and I have just the idea,” she murmured seductively and beckoned for Levi to follow her. Only a month had passed since her arrival in this prospering kingdom. She had barely escaped death at the hands of her drunkard husband and had gladly taken the position of prostitute in Mr. Joseph Hall's gaming hell. It wasn't that she enjoyed catering to these rich and usually rotund noble buffoons, but it certainly was less dangerous than returning home and being beaten to death. Plus, the profession had its perks. And Levi Siegan was definitely one of those perks. If things had just been a little bit different, she was sure she could have given her heart to him.



Eli Siegan was a shy and timid boy. He was clumsy and awkward, and possessed not even one ounce of social grace. Which was why he suddenly decided to strike up an acquaintance with the prince. Prince Victor was everything Eli was not. He was confident and assured, charming and graceful, tall and rugged. He emitted an aura of power. Prince Victor was the model of what a noble boy should be.

As the morning sunlight trickled over the horizon and into the young man's room, he rose with a yawn and summoned his footman.



 He waited by the door, his fingers twitching nervously, his feet tapping impatiently. “Deliver this to the prince,” Eli said  the moment the footman approached. He shoved a piece of parchment into the servant's hands and retreated into his room, slumping to the floor in a fitful heap. He sighed, pleased that the note he had scrawled the previous night would finally be delivered, but worried that the prince would ignore his summons. Victor was royalty, after all.



The morning scrambled by, and the intense afternoon sun took its place in the sky. Eli paced through his home,  ignoring his grandmother's strange looks. He became distracted by the loud gong emitted by the grandfather clock every hour. He sighed in annoyance, waiting to hear that disruptive clang sound three times.

“What are you doing?” Margaret exclaimed, clearly frustrated with the boy.

“Nothing, nothing,” Eli muttered, the agitation seeping into his half-whispered utterance. Margaret gulped down the fear rising slowly in her throat. It seemed as if Eli were going mad. She opened her mouth, as if to make him see logic and reason, but the clock in the hall finally sounded three times. Eli's eyes lit up in glee and just the hint of maniacal obsession. “I must be off,” he said, his tone deep and formal. After stiffly bowing to his elder, Eli scuttled from the room.



The sultry summer air bore slight traces of the brisk autumn to come. Eli rode his stallion, Juniper, at reckless speeds, clamoring over hilly terrain and through the abundant forests until he reached his destination. Upon arrival, he dismounted and surveyed the ruins of a previous civilization. Jagged walls of stone jutted from the earth and shattered marble tile littered the floor. Fragments of torn tapestries still hung in some of the windows, the tendrils whispering into the wind like ghosts of their former lifetime. Eli's chest swelled with the glorious intake of moisture-filled air. He perched himself upon what was, in previous times, a wall and waited for the prince.  



“Just what were you thinking when you asked me to meet you at this heap?” Victor asked, his tone haughty and mocking. He walked casually toward the other boy, his stride long and confident.

Eli's brow furrowed and a deep frown was etched upon his face. “This place isn't a heap!” he cried. “It's beautiful and ghostly!”

Victor chuckled and clapped Eli on the back. Leaning in, he said in a low voice, as if telling a secret, “It's a pile of rubble.” His chuckled mounted to peals of laughter when he saw Eli's ears redden with fury. He took a few deep, almost comic, breaths and allowed his mouth to fall once again into a straight line. But his eyes still held traces of a mischievous mirth.  



The two boys sat, awkward and silent, neither ready to reconcile their differences. Eli suddenly stood and proudly tilted his chin. “I see that it was a mistake to ask you here,” he said, pretending to be cold and indifferent. But beneath that nearly transparent facade, the boy's eyes shifted worriedly and his fingers twisted nervously around each other.

Victor rolled his eyes and sighed. “Oh Eli,” he said, his voice nothing more than a bored drawl. “I sincerely apologize. I didn't mean to upset you, especially not over something so ridiculous as these old ruins. Now man, what did you drag me here for?”



Eli's barely maintained grudge slipped and he smiled shyly as he said, “I need to be more like you. I need to be charming and handsome, so I can snag myself a pretty noblewoman as a bride. Granny keeps warning me that I'm going to end up with the ugly kitchen maid as my only hope for a wife if I don't get out there and practice my flirtations.”

Victor laughed and nudged Eli in the ribs, “I'm sorry, my boy. But you will never be handsome!” His light, joking tone caused even shy, timid Eli to grin. “This will be easy,” Victor continued. “We'll meet here daily for the next twelve days, until the ball. I'll teach you everything I know! You can test your newly-learned skills on Lady Hertwick. She's to debut and won't know any better than to step right into your trap! And you won't have to worry about me as competition, because I'll be chasing the more seasoned ladies. Oh yes, Eli. We're going to be great friends!”

Yes it is. I like the governess too.

The Hertwick Family



“I have no wish to remarry,” Garret Hertwick, Marquess of Avonshire, commented to his father Zachariah, Duke of Sartwich, in the elder’s study. Garret’s eyes shifted around the room, taking in the intricately carved bookcases and finely upholstered furniture. It had been his childhood home before he married and moved to an estate that he had inherited from his aunt Clara. Now he was back, living with his father, the pain of his wife’s death too much to bear.



Zachariah sighed in annoyance. This younger generation was far too headstrong. “I understand that you loved your wife, but you need to provide a mother for your children and you must have another son. If Matthew becomes ill and dies, you’ll lose our estates to some distant relative,” the older gentleman said. Even though his words were harsh, he truly felt for his son. Zachariah remembered how he had felt when his Eva had died. He had been distraught by the loss of his lifetime companion. But at the time of her death, their children were already grown and married. They were no longer dependent on a mother’s guiding hand, as Garret’s children now were.



Garret mulled over the valid points his father had made. His children deserved a mother, especially Virginia. She was about to make her debut in Society and needed someone to guide her. Garret nodded brusquely and said, “I will hire a governess for now and will consider marriage later.” Zachariah inclined his head in silent consent and removed himself from the room. Garret immediately sat down at his father’s desk and began to write a correspondence making inquiries about acquiring a suitable governess.



Virginia was the last to learn that she was to make her debut at the Royal Ball. The small family sat around the large oak table, silently consuming dinner. The last dish had been served and all of the servants had left the room. Garret turned to his daughter and said in a strict, controlling voice, “You are to make your debut into society at this year’s royal ball. A governess will be arriving and she will help you to prepare. My sources have informed me that she is very skilled at just this sort of thing, but she had less than a fortnight to prepare you, so I presume that she will receive no problems from you.”



Virginia nodded in understanding and excused herself from the table. She did not feel ready to be presented for marriage, but she knew that she could never disgrace her family by becoming a spinster. She retreated to her room where she prayed for the strength to be a proper daughter and learn what it would mean to be a proper wife. The night was long and restless, but eventually Victoria fell into a fitful slumber.



The governess arrived much later that night, when all but the servants were asleep. She was welcomed into the home by a haughty butler with a portly frame and a hidden mirth simmering beneath his cold exterior. He directed her to her bedroom, which she was surprised to see was in the main part of the house. For a brief moment, she thought the servants had decided to play a terrible trick on her, until she walked into her room and saw in the dim glow of candlelight that it was sparsely furnished.



She sighed with relief as her eyes lit upon each piece of old, worn furniture, but she grew even more relieved when she saw that the room had its own fireplace. She squealed with delight, quickly lit the fire, and crawled into bed, where despite all of her worries about her new job, she fell asleep immediately.



She awoke with the soft rays of sunlight falling languorously on the floorboards, heralding dawn’s approach. Quickly she washed and donned her nicest dress. It was a pretty red and green plaid dress that had once belonged to her mother. She scurried down the stairs, where she was informed that the Marquess wished to see her in the drawing room. She gulped and her hands fluttered nervously as she approached her employer. “My lord,” she greeted timidly, sinking into a deep curtsy.



Shock registered on Garret’s face as he gazed at the beautiful creature before him. She may have been a mere governess, but he wondered how she hadn’t been snatched up yet. Dowry or no dowry, this woman was a stunning catch. Quickly trying to hide his obvious attraction, he flashed her a charmingly aloof smile and said in his haughtiest tone, “Miss Delilah Bertino, the governess, I presume?”

She nodded with cool composure, even as she tried to calm her thrumming pulse. She considered to stare down at the exceedingly handsome man before her, taking his proferred challenge and staring him directly in the eyes.

Garret immediately was thrown off guard. He felt as though she could see straight to his soul. And the disdainful look she was bestowing upon him just now told him that she didn’t like what she saw. Garret rose unexpectedly and strolled from the room, calling over his shoulder that Miss Bertino was to meet Lady Hertwick in the sitting room in one hour.

Delilah sighed as she sank against the welcoming embrace of the settee. She could tell that this was going to be a long and turbulent two weeks.

Delilah sat before a dwindling fire in the sitting room. She had arrived as was instructed of her and had been waiting for nearly half an hour. She sighed mentally ticking off the moments as they slipped by, growing more impatient by the moment. She knew that it was like the nobility to arrive fashionably late, but such a large amount of time had elapsed, that Delilah realized that this young girl must be trying to put her in her place. Her temper snapped and she rose from the chair, eager to find Virginia Hertwick and tell her just what she thought of spoiled little rich girls.



Virginia was sitting in the nursery with her brother Matthew. He was playing with the wooden figurines in the toy chest, pretending he was a great and might horseman. She smiled tenderly at the little boy, sensing the great man he would one day become. She was trying to write a letter to her mother’s sister in Paris, begging the woman to come collect her. If she went to Paris, she wouldn’t have to marry the first eligible bachelor who asked for her hand. She would have time to consider her options and decide whether or not she even wanted to marry at all. She felt a sting of shame at the thought of disgracing her family, but she could just never imagine being an insipid, obedient wife to a man she didn’t love.

“I hope you have a very good reason for averting your meeting with me,” Delilah Bertino practically growled from her stance in the doorway. She stepped lightly across the room and regarded her charge with a stern look of disapproval.

“I don’t care if you are my governess. I am trying to write a letter and wish for some privacy,” Virginia said, holding her chin high as she met Delilah’s gaze. She almost faltered when she saw the rage brimming in the icy blue eyes glaring at her, but she quickly blinked and turned back to her parchment. Delilah stood with her back turned away from the girl, waiting deliberately for her to finish her letter.

“Let’s go,” she said, and guided Virginia into the sitting room with an iron clench on her elbow. “Your lessons are long overdue.”

Virginia glared at her governess and retorted, “My lessons? You’re the one trying to get my papa to marry you! I saw the way you stared at him in the drawing room!”



Delilah laughed as she sat down on the couch in the sitting room. The fire had been extinguished and the room was cool and foreboding. But Delilah felt high in spirits when she realized her young charge just thought she was trying to take the place of her mama. “My dear,” she began. “Whatever you thought you saw in there, you were wrong. Your father is a very attractive man, but his station is far above mine. Besides all that, how could I ever think about replacing your mama when I want so much for us to be good friends?”

Virginia began to relax in Delilah’s presence and soon they were chatting merrily about all of the gorgeous dresses that would be made for her by the local seamstresses and precisely how she planned to wear her hair. Virginia smiled as she thought about the beautiful ladies she always saw strolling about in the parks. Maybe this debuting thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Well let's hope so! This challenge would be no fun at all if it weren't interesting!


By the way...thanks for reading and responding. I really appreciate it.