The Girl

Previously: Veta's Echo

A/N ~ There's nothing quite like being free of writer's block!

Dearest Reader,

What a night!

Miss Cordelia Patridge, unsung debutante of last season, committed the ultimate coup by enjoying the only two dances of a certain Russian Count. A vision in Imperial Russian blue, her beauty rivaled that of the famed Widow Mironova herself.

Speechless and besotted, the Count's gaze never left her face as they glided across the dance floor, utterly wrapped up in themselves. The Count remained a proper gentleman, of course, limiting their dances to only two, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that he longed for more.

Could a new love match possibly be on the horizon? Or is this perhaps a mere shadow of a love already in existence?

Veta's Echo

Previously: The Widow Mironova

Adrik Mironov was neither surprised nor upset that Elizabeth had changed her mind about that ball. He was looking forward to a night out as well as time away from her.

Iakov could tell, and knew better than to mention the Dowager Countess.

That being said, he was not looking forward to a night and would've been grateful to have the Dowager as a buffer. Having Adrik's undivided attention was becoming...unsettling.

"Stop tugging at your collar," the Count chided him softly.

Iakov shifted in his seat as the carriage rolled towards Trowbridge House, pulling his coat down a little. "English clothing is so uncomfortable," he complained.

"Or the tailor got your measurements wrong," Adrik casually shrugged. "Do you remember those girls who came to visit when we first arrived? One was the daughter of a baroness?"

"Vaguely," Iakov grumbled, staring out the window and watching as evening fell. "What of it?"

"If we see them tonight, dance with them both," Adrik nodded calmly, paternally. "You already have a passing familiarity with them, so it won't be too awkward for you."

"And you?" Iakov pointedly blinked. "Who will you dance with tonight?"

"You're the heir," Adrik raised an eyebrow. "You're younger, you have a fresher face. No one will be looking at me tonight."

He couldn't be more wrong, of course, for no sooner did the men step foot into Lady Trowbridge's mansion, a horde of ladies immediately descended, with even the spinsters and widows coming off the metaphorical bench to join the fray.

The Widow Mironova

Previously: The Worthington Girl

A/N ~ Soooooo sorry for the long absence. I wasn't feeling well for a long while there, but I'm back!!! Thanks to everyone who's kept up with this blog.

"They're not speaking," Allegra grumbled over her early morning tea, in the kitchen with her cousin. "The Dowager and the Count are back to doing that thing where they're not speaking to each other."

"Honestly, what's with these people?" Clementine blinked, clutching her tea cup. She'd had an enjoyable time at the Queen's palace, but the mood at the Mironov house this morning was ruining it. "It seems like every time they entertain or are entertained, they ending up hating each other."

"You could ask Iakov," Allegra suggested. "He never really did clarify what he meant about their hostility being all an act."

"I would ask Iakov but he's one of them now, remember? Moved to proper chambers and everything. Due for another session with the tailor tomorrow. Besides," Clementine shook her head, "do we really need an explanation about it being 'all an act'?" She chuckled. "They love each other cousin."

The Worthington Girl

Previously: The Prodigal Daughter

Elizabeth was immediately on her feet, curtseying as low as possible in her dress while her company bowed to the Queen.

"Enchanting," the Queen lauded the men. "Simply enchanting."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Adrik replied, still bowing low.

"Rise," Queen Charlotte gestured. "All of you rise."

Brimsley gestured for Clementine and Allegra to join the Queen's other staff against the wall while Her Majesty and Lady Danbury both came to take their seats.

"And who might you all be?" the amused monarch beamed. "Let's see, I'd recognize the famed Lady Mironova anywhere. And you...Mr. Tall, Dark, and Russian--you must be the Count a certain writer can't stop writing about. So that just leaves...?" She trailed off on purpose, giving Adrik opportunity to answer.

"Aleksandr Iakov Mironov," Adrik introduced. "My heir."

The Prodigal Daughter

Previously: Mironov

As soon as Adrik said the name "Lady Whistledown", Elizabeth stopped in her tracks.

So...that's how he intends to avoid the swarm.

It was a very simple yet effective way to divert attention from himself. Even at thirty-five, Adrik was quite desirable by the ton's standards. He was still handsome, with all his teeth and hair; he was both wealthy and mysteriously foreign in all the ways the idiots of the ton liked to fantasize. But by naming someone else as his heir, that person automatically become more desirable, especially if they were young, unwed, and childless...like Iakov.

Mironov

Previously: Veta

A/N ~ Thank you to everyone who's reading this little experiment of mine. If it's not to much trouble (and if you're craving a little more darkness), check out my Mortal Kombat blog; I've been scribbling a new fic there as well.

Dearest Reader,

Za tvoyo zdorov'ye! It appears Napoleon's not the only one invading, as Mayfair is experiencing an invasion of its own. And what a delightful invasion it is, for the modiste has received inquiries about sarafans, the jewelers have been questioned about headpieces, and the bakeries are getting requests for the likes of vatrushka. What a marvelous time to be alive! For one can only surmise what--or who--has prompted such interests in the first place.

Veta

Previously: Beth

"The Russians are back to speaking Russian," Allegra grumbled as she emptied the tea pot and rinsed it out.

"I think it's charming, cousin," Clementine grinned, pouring herself a small glass of milk. "I wonder if I can get Iakov to teach me."

Allegra paused to turn and face her. "Why the bloody hell would you want to learn Russian?"

"Well, if the Count ever does decides to return home--"

"Don't even think of it," Allegra cut her off.

"You know, someone ought to tell Lady Whistledown that 'dashing' was a bit of understatement," Clementine mused wryly. "That man is as chiseled and sculpted as a god."

Beth

Previously: The Baron's Daughter

Adrik Mironov was a patient man.

He knew what Elizabeth was doing, and he was happy to go along with it because he knew it wouldn't work. He would speak whichever language she asked of him, wear whatever clothes she insisted on, eat whatever food was set before him because it didn't matter. After twenty long years of waiting, he wasn't going anywhere.

The Baron's Daughter

Previously: The Dowager

As far as Lady Agatha Danbury was concerned, the inhalation of snuff was a most undignified habit, but far be it from her to correct Her Majesty.

She watched, trying not to grimace, as the Queen leaned over to a nearby table and indulged a hearty snort. Indeed, it was all Lady Danbury could to do to keep from twitching at the heinous sound, and the graceless manner in which the Queen leaned over the side of the couch.

Prologue: The Dowager

Previously: Dramatis Personae

October, 1814

Mayfair, London, England

The opera was Mozart, as it was always Mozart these days, simply because that was whom the Queen favored.

It was widely known the Crown had invested a rather sinful amount of coin in a production of Lucio Silla, starring the infamous soprano Siena Rosso as Celia, which surprised the ton seeing as it wasn't one of Mozart's more famous accomplishments. So it appeared that with an early winter on the horizon, Her Majesty's boredom was already setting in.

Operas were perfect to see, be seen, but most importantly, go unseen if one were so inclined. And as fate would have it...one was.

Ustinya

There weren't always dragons in the valley.

In fact, there weren’t always dragons anywhere, and it was possible this one only came here now because of the river Nona, one of the last remaining in Kazimir. For indeed, the Grey Waste—as Kazimir was often called—now stretched across the whole northern half of the continent.

Legend had it Kazimir was once a lush and fertile region until the forest goddess, Olga, offended the desert god, Ilia, over a simple game of bones. Never known to mind his temper, Ilia unleashed his fire-breathing horde, ordering them to scorch Olga’s forests into oblivion.

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