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Your Stories Await Telling

To Lord Basildon, delivered by hand Tuesday 12th May

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Tuesday morning was not near as exciting as Monday had been, Nicci had enjoyed a leisurely le petit-dejeuner* in the perfection of the room Buckingham had allowed her.  The world felt rather different now she had 'graduated' in a manner of speaking. While aware her movements were more scrutinised now than ever, she felt surprisingly liberated, it was a kind of independence. 

But she still had not heard from Louis.  Perhaps Lord Ranelagh had forgot to deliver the message (though he would not have been so negligent not to have informed his Lady Mother!)  Sipping her dark-as-night coffee the French Belle contemplated those thoughts with an indulgent smile upon her face.  

She would pen a note to Louis, and imagine a note she'd not send to Richard Jones. Naturally any missives she sent from her new abode would pass though The Dukes attendants hands. Ah what a sweet theatre Le Game was. 




Dear Cousin

Word had no doubt reached you that I am resident at His Graces this past day and night.  Dreadful and serendipitous events thrust this pleasure upon me, to my aghast and delight - I can barely chose which was the greater. 

Naturally I am reluctant to leave my gracious host, as you can hardly begrudge; 'Fortune favours the bold' don’t you always say. Raise your glass in a toast for me, as I shall to you.

I am reminded of another famous verse, 'All the world is a stage and we are the players'; is that not an instruction that the viewpoint of the audience is critical.  In which case may I dare state again that Lisas house guest casts a shadow the family would be better rid of.  Innocent or not, it is appearances that count. Ah but I ought not raise above myself, for I am but a humble French woman (La, my jest!), trumped by the English wife.

Could you instruct to have my wardrobe sent to me dear Cousin, for I shall quickly grow tired of Lady Yarmouth's robe, as pretty as it is.  Also my books and the herbal box. 

God Bless




Sanding the letter, she read it again. Louis would not like her comments on Margaretha, it had been a point of contention between she and Lisa all season, though Nicolette was sure he knew she was in the right.  She was half tempted to rewrite the letter and take that bit out, but... there were murders going on. The family could not afford to be seen as fence sitters.  

Perhaps Nicci was over cautious. 

Puffing a breath, she stood and smiled, checking her stylish state of dishevelle in the mirror before abandoning her room to go in search of a messenger boy to deliver the letter. What then? It was hours and hours too early for the Duke to be up yet, but perhaps she'd catch Kingston. Francis had a thing for practising fencing outdoors in his shirtsleeves, and she had a thing for watching him do that.



* le petit-dejeuner breakfast

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