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Dec. 10th, 2014 08:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chocolatepotPinned a lot but did not do much else. Too much on tenterhooks. (Still didn't hear.) Read as well - almost done with Wolf Hall, still kind of surprised I like it as much as I do given my boredness with Tudor fiction.
I was looking through my writing for something I'd started based-ish on the Tudors, and came across this:
The assemblies at H----- were always well-attended, and considered a great success if the company included both the Graveses and the more long-standing county family, which went by the name of Bartlett. The Graves and Bartlett families were given near-equal respect by the citizens of the town, yet there was a gulf between them due to the present nature of Mr. Graves’s trade (for it would have been acceptable if it had been his grandfather who had worked and purchased a country home, allowing Mr. Graves and his family to act as the gentry, eschewing thoughts of gainful employment and pointing out that he had inherited his fortune blamelessly, as they had). Mr. Bartlett was used to inclining his head only slightly at them, and Mrs. Bartlett’s curtsey was correspondingly shallow; the three Bartlett daughters had, to a great extent, ignored Elizabeth even during their dancing lessons as children, and the two Bartlett sons looked upon her with an unflattering condescension: the elder perceived her to be in no way a match for himself, and Mr. Edward Bartlett left no doubt in his manner that he believed she must be extremely desirous of uniting with him in marriage in order to give him the benefit of an income and herself a name more worthy of respect. This did not suit Elizabeth, who much preferred the attentions of the young men that were obviously beneath her in social station and wealth, and appreciated her own condescension in taking their invitations to dance; her mother, however, would have preferred that she be more accepting of the treatment that she received, and although she did not voice her opinion as her husband did, she felt that it would be a good thing if Elizabeth could become Mrs. Edward Bartlett, uniting an ancient family’s name with the money of trade.
Mr. Graves’s sentiments were much in line with his wife’s, but he was less chary of speaking his mind. “None of your airs tonight, Lizzy,” he told his daughter in the carriage; “young Edward is handsome enough for you, and he’ll ask you to dance, I’ll be bound. If you won’t have him, I don’t know who you’ll have – there’s none grander than the Bartletts.”
“None grander than the Bartletts in this town,” she corrected him, not daunted by the filial deference that ought to have been her lot.
Such an admission of thoughtfulness might have almost been calculated to engage the sympathies of a listener, and it did not fail to strike a chord within Elizabeth’s breast. However, despite her earlier protestations of innocence, she did bear in mind her mother’s advice and refrained from expressing herself quite as she would have – for anyone who could care for cold Lady Bartlett enough to genuinely wish to give her something to make her happy must have been a tender-hearted and generous individual indeed. Instead of announcing this fact, she merely remarked that he was a dutiful nephew and asked his advice on which gloves she should purchase herself, in order to look best against apple-green. In return, she aided him in his own choice, and, as both were finished with their errands at the same time, Mr. Warrant escorted her back into the street, carrying her gloves for her alongside his own.
“Have you any other shops to visit today?” he asked. “I have no other things to buy, but I would be happy to walk with you. Already the day seems much brighter for your presence – I would not thrust that sun behind a cloud once more, unless it is by your wish.”
“That is very kind, sir, as a compliment to me, but it is also very apt as a description of the weather. You are to be commended for such wit.”
“Cruel sarcasm! I should say ‘cruel lady,’ but I could never go so far: my estimation of you is too high to permit it, especially when you are in such good looks as you are this morning.”
“Your praise is far too fulsome, sir! Anyone who overheard you would think that we had known each other for weeks rather than days, and that we were a pair of sweethearts rather than two people who happen to have shared a few dances. It is too forward, and you really must desist.”
And it's like ... maaaan, I vaguely remember starting this and I know I had some kind of a plan in mind. Judging by my habits, I'm pretty sure Warrant isn't all he seems and Edward reforms himself, but as much as it's All Very Me I remember it so vaguely that continuing it feels like continuing someone else's beginning, which is weird. Also I've forgotten every smidge of plot that there may have been (so two or three smidges).
I was looking through my writing for something I'd started based-ish on the Tudors, and came across this:
The assemblies at H----- were always well-attended, and considered a great success if the company included both the Graveses and the more long-standing county family, which went by the name of Bartlett. The Graves and Bartlett families were given near-equal respect by the citizens of the town, yet there was a gulf between them due to the present nature of Mr. Graves’s trade (for it would have been acceptable if it had been his grandfather who had worked and purchased a country home, allowing Mr. Graves and his family to act as the gentry, eschewing thoughts of gainful employment and pointing out that he had inherited his fortune blamelessly, as they had). Mr. Bartlett was used to inclining his head only slightly at them, and Mrs. Bartlett’s curtsey was correspondingly shallow; the three Bartlett daughters had, to a great extent, ignored Elizabeth even during their dancing lessons as children, and the two Bartlett sons looked upon her with an unflattering condescension: the elder perceived her to be in no way a match for himself, and Mr. Edward Bartlett left no doubt in his manner that he believed she must be extremely desirous of uniting with him in marriage in order to give him the benefit of an income and herself a name more worthy of respect. This did not suit Elizabeth, who much preferred the attentions of the young men that were obviously beneath her in social station and wealth, and appreciated her own condescension in taking their invitations to dance; her mother, however, would have preferred that she be more accepting of the treatment that she received, and although she did not voice her opinion as her husband did, she felt that it would be a good thing if Elizabeth could become Mrs. Edward Bartlett, uniting an ancient family’s name with the money of trade.
Mr. Graves’s sentiments were much in line with his wife’s, but he was less chary of speaking his mind. “None of your airs tonight, Lizzy,” he told his daughter in the carriage; “young Edward is handsome enough for you, and he’ll ask you to dance, I’ll be bound. If you won’t have him, I don’t know who you’ll have – there’s none grander than the Bartletts.”
“None grander than the Bartletts in this town,” she corrected him, not daunted by the filial deference that ought to have been her lot.
Such an admission of thoughtfulness might have almost been calculated to engage the sympathies of a listener, and it did not fail to strike a chord within Elizabeth’s breast. However, despite her earlier protestations of innocence, she did bear in mind her mother’s advice and refrained from expressing herself quite as she would have – for anyone who could care for cold Lady Bartlett enough to genuinely wish to give her something to make her happy must have been a tender-hearted and generous individual indeed. Instead of announcing this fact, she merely remarked that he was a dutiful nephew and asked his advice on which gloves she should purchase herself, in order to look best against apple-green. In return, she aided him in his own choice, and, as both were finished with their errands at the same time, Mr. Warrant escorted her back into the street, carrying her gloves for her alongside his own.
“Have you any other shops to visit today?” he asked. “I have no other things to buy, but I would be happy to walk with you. Already the day seems much brighter for your presence – I would not thrust that sun behind a cloud once more, unless it is by your wish.”
“That is very kind, sir, as a compliment to me, but it is also very apt as a description of the weather. You are to be commended for such wit.”
“Cruel sarcasm! I should say ‘cruel lady,’ but I could never go so far: my estimation of you is too high to permit it, especially when you are in such good looks as you are this morning.”
“Your praise is far too fulsome, sir! Anyone who overheard you would think that we had known each other for weeks rather than days, and that we were a pair of sweethearts rather than two people who happen to have shared a few dances. It is too forward, and you really must desist.”
And it's like ... maaaan, I vaguely remember starting this and I know I had some kind of a plan in mind. Judging by my habits, I'm pretty sure Warrant isn't all he seems and Edward reforms himself, but as much as it's All Very Me I remember it so vaguely that continuing it feels like continuing someone else's beginning, which is weird. Also I've forgotten every smidge of plot that there may have been (so two or three smidges).
