No, not ‘how do you address a marquess who is also an Archdeacon’ though I would really not be surprised at all if I did post about that one of these days.
Today has not been great, though the only bit that’s really relevant to mention on here is that I thought I had a title for the steampunk side project, for about five minutes until I realise that I’d ripped it wholesale from Sorcery and Cecelia. Back to the drawing board.
Here is today’s excerpt:
My stepdaughter Adelaide is wearing a high-necked black gown with a quite ostentatious number of crape rosettes and a smut-black bonnet. Her face floats amid all this blackness like an egg poached in tar. I think, as I often do, that it might have been an attractive face, if only it didn’t have Adelaide behind it.
She has the same air of sleek well-being as her father, the same rosy skin and regular features as the twins, the same showy dark hair and brows as Harriet. She looks as any neat, managing little body of twenty-nine should hope to look. It’s just that when you gaze into her eyes, you can see she’s still that little girl who used to drown mice.
Image from Peterson’s Magazine Archives.
Ankaret Wells 