P&P fanfic drabbles: 8 & 9
And the last two - yay!
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Story: CATALYST
Characters: Lady Eleanor Fitzwilliam (OC), Duke of Albany (OC)
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Lady Eleanor Fitzwilliam stares at the duke, her thoughts and feelings crystallising into icy, furious disdain.
‘Thank you for the honour of your proposals,’ she says, St Ives’ ring cold against her breast, ‘but I am afraid I cannot accept them.’
‘I will not despair, your ladyship,’ he assures her; ‘I know you must think me sadly inconstant, but I shall prove my affection to you.’
Though he has neither wealth nor an ancient name to recommend him, he is a duke, tall, dark and handsome, well-spoken and reasonably charming. They look at one another, his eyes alight and his lips curved in a confident smirk. She longs to slap it off his insolent, self-satisfied face; instead, she stands straight and tall and proud, as stern and inscrutable as her father’s statues.
‘Forgive me, your Grace,’ she replies, ‘but I pray you will not.’ And she turns away, calling a servant to get rid of him.
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Story: THE TALK
Characters: Charles Bingley, Edward Gardiner
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‘Er,’ says Mr Gardiner, looking at Bingley as if he’d grown horns and a tail. ‘Well.’
He pulls out his handkerchief and scrubs at his face, still red and sweaty from the torment of two minutes ago.
‘Sir?’ Bingley sends him an enquiring look, blinking mild brown eyes. He looks, Mr Gardiner decides, rather like a bull. A pleasant, docile bull, but one which might nevertheless cause a great deal of trouble in a chinashop.
He pours two large brandies. A pity, he thinks, that he didn’t consider this earlier.
Then he begins to talk, while Bingley turns white, then grey, then green. They gulp down the brandy.
‘I, er - well, sir, I, er, I am not entirely, er, that is, I . . .’
Mr Gardiner eyes Bingley’s half-nauseated, half-embarrassed face, and girds his loins.
So to speak.
‘Perhaps,’ he says delicately, ‘you have a certain degree of - what might be termed, er, specialised knowledge. Perhaps, even, you have no desire to speak more on the subject.’
‘No, sir, I . . . that is, I do not wish to hear more,’ Bingley replies, wagging his head violently. ‘Ever.’
Mr Gardiner heaves a great sigh. Then he holds out the decanter. ‘Good man,’ he says, clapping his future nephew on the shoulder. ‘More brandy?’
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Story: CATALYST
Characters: Lady Eleanor Fitzwilliam (OC), Duke of Albany (OC)
-----------------
Lady Eleanor Fitzwilliam stares at the duke, her thoughts and feelings crystallising into icy, furious disdain.
‘Thank you for the honour of your proposals,’ she says, St Ives’ ring cold against her breast, ‘but I am afraid I cannot accept them.’
‘I will not despair, your ladyship,’ he assures her; ‘I know you must think me sadly inconstant, but I shall prove my affection to you.’
Though he has neither wealth nor an ancient name to recommend him, he is a duke, tall, dark and handsome, well-spoken and reasonably charming. They look at one another, his eyes alight and his lips curved in a confident smirk. She longs to slap it off his insolent, self-satisfied face; instead, she stands straight and tall and proud, as stern and inscrutable as her father’s statues.
‘Forgive me, your Grace,’ she replies, ‘but I pray you will not.’ And she turns away, calling a servant to get rid of him.
----------------------------------------
Story: THE TALK
Characters: Charles Bingley, Edward Gardiner
--------------------------
‘Er,’ says Mr Gardiner, looking at Bingley as if he’d grown horns and a tail. ‘Well.’
He pulls out his handkerchief and scrubs at his face, still red and sweaty from the torment of two minutes ago.
‘Sir?’ Bingley sends him an enquiring look, blinking mild brown eyes. He looks, Mr Gardiner decides, rather like a bull. A pleasant, docile bull, but one which might nevertheless cause a great deal of trouble in a chinashop.
He pours two large brandies. A pity, he thinks, that he didn’t consider this earlier.
Then he begins to talk, while Bingley turns white, then grey, then green. They gulp down the brandy.
‘I, er - well, sir, I, er, I am not entirely, er, that is, I . . .’
Mr Gardiner eyes Bingley’s half-nauseated, half-embarrassed face, and girds his loins.
So to speak.
‘Perhaps,’ he says delicately, ‘you have a certain degree of - what might be termed, er, specialised knowledge. Perhaps, even, you have no desire to speak more on the subject.’
‘No, sir, I . . . that is, I do not wish to hear more,’ Bingley replies, wagging his head violently. ‘Ever.’
Mr Gardiner heaves a great sigh. Then he holds out the decanter. ‘Good man,’ he says, clapping his future nephew on the shoulder. ‘More brandy?’