peonies-and-honeybees - Tumblr blog

peonies-and-honeybees · 15 hours ago

Text

Lady of the Valley

Regency!Elliott x Farmer's Daughter!FMC

Summary: Annette Fallow, a poor farmer’s daughter, disguises herself as the noble Antoinette Duvalle in order to attend a debutante gala. Her aim? To secure a deal with Lord Elliott Granger, the arrogant owner of the Granger Printing Press. Elliott sees through her noble ruse quickly as she stumbles through her introduction- but he offers to sponsor her writing. However, she must fulfill her end of the bargain. Nettie is roped into etiquette lessons, a fake identity, and a highly improper personal arrangement. Is this relationship with an egotistical Lord worth it to make her way in the world?

Word Count: 2,476

AN: New fic alert! Regency SDV came to me in a fever dream. This chapter is very tame, but the series will eventually include smut.

Read on Ao3

“Lord Granger, allow me to introduce my daughter Abigail.”

Elliott smiled, taking the pale lilac hand of the little wench in front of him. He brushed a kiss to the knuckles of her silk gloves, giving her- and her mother- his most charming smile. “Miss Marchand, lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“I can play the flute, as well as read and write cursive to an excellent degree,” the girl said begrudgingly.

“That’s lovely,” Elliott bowed his head a bit in acknowledgement. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Lady Caroline Marchand had money, but her daughter was known to be a wildcard. Rebelliousness wasn’t something Elliott disliked, but Abigail’s flavor of attitude was often impolite- even rude.

“But- Lord Granger.”

Elliott slid into the crowd as quickly as possible. Not a full disappearance act, but it was enough to buy him some time. He wouldn’t have bothered to show at all on a chilly autumn day like this, but it was the start of the debutante season. Elliott knew he should be in attendance for the girls’ first presentations.

For a man in High Society, time never ran out. Elliott Granger could marry as he wished, when he wished. Thus, he had all the leisure in the world when it came to finding a wife. Perhaps perversely, though, it gave Elliott no small measure of satisfaction to be doted on by the women of the valley. Elliott was not a product of old money, like many of his acquaintances. He had earned his title, his land, and his sprawling estate, all through sheer grit as an apprentice. Inheriting the town’s printing press was no feat of luck. To some degree, Elliott deserved their attention.

That very attention, though, made him more and more disenchanted at every gala. He was beautiful, and personable, he had had lovers before his wealth for that reason. But, the established women of the town were a different breed. Only status seemed to matter.

“Elliott.”

He stiffened at the sound of his name coming from a masculine voice. Had he angered the girl’s father..? Elliott turned toward the open window to see a man in a thick velvet coat, the deep emerald of the Porter family crest.

“Doctor Harvey,” Elliott said, shaking the man’s hand.

The grin on Harvey’s face was jovial. He was the town doctor, nearly nobility himself with the wealth he had garnered, and he had been one of Elliott’s first friends in the town. Despite his rather nervous disposition, Harvey was a kind man deserving of his attendance to this event.

“This will be the year for us, my friend.,” Harvey said, lifting a glass of bubbly gold liquid to his lips. The sentiment struck Elliott as a bit naive, too hopeful, so he ignored the statement and surveyed the ballroom with sharp eyes. Harvey did the same, another flute of champagne finding its way to him after finishing the first.

“I fear for your liver on a night like this, Porter.”

Harvey laughed, pushing a glass from a nearby curtained table into Elliott’s rough hand. “Everything in moderation. Liquor may not be good for the body, but it soothes the soul.”

“I don’t know how you keep your license…”

Harvey laughed again, and Elliott smiled despite himself. Comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed the window’s cool breeze. It was quickly turning warm in the ballroom as dancing began, and autumn’s chilly gusts were suddenly welcome.

“Do you have your eye on any of this year’s gems?” Harvey asked after a moment.

Again, Elliott’s gaze drew across the crowd. Miss Abigail Marchand was to be avoided, but she seemed to be occupied with a few of the town’s younger lads. There was Penny Fairchilde, who frequented the Granger Printing Press, but she was a quiet girl. She wasn’t exactly his type of woman. But… “You and Miss Fairchilde could make an excellent match, Doctor.”

Harvey hummed at the thought. “Penny? She’s a sweetheart, but have you seen the girl she attends the salon with? Now that is a bright mind.”

Elliott nodded. Maru was in fact very bright. The Whittler family was one of old wealth, and they were at the forefront of innovation in carpentry. There would certainly be competition for the daughter’s hand. “You should ask her to dance before her card is full.”

Harvey shook his head, fussing with his cravat. He seemed redder than before. “No, I couldn’t. Miss Whittler could do far better than being tied to this town. She could travel, perhaps even study for herself.”

“As if her father would allow her,” Elliott said with a scoff. “That proverbial leash is tight.”

Elliott turned to see another drink in Harvey’s hand as the Doctor yet again fussed with his neck piece. Elliott snatched up the glass with loving frustration. “Get a grip, sir.”

He gave Harvey a light shove on the back and watched the Doctor stumble out into the crowd, spectacles drifting down his nose until he could fix them again. Harvey found his way to Maru instantly, having watched her all night, and soon the two were dancing. It seemed he had skipped the line of suitors. Good.

Elliott nodded to himself, downing his drink. And the remnants of Harvey’s. And perhaps he should steal a few hors d'oeuvres before leaving…

He slid a handful of biscuits into the pocket of his tailored red coat and made his way to the marble archway of the ballroom. He would go perfectly unnoticed, everything according to plan-

“Excuse me, Sir, could we dance?”

Elliott bristled, turning to see one of the debutantes. She was tanned by the sun, uncommon for someone with status. Hmm. The girl curtseyed low, fixing a lock of mousy blonde hair as she righted herself. It was a terrible curtsey, off kilter. “Lord,” he corrected stiffly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Lord,” he repeated. “I am not a Sir, my title is Lord. Shouldn’t you know that?” He looked around to see where her mother was. He did not recognize the girl, so she couldn’t be local high nobility, then. “What is your family name?”

The girl paused, carefully fixing the skirt of her gown. A gown, Elliott noticed, that was made of a drabber linen than was appropriate for a debutante. A cornflower blue over the typical powder. “Duvalle, Antoinette Duvalle.”

~~~

“I’m not familiar with the name,” Lord Granger said.

Annette Fallow should not have been allowed inside. Whoever the Archduchess Marnie had employed to count guests at the door, they were not well versed in signs of forgery. Antionette Duvalle was a name as fake as the glass gems on Nettie’s necklace.

Nettie smiled her brightest smile. She had only one chance at this. There was no time to second guess it. “It’s French.”

“How lovely,” Lord Granger said dryly. “I, too, take inspiration from the French in my work.”

Her smile tightened. He wasn’t buying her act for a minute. Shit. “I’m not sure I follow…”

The Lord’s eyebrows rose a level higher, nearly reaching his fine red hair. “You don’t? My apologies. The Lady Caroline Marchand speaks excellent French, perhaps we could go speak with her-”

Nettie’s smile rippled, and she forced it back into place. “After a dance? The music is just so lively, I wouldn’t dare miss it.”

“Something tells me you would dare to do a lot of things.”

Gods, he was charming, wasn’t he? Even when he was pulling apart her plans like a ripped seam, he was charming.

Nettie had seen him ride past her family’s fields on his mare. That’s when he caught her eye the first time, carrying his satchel of pamphlets. Maybe it was a bit… strange to follow after him, but when she found out Lord Elliott Granger would be in attendance at the Harvest Gala, she had to attend.

“A dance,” Nettie said, hoping she seemed charming, rather than annoying. “You could allow me just one, couldn’t you?”

Lord Granger considered for a moment, but held out a hand. It was warm, and surprisingly rough. That wasn’t common amongst nobles. He must do at least some of his own work, then.

The ballroom glistened. Autumnal vines bracketed the columns and curled amongst silver plates of food and wine. It was like nothing she had ever seen. Elliott led her towards the marble floor. As he stood straight, falling into formation, Nettie realized this was a grave mistake.

The debutantes, the lords and ladies, their sons, everyone here was taught formal dancing. Nettie had rhythm, sure. The village folk sang and danced around a bonfire nearly every week. But that kind of dancing was different. It came from the soul, where as this kind came from a book. A book she hadn’t read.

Lord Granger’s lips curved slightly at the edges, his eyes sparkling as if he knew. “Miss Duvalle, surely you’ve not lost your dancing spark already?”

“Not at all,” she said, following the other women’s footsteps. Three paces right, then turn, then some kind of orbiting motion?

“Good,” a grin lit his face and Nettie swallowed hard.

One, two, three, now turn. Now pace. A smile. Bat your lashes.

Lord Granger seemed impressed with her, but it wasn’t too hard yet. This type of dancing was slow, formulaic. It was meant to allow the dancing couples a chance to speak. All the better.

“Granger Printing Press, is it your namesake?” Nettie’s words nearly threatened to trip her up. The nobles used an elevated vocabulary, one that she had spent her whole adolescence trying to learn so that she could be successful. To get off her farm and out of the village. That part was not so hard, now, but the accent… that was where she struggled.

“It is,” he nodded.

He had not yet settled into the dance, as if he were waiting for her to mess up. He knew it would happen eventually.

“Do you read frequently, Miss Duvalle?” Lord Granger seemed insistent on addressing her by name, making sure it dripped with sarcasm and disbelief with each annunciation.

He was less charming than she thought.

She straightened her shoulders. That would be important to remember. “I do. Reading is one of my sincerest joys.”

“Perhaps I shall have to print in French,” he smirked.

For a moment, the facade of polite, natural elegance slipped, and Nettie’s eyebrows narrowed.

As quickly as she could, she plastered the genteel smile she had worn all night back in place. But it was no use. Wicked delight gleamed in the Lord’s eyes. He lowered his voice, moving as close to her as he could without risking a misstep in the dance. “Why don’t you tell me who you really are? We both know you aren’t meant to be here.”

“Annette,” she said quietly. The attendees of the ball were absorbed in their own conversations, but she knew that the older ladies often hung to the side to eavesdrop.

“Annette what?” Lord Granger said, far too loudly for her liking.

“Fallow.”

“Annette Fallow?” He repeated and Nettie grit her teeth at the projected sound. She slid her foot out from under her dress, stepping on his toes. If only she were wearing the stiffer flats of the debutantes, it would have hurt more.

He sucked in a breath, but it did not deter the grin on his face. “Fallow, you’re the farmer’s girl, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed, giving up on the pretense of sophistication. She tried to sound proud of her background. It was hard. “I am.”

“The peasantry have their own fields to graze in.”

Nettie shut her eyes a moment and took a breath. “I am here to make a request of you.”

His eyes glittered. “Well, go on then.”

“How much would it cost me to employ your printing services…”

He stopped. So quickly that the couple following their turn-about fumbled as well. Lord Granger coughed, draping a hand on her lower back as he led her finally out of the throng of dancing nobles. “You wish to print something. You are aware this is for large scale production and not little childrens’ poems, yes?”

She bristled at the condescension in his tone, but bit her tongue. She needed to stop talking back, he was interested. “Yes.”

“What do you wish to print?”

Nettie cleared her throat. She had prepared this pitch for hours, practicing on the rabbits in her hutch. “I have a small collection of short stories that explore the themes of class, marriage, a-”

“Short stories, tch… I assume your summary will take up half the pamphlet.”

She turned her nose up at him. “Fine then, I’ll find business elsewhere.”

“I doubt you will, Miss Fallow- Ah- Duvalle.” He ducked down, his face inches from her own upturned glare. “But perhaps we could… come to an agreement.”

Dangerous words. Maybe not on the surface, but she knew them for what they were.

Lord Granger chuckled a soft, dry sound. “Don’t worry, I think it will be mutually beneficial.”

Lord Whittler was looking, as was Lady Hale. She uncrossed her arms from her chest, shaping herself back into a demure lady of the valley. “Go on.”

“I will have a look at your stories. If they meet my standards for print, then I shall begin a small batch. We can see how they perform.” He paused. That was his own end of the bargain. What was hers?

“I won’t have the reputation of Granger Printing Press harmed by your status, but it's clear you’ll never make a name for yourself on your own. I’ll sponsor your little act, support your histories, and you’ll study with me. Etiquette, writing, the formal dances, perhaps even…” he smiled with mild amusement, “the duties a woman performs for a noble husband.”

A wash of rose tinted Nettie’s cheeks. “That’s- why, that’s obscene!” A few onlookers paused their revelry, and Nettie lowered her voice to a furious whisper. “No.”

He shrugged a shoulder, turning toward the moonlit exit. “Then find yourself a different publisher, perhaps you will have better luck outside the valley… if you can get there.”

Another breath. In and out. How much did she want this? Freedom, her own wealth? A name for herself, fake as it may be? Yes, she wanted it. “I accept, Lord Granger.”

“Elliott,” his grin shown as wide as the mouth of a wolf. “I think you’ll prefer the taste of my first name. I know I’ll prefer the sound of it on your lips. On the morrow, Miss Antoinette Duvalle. I look forward to our partnership.”

She heaved a breath as he finally meandered to the exit, strolling like a man with all the power in the world. For someone like Nettie, he did. For some reason, she felt far more excited than scared. And that was dangerous.

7 notes · View notes

peonies-and-honeybees · 8 months ago

Text

The New Testament scarcely mentions Mary. She is brought into the story mainly to emphasize Jesus's divine conception and birth. Her presence is noted once or twice, but little is made of it. In the centuries that followed, however, Mary was exalted to ever-higher positions of glory. She is the subject of many of our most famous and beautiful works of art. In light of what we have learned about the Goddesses of the ancient Near East, it is interesting that Mary is shown not only as the Madonna with her child, but standing on the crescent moon or with stars circling her head. She takes on many of the ancient Goddess symbols and is often painted as a larger-than-life figure. She is also shown being crowned Queen of Heaven, absorbing the title of the Goddess. It may be that the need of the people for a female deity was so great that the Christian Church might not have survived without the elevation of Mary to this exalted position. We need to look carefully, however, at just what aspects of the Goddess Mary was allowed to retain and what the results were in the lives of women.

Mary was taken up to heaven and seated with god the father and his divine son Jesus. She became the main intercessor between human beings and the divine. She was called Mother of God and Queen of Heaven, but she was not made a full-fledged member of the Godhead. The Church used her to satisfy the need for a female presence in Christianity but also to keep women in a subordinate position. Her purity as a virgin was exalted and women were taught to strive for that purity and to obey the divine (male) will. At the same time she is, of course, a mother, and women were taught to bear as many children as possible. But Mary did it while remaining a virgin; other women, in order to be mothers, must be tainted by sexuality. If they remain pure they cannot be like Mary the Mother; if they become mothers they cannot be like Mary the Virgin. No matter what they do they are guilty and inferior.

Mary's stance is: "Let it be to me according to your word." She is passive, obedient, and pure. She sits on a throne but has little power, certainly none of the power or independence of the earlier Goddesses or their free sexuality. Nevertheless, the doctrine of her virginity gave women a way out of the role of submissive wife and bearer of children. When the cult of Mary was at its height, thousands of women escaped into convents, communities of women. There they developed skills and talents in the arts and in the administration of large estates. Many abbesses wielded significant power and controlled sizable amounts of wealth.

It is interesting that, just as the veneration of Mary reached its height in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Protestant Reformation reasserted the dominance of the male divinities. One of Luther's major reforms was the closing of nunneries, and Mary is notably absent from all formulations of Protestant theology and ritual. Whereas Catholic women have suffered from their attempts to imitate an impossible model, Protestant women have had no exalted female model of any kind. Mary's presence has been used by the Catholic Church to reinforce the subordination of women, and her absence has been used by Protestantism to reinforce their insignificance.

-Shirley Ann Ranck, Cakes for the Queen of Heaven

618 notes · View notes