Hello all! This week we have a lovely entry from Meagan Dean over a Pretty Little Writer. Check it out and let us know what you think! It is to the same prompt from two weeks ago. Do not forget to leave a new prompt in the comments for me to attempt next week. Happy reading and writing all!
“Sophianne,” came a booming voice from the left of the hard oak table in the center of the dining room. The young girl looked to the looming figure beside her, her innocent hazel eyes raising to meet her brother’s gaze. “Please take this damnable mutt from the dining room at once.”
Evan’s pert nose drew up to the air as he glowered down to the wire-haired terrier that sat prettily between the two siblings. Her paw raised delicately and rested on Evan’s crisp white stocking in an attempt to conjure a treat for such a trick. Evan still remained unimpressed, shaking his leg to rid himself of the dog whilst muttering, “Go on now, you despicable creature.”
As he nudged his boot into the dog’s side to send her on her way, the pup gave a yelp of surprise and sent her young mistress into a fret. “Do not hurt her, Evan!” Sophianne wailed in protest.
Leaning down, Sophianne reached for the dog and cuddled her against her legs, murmuring gentle things to her in order to soothe her hurt feelings. “Just because she is not one of your precious hounds or Rebecca’s spaniel does not mean she is no less of a dog and part of our family!” Her jaw set stubbornly as she glared up to Evan. “You should do well to remember that she has a name, Evan. It is Bonaparte.”
A snort was failed to be stifled at the opposite end of the table. Sophianne leaned forward to look down the line of her three sisters until her gaze finally came to where her brother-in-law sat. “You named your dog Bonaparte?”
Despite Evan’s foul mood, her sisters attempted to hide their amusement to their youngest sister’s choice of names by pressing the back of their hands to their mouths. Upon the Marquess’ return from France the winter before, he had brought home with him the terrier he had conjured on the journey. Sophianne had seized the dog from Edward without even greeting him as he stooped to receive her hug, and soon after declared she must be given a name to remind her of her roots when she learned the dog was nameless. Being that Sophianne had never stepped foot on French soil in her twelve years of life, nor would she for a long time so long as Edward could help it, she had chosen a name with the only connection to France that she knew of: Bonaparte.
Edward hadn’t the heart to tell her the mutt had been found only ten miles down the road from where the family sat now.
“That is right,” Sophianne broke off a piece of her biscuit and offered it to the little terrier, who yapped happily just before snatching it from her fingers. She leaned down and ruffled the dog’s ears fondly, “I call her Bonnie, however. Evan said the hounds might quarrel with her if they suspected she was French.”
Richard’s grin turned impish as he sat his glass of whiskey before his plate again. “A lover’s quarrel, perhaps, but I’m sure Miss Bonnie would fare well in the affair.”
“I do not understand.”
“There’s something about those exotic French women that drive men–”
“Richard, darling–” Caroline’s interrupted, her small hand coming to rest on his arm with a squeeze in warning, “That is quite enough. You wouldn’t want to send Grandmama into another one of her fits would you?”
Grandmama still dozed peacefully in her chair next to Evan, her gentle snores only heard when the room went quiet with pause. Though Edward had insisted she stay in her room after the most recent tainting of her delicate nerves, the woman had stubbornly ignored such a wish. Like every Thursday before, she made her way down the stairs to join the remainder of her family for their weekly dinner.
“Honestly, Caroline, there is little Richard can say that Grandmama has not said herself,” Rebecca mused.
“Especially when it comes to the Moreaus,” Victoria announced from Rebecca’s left. She was the only sibling with light hair, and tucked a stray curl that had fallen from her coiffure behind her ear.
Evan gave an impetuous sigh at the mentioning of their rival family’s name. For centuries the Moreaus and Sinclaires had been in a feud. Over what, no one could recall, but stories handed down amongst the Sinclaires had told of a husband and wife– one a Sinclaire and one a Moreau– who had poisoned one another out of hatred in an attempt to escape the other’s company. Their plans were carried out on the same night unknowing of what the other had already planned, and their bodies were found lifeless in the drawing room. Since then the families had drifted apart, forming a hatred for one another for what their ancestors had done.
“Can’t we have one meal without mentioning the name Moreau?” he asked.
At the end of the table, Jessica straightened at the more interesting topic. Since starting her first season in London, she had taken to reading the gossip columns with a vengeance. It helped to know the latest juicy bit on her fellow peers when her friends went to the parlor to freshen up at social gatherings. “Speaking of which, did you hear that Emma Moreau was caught helping a man through the window of her bedroom two nights prior?”
A murmur started at the table with the wide variety of reactions present.
“Can’t say I’ve never slipped from a window myself.” Richard waggled his brows.
He promptly received a prod in the side from his wife, her stern look ceasing his bold manners. Once a rogue, always a rogue, Caroline had once claimed of her husband. For all of his lewd comments and flirtatious behavior, she knew her husband had cast aside his raking ways when they were at the altar, and they were happily awaiting their first child. Richard’s hand fell to his wife’s round stomach and placed a soft kiss to her cheek to return to her good graces.
“I’m not surprised. Emma’s behavior at the Sinisters’ masquerade was implacable,” Caroline sniffed.
“Indeed,” Rebecca chimed, “She danced with the same masked man four times.”
“And she disappeared onto the balcony for nearly an hour,” Victoria said.
“Her masked beau was no where to be seen in the ball room during that time, either.” Jessica beamed with such privileged knowledge. She and her friends had observed Emma’s behavior throughout the night; there was a rumor or two circulating the ton about Emma which may or may not have been started at the punch table by the younger girls.
From her seat, Sophianne still contemplated Richard’s previous statement of a lover’s quarrel amongst the hounds and her companion. Her mouth was tugged down into a frown and her brow drawn with complexity. She continued to feed Bonnie pieces of her biscuit, until finally her eyes popped open wide.
Sophianne’s fist banged down on the table, causing Jessica to reach for her glass of wine to prevent it from toppling over. Bonnie went scurrying from the room with a fright. “She is not a whore!”
The loud noise, in combination with Jessica’s startled bird who had ensued squawking again, awoke Grandmama with a start. “Oh– ahh– oh oh, yes, thank you–” She sputtered. Grandmama squinted around the room, her old age having taken her sight long ago.
“Sophianne!” Caroline looked aghast at her youngest sister, despite the rest of the members of their family having to attempt to suppress snorts of laughter. “That is not a term for young ladies to use, especially not at the dinner table! Miss Moreau–”
“No – Bonnie!” Sophianne protested. “I already know Miss Moreau is a whore.”
Another round of laughter was stifled amongst the family.
From the large doorway of the room, Edward cleared his throat. It was not usual for him to be late for the Sinclaire weekly dinner, but he had been caught up in other… affairs.
“Sophianne, that is very unkind of you,” he proclaimed, striding into the room. Pierce, the butler, followed after him while stripping him of his coat. Unlike the past dinners, his appearance was mussed, as if he had been riding on the back of a horse for hours instead of a short ride through London in the carriage after dropping off his latest sweetheart.
His presentation did not go unnoticed by any one other than Sophianne, who still sat pouting with offense.
“But Richard–”
“I care not of what Richard says, and neither should you.” Edward turned to the remainder of his siblings, who had all gone quiet in surprise. “I apologize for my lateness. I was tied up elsewhere. Shall we bring out the rest of the meal?” With a quick wave of his hand, the footman disappeared from the room to begin bringing dishes to the serving bar.
The room was silent; even Jessica’s bird had ceased its squabbling and sat like a statue on its perch.
Grandmama picked up her looking glass and studied Edward through the lens. After a good look, she sniffed unimpressed. “You look rough, boy.”
“Thank you, Grandmama. You look well yourself,” Edward replied. Inwardly he squirmed beneath his grandmother’s gaze. In her youth, the woman had had a way of seeing through someone and straight to the truth. She claimed it was a sixth sense, if there ever was such a thing.
As if on cue, Grandmama gave another sniff and lowered her looking glass. Her beady eyes studied the blur of her eldest grandson for a moment, her mouth working as if she were deciphering the man who had always made it a habit of keeping his private and home life separate.
“Who is she?” The old woman asked her question without hesitation.
Victoria’s soft sigh sounded from across the table. “Grandmama, we would have heard by now if Edward had a new sweetheart. The gossip papers fancy him so.”
“Yes,” agreed Rebecca, motioning to the plate of food that had just been sat in front of their grandmother, “Your food is here, Grandmama, why don’t you try eating?”
The answer which came from the head of the table had each and every sibling turning to stare at Edward Sinclaire in shock. After Caroline’s fork clattered to her plate and Evan’s coughed into his whiskey due to inhaling the liquid with surprise, a silence filled the room. “Emma Moreau.”
Fin.
May 18th, 2012 
Jenny 
Unladylike pursuits: donning breeches, riding astride, wielding pistols, ambushing highwaymen, and impertinence is the very essence of our protagonist.
