Chapter 22 - A Display of Sweet Scented Tussilage

As this is a Regency story, there is bound to be some AU-ness and OOC-ness. Please bear with me. Emphases are in italics and titles of books &ca are underlined. This story places great stress on the significance and meanings of flowers.

Language of Flowers

Chapter 22 – A Display of Sweet Scented Tussilage

Miss Granger and Lady Ginevra were completely shocked by the revelation of the stranger's identity. Lady Ginevra looked from the intruders to the helpful gentleman at the Embassy and her hands flew to her mouth on their own accord to stifle a cry of alarm and surprise. Her friend, though a little surprised was not aghast. Instead of turning as white as Lady Ginevra had, Miss Granger stood her ground in defiant calm. "Duke, she said coolly, "My friend and I would like to apologise for our description of you."

"It has been ages since anyone called me sinister and unscrupulous. I rather enjoyed it – makes me feel young again," the gentleman, the Duke of Mallefille, replied with an amused look in his eyes. "There is no need for apologies, ladies. If anything such a thing should be offered, it had better be from them." He gestured carelessly to the two figures dumbfounded at the door before coldly saying, "One of you had better close the door."

Villiers shut it at one and looked expectantly though suspicious at gentleman. "I was unaware you were here, Father," he stammered.

"If you had known," the Duke said chillingly, with a quelling look, "You would have been better behaved. Put aside your weapons, both of you."

"Lucius, what are you doing here?" demanded Lord Sterne with a snarl.

The Duke smiled rakishly and laughed, "I work here from time to time; it keeps me occupied and I hear all the latest English gossip."

"A masterly description of your occupation, you old dilettante," answered Sterne.

"You wound me, mon ami. I have been wounded once already this evening by Lady Ginevra." On hearing her name, her ladyship started. "She imagined me to be like my son when it ought to be the other way around."

"I am ashamed," Lady Ginevra said demurely. "I see now that I was at fault."

"It was Miss Granger who openly asked me who I was. She is a spirited one, very sharp in the mind. I can see why you've set your cap at her, Severus!" commented Mallefille, idling fiddling with his cane.

"Perhaps it would better if we retired, Duke. You may illuminate the gentlemen at your leisure. Are there any rooms in the Embassy for the stranded English traveller?" Miss Granger asked, looking directly into the Duke's eyes.

"Lady Ginevra and yourself must be fatigued, but my son and my old friend wish to speak to the both of you. If it will please you, I offer the apologies to Villiers and Sterne on their behalves. If you wish to leave, you will find rooms on the third floor, which is for ladies. However, for the moment, I strongly advise you to listen to hear out these reprobates," Mallefille suggested, causally pouring himself another glass of wine.

Lady Ginevra looked imploringly at Miss Granger, begging her to stay, but to no avail.

"Good night. Thank you for your assistance, Duke," Miss Granger said, rising from her seat. However, she was unable to leave as Sterne blocked the door.

The young Lord Villiers then took it upon himself to go to his lady's side. "Ginny, don't leave me. You must marry me! I'll stand trial for Lord Percy, if you tell me to. Father, tell her, she must marry me!"

"You abducted her, my son; you persuade her. Let that be a lesson to you and you too, Severus. Heavens! Don't scowl at Miss Granger like that! The two of you are quite far below the women of your chusing," commented Mallefille dryly, flicking his perfumed handkerchief at his son in chastisement.

Villiers held his beloved's hands with a beseeching look. "Marry me, Ginny. We'll do so first thing in the morning. Father approves."

Lady Ginevra collapsed into the chair that she had just vacated. "You've been insupportable, Villiers! But, oh, what will the Duchess say?"

"My wife need not trouble your scruples, Lady Ginevra," said the Duke of Mallefille languidly. "Well," he continued, turning to my Lord Sterne and Miss Granger. "Are you going to remain glaring and scowling at each other? This is my office! Severus, have some consideration for my feelings!"

The sounds of the reconciled voices of Lady Ginevra and Villiers earnestly talking soon came to their attention. Sterne sneered on hearing their hushed tones.

"Miss Granger is right in her assessment of you, Severus. You are a petulant child," mocked Mallefille carelessly as he gazed at his son and new daughter through his quizzing glass.

"I am no such thing!" protested the dark haired Marquess violently.

"I am sorry to pain you, my lord, but you are," stated Miss Granger matter-of-factly.

"Insufferable know-it-all!"

"Touché, my lord."

"Surely, I make myself plain," hissed Sterne, resisting the impulse to rail at Miss Granger.

"You do not," insisted the lady coldly, tucking a lock of frizzy hair behind her ear.

"Lucius, what have you been telling Miss Granger?" he snapped, dangerously eyeing his friend.

"Nothing, old man. The reports from England do not lie; she is quite la femme savante. You should ask her how she arrived at her deduction of your character," answered the Duke.

Scowling at the Duke who had the audacity to raise his glass at him, Sterne looked away and turned his attention to Miss Granger. "I once made you an offer."

"I called you a coward in response."

"I want to know why," he said in a mellowed tone.

Because you were not serious. I gave you the answer you wanted," sighed Miss Granger, wondering as to the sanity of his lordship. "I am not to be an experiment on your potions worktable of life."

"Did not you know that the experiment is not on you but on myself? I was and still am willing to take the risk," he hissed urgently, sweeping his hair away from his face.

"You know of my plans and my work. I am too great a risk."

He caught he wrists as she tried to reach the doorknob behind him. "It is you who are the coward."

"Let me go," she spat without attempting to struggle free from his iron grip.

"I advise you do so, my Lord Marquess," laughed the Duke.

"And have her hex me? Damn you, Mallefille!"

The Duke merely smiled. "You are under no obligations to heed me, old man."

"Indeed, my lord, the Duke is right. You are under no obligations to offer for me even if my name is bandied from lip to lip as the most ridiculous pedant to carry on with two suitors, whom I must add, were not the least interested in me as a person. I am too staid," she said by way of apology to the Duke.

Mallefille took snuff elegantly and nodded sardonically in agreement at her.

"Be that as it may," snarled Sterne impatiently. "I am devilishly sure I cannot live without you."

"Then die," Miss Granger crossly snapped.

"I'll never coerce you," Sterne declared with a slight catch in his voice.

"You were trying to, my lord."

He scowled and tightened his grip on her wrists. "I will always use you honestly."

"At last, an utterance of truth!" she mocked, as her eyes flashed angrily at him.

Fighting the urge to throw her roughly onto a chair, Sterne snarled, "You are a disagreeable bluestocking with too much love for your friends. You have humiliated me and made me lose my temper. For some obscure reason yet unknown to me, I permit you to do so. I do not know what more I can say to convince you that I am in earnest. Do not I have un visage serieux? Believe me, Miss Granger, of my honourable intent."

"Since you have been so kind as to enumerate my merits, I shall consider your suit," she retorted, glaring at him, her knuckles whitening from her tenacious balling of her fists.

"Lucius, advise me!" he bellowed, becoming paler with impatient anger as his voice resounded throughout the Duke's office.

"Why should I?" asked Mallefille quietly.

"You're the married man! You know all about dealing with women," he charged, glaring at his friend.

"Dealing with women, yes. But bluestockings, no! Miss Granger, I advise you not to throw yourself away at my lamentable friend."

Thanking the Duke of Mallefille through a look of relief at his policy of non-interference, she began to reason with the intractable Lord Sterne, her hands trembling in an uncertain emotion, "You do not care for me, my lord and your displays of chivalry vis-à-vis my honour are insanely bordering on jealousy."

"Where there is no affection, there can be no jealousy," he purred, as he bent on his knees and grasped her hands, staring intently at her disbelieving eyes for any answer.

Miss Granger laughed scornfully, as she watched a nerve twitch close to his mouth. "You are too sure of yourself," she whispered, lowering her eyes momentarily.

"Not of myself, but of you," was his lordship's ready answer. "You are welcome to divorce me or kill me anytime, that is, if I do not do run mad from causing you grief first," he continued with contemptuous curling of his lips.

"Very well. We appear to understand one another," Miss Granger conceded, patting his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Quite," he said quietly with a look that bore into Miss Granger's very soul. "Your answer, madam?"

"I shall condescend to accept," she replied colouring somewhat, meeting his intense glower with one of her own.

Lord Sterne bowed and reverently kissed both her hands. "Then I shall condescend to be honoured."

"And I shall condescend to be patronising," interposed Mallefille in a clearly cynical tone. "You still are invited to Hôtel Mallefille for the night."

"That would be most improper," answered Lady Ginevra, wagging a finger at the Duke, her future father-in-law.

"Ah well, my dear, you are in luck. I have a perfectly proper story for you. My son has fled England due to his – shall we say – treatment of Lord Percy. As an Embassy man, I already know from the Duke of Sanguine's owl that his sentence has been dropped by the Lords. For the sake of the story, let us assume I am unaware of my son's present fate. Let us assume that I fear for his treatment at the assizes. My son came to me in Rouen where I have a small estate. My Lord Sterne came to inform us of the news of my son's victim and his fate. My dear ladies, you were visiting with my sister, Lady Lavinia Malfoy. She has invited you to stay with her at Hôtel Mallefille where she keeps house for me. She notices Lady Ginevra going into a decline from the impolitic separation from my son. So, she arranges their wedding at the Embassy where we are all witnesses. Lord Sterne and Miss Granger being of an academic turn of mind decide to marry to bring their work to greater heights, and since it is quite the thing all Season, no one will be surprised."

"Ingenious," complimented Miss Granger with unveiled scepticism. "May I ask how we came to be acquainted with Lady Lavinia?"

"It is a little known fact that she is also Lady Minerva's goddaughter. The rest, you may surmise," answered the Duke blandly, setting down his wine glass.

Throughout the Duke of Mallefille's narration, Sterne stared at his friend with narrowing eyes. There was something uncannily familiar in the schema presented in the proposed plan. "Whose design is this, Lucius? It is too elegant to be yours."

"Your godfather's mon ami," replied the Duke coolly, offering his arms to the ladies. "Now, shall we all leave for Hôtel Mallefille, Lavinia is waiting for us."

* * *

The news of the sudden marriage of the Season's most eligible marriages put many of the Society mammas and their daughters out of countenance. It was not the rash of weddings at the end of the Season that put them out of spirits for such things were common enough. Society was aghast that the marriages of Sir Harry Potter to the abigail who was really quite plain and homely. The ladies who ended the Season with no beaux cursed Miss Brown for snatching away one of Society's largest matrimonial prizes. While Society's scorn was readily given to Sir Harry's low bride, it was quick to express shock at the union of Lord Ronald Weasley to the witty heiress of the Baron de Quib. Though the couple are presently known by his name, it is a well-known fact that when Lady Ronald comes into her fortune and titles, her husband will be forced to face the certainty of being a mere Lord Ronald Weasley while his children are Lovegoods. The editor wonders how the future Lady de Quib will manage her brood and her husband. That will be something all Society is eager to see. However, as the de Quib family is an ancient one, such a provision should come as no surprise, it was by all accounts an advantageous match for Lord Weasley who moved into his wife's home on their return from their honeymoon.

The Reverend Mr Longbottom, who was often looked upon as a prodigiously stupid creature had he not stood heir to the Earldom of Fluxweed, has lately wed the natural child of the late Lord Lestrange. His match with the lost heiress of the Lestrange fortune, the former Miss Bulstrode (late of the Duke of Offaly's household) went unremarked by Society. His Grace of Offaly is best known in the House of Lords as the gentleman who assisted the Duke of Sanguine in bringing to an end the potential scandal of Lord Percy Weasley's death. If he had not purveyed a character reference for Lord Villiers, the latter would very likely still be in voluntary exile in France.

Having read enough of the societal news, the Duke of Sanguine carefully replaced the newspaper on a tray his man was holding. "You may go, Fudge," he commanded firmly. Then turning to his guest, he smiled. "Well, dearest Minerva, that was well done, wasn't it?"

His guest smiled in her habitual thin lipped manner. "What was?"

"My hand at matchmaking, of course," chuckled the Duke, stroking his beard, merrily untangling the knots he found there.

"I really wish you wouldn't meddle," she answered, folding a letter that she had just perused while sipping a cup of tea.

"What do les enfants say?" quizzed Sanguine, his blue eyes dancing with animation at his lady's neatly folded hands.

"They found a good building in Surrey for the seminary. The building at Bath looks respectable also. They are presently deciding between the two," Lady Minerva replied as she watched him push his half moon spectacles up his slightly crooked nose bridge. "What news in the papers?"

"Nothing much. Full of scandals as usual," was his dry answer.

"Hermione should have permanently incapacitated Miss Skeeter when she had the opportunity," said Lady Minerva testily. As it was uncharacteristic of her to behave in such a vehement manner, the Duke looked anxiously at her, fearing that she had suddenly taken ill.

"It is not in her nature to do so. Who knows, the unworthy Miss Skeeter may yet have her uses?" opined the Duke, who was then valiantly engaged in the struggle of prying apart two lemon drops. However, as he proved unsuccessful in his endeavour, he shrugged and popped the stuck sweets into his mouth with an unapologetic smile.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sanguine!"

"Albus. It's Albus. How many times must I tell you so, my dearest one," sighed the Duke, gently placing his hand over his companion's.

"Have you heard? No, I am certain you must have arranged it. Narcissa is to join Mallefille in France," said Lady Minerva conversationally, staring in the direction of the hothouse.

The Duke pouted and removed his hand from hers, evidently hurt by her lack of response. "Do you think I meddle in everything?"

"Yes."

"Alas, you think too poorly on me," complained he mournfully with his hand at his heart.

Lady Minerva only laughed at her friend's theatrics. "You're beyond salvation, Sanguine."

Sharing the joke, he laughed with her until he caught her eyes in a penetrating gaze. "Perhaps a good woman would remedy that. What say you, Minerva?"

"Don't be absurd, Sanguine! At our age!" she breathed, scandalised by the implications of his words.

"Just to keep me company then."

"You certainly entertain a grand notion of yourself," Lady Minerva stated with a smile and a teasing rap on his knuckles.

"Me? Not I!" he demurred loudly, smiling at the laughing crinkles at the end of her eyes. "You know, I've always thought that a ducal coronet would enhance your beauty."

"Silly old fool," she teased, withdrawing the hand that the Duke of Sanguine had silently gained.

Sanguine nodded sagely, idly twisting his beard around the fingers of his left hand. "I am a fool – a fool still waiting expectantly for his answer."

Lady Minerva rose abruptly, a frown etched on her lips. Believing that he had unwittingly offended her, the Duke reviewed their conversation in his mind. He found nothing overly egregious in his manner. No matter, he mused with a rueful smile to himself as he absentmindedly stroked his beard and pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose bridge. He would apologise to whatever it was that she laid at his door. The Duke was about to admit his guilt and request for her forgiveness, when her voice arrested his thoughts and tongue.

"Let us see what the hothouse has yielded this month," she said as suddenly as she rose. To Sanguine's surprise, she clicked her tongue sharply in mild annoyance when he firmly placed his hands behind his back. "Where are your manners? Give me your arm, old man."

"Gladly, my dear," he murmured, glad that her dangerous mood had passed.

Silently, they entered the hothouse and marvelled the many exotic plants that the Duke kept in his collection. He would have led her to new blue violet cuttings that he was cultivating had not he been reminded of her volatile mood a few minutes earlier. Thus, instead of leading her to what he knew to be her favourite flowers, he allowed her to wander to his Far East floral collection.

As Lady Minerva leaned over a pot with a lovely bright spray of colour, the Duke of Sanguine heard her say, "The yellow chrysanthemums look very well this year."

Patting the hand that clung gently to his arm, he smiled and murmured blandly so as to hide his disappointment, "What shall you pick for me to wear with my coat today? Have you settled on a yellow chrysanthemum already? Might I recommend a striped carnation? It would go better with this coat"

"Good heavens! Why would I give you a striped carnation? It clashes with your complexion!" she exclaimed in a chiding tone, ostensibly moving to the other pots so as to better observe the plants. "You haven't any bluebells in here! How vexing! You clearly do not have everything in order, Sanguine."

"Not as much I like to," he confessed quietly, momentarily stunned by her reference to bluebells.

Brusquely casting her eye over the Duke of Sanguine and his clothes for the day, she looked unblinkingly into his eyes and asked, "Will you go abroad today? To look over the Sternes and their new building plot at Surrey? It's only ten miles off."

The Duke smiled and kissed her hand. "Only if you want me to, my dear. You know I will follow you anywhere."

"In that case, I think it quite all right if you leave your coat unembellished as snowdrops are not in season this time of year. I don't think either of us wants to expend our resources on conjuring a snowdrop." Lady Minerva paused at this juncture, her hand tightly clutching the crook of the Duke's arm. "Your head shall be adorned today, not your coat." Looking to a creeping plant near to them before turning to him, she continued, "You should be crowned with ivy today and I give you leave to speak to my brother tomorrow. What say you, Albus?"

~ Finis ~

Footnotes:

I know that some readers will be asking, "Why didn't Hermione and Ginny know that they were talking to Lucius? After all, they all moved in first circles?" The answer to this is simple. During the wars, the ladies didn't go out much. This was stated in Chapter 1, that Hermione was recalled to her father's residence. This is Regency England, remember. And by the time the wars were ongoing, it wasn't safe for anyone to go one. By the time Voldemort was executed in 1814, Lucius was already exiled. Only when things returned to normal did society begin to function as did before the war. It as only then that Hermione returned to society; it was only then that Ginny came "out". Furthermore, Hermione was in school most of her time at the seminary, as was Ginny, both of them would not have any chance to meet Lucius at all. Furthermore, in chapter 6, Hermione tell us that she does not have the pleasure of Lucius's acquaintance to which Severus replies, "No, he is in France." So this means Hermione and Ginny have NEVER met Lucius.

Readers, you will notice that the title of the chapter contains the name of flowers/plants. This is significant to understanding the plot. While some of you may be familiar with the language of flowers, I beg you to allow for differences in interpretation. Some flowers/plants have one meaning during the time of the Regency and another during the Victorian era. My guess is that those of you familiar with this language are acquainted with the Victorian interpretation rather than the Regency one.

Naturally, there is also a deeper meaning beyond that of the flowers. What it is – I leave it to you to uncover.

(1) Sweet Scented Tussilage means "Justice shall be done to you".

Tussilage is actually the Latin name of the plant and it means "remedy of cough" (my translation). Indeed, in Roman times and in the Middle Ages, tussilage was used to treat respiratory problems. It was also believed to be a cure for heartburn as it is soothing to the stomach and the intestines. Apothecaries in the old days would grind and mix horehound, tusillage, ginger and licorice root for a soothing cough syrup. Alternatively, you could drink it as a leaf and flower tea. Like the cough mixture, it was believed to be a demulcent and expectorant for sore throats, coughs, asthma, bronchitis, and lung congestion. Warm infusions of the leaves sooth irritated mucus membrane tissues, helps bring up phlegm, and relieve spasmodic types of coughs. In Elizabethan times, it was used to treat chronic or acute bronchitis, irritating coughs, whooping coughs. The leaves can be used externally in poultices on the chest that relieve fevers and pulmonary blockages, on swellings and skin irritations to draw out inflammation and irritating substances, and for bruised or sore feet. This is what it looks like http://www.guzet.com/html/fiche_fleur/tussilage.htm

(2) Blue Violet means "faithfulness".

There is an old saying in the English countryside, "Go a-mothering and find violets in the lane". This refers to the custom of taking bunches of violets home when visiting on Mothering Sunday. The flowers were crystallised in sugar to make a traditional sweetmeat and the fresh flowers were scattered in salad as an attractive garnish. In France, violets had a particular historical significance. Napoleon promised that he would return from exile with the violets, inspiring his supporters to give him the coded name, Corporal Violette. Much further back in history, the ancient Greeks believed that violets helped to subdue anger and to cure insomnia. See it here at http://www.ontariowildflower.com/images/violetblueclose.jpg

(3) Yellow chrysanthemum is a sign of "slighted love". See it here http://www.weddingsolutions.com/articles/chrysanthemum2.jpg and http://www.mooseyscountrygarden.com/wattle-woods/yellow-chrysanthemum-flowers.jpg. Chrysanthemum root is widely used because of its pungent efficacy in relieving toothache and in promoting a free flow of saliva. The British Pharmacopoeia directs that it be used as a masticatory, and in the form of lozenges for its reflex action on the salivary glands in dryness of the mouth and throat. The tincture made from the dried root may be applied to relieve the aching of a decayed tooth, applied on cotton wool, or rubbed on the gums, and for this purpose may with advantage be mixed with camphorated chloroform. It forms an addition to many dentifrices.

A gargle of chrysanthemum infusion is prescribed for relaxed uvula and for partial paralysis of the tongue and lips. To make a gargle, two or three teaspoonsful of chrysanthemum extract should be mixed with a pint of cold water and sweetened with honey if desired. Patients seeking relief from rheumatic or neuralgic affections of the head and face, or for palsy of the tongue, have been advised to chew the root daily for several months. Alternatively, by Regency days, the powdered root forms a good snuff to cure chronic catarrh of the head and nostrils and to clear the brain, by exciting a free flow of nasal mucous and tears.

Culpepper tells us that the chrysanthemum, also known as the Pellitory, "is one of the best purges of the brain that grows' and is not only 'good for ague and the falling sickness' (epilepsy) but is 'an excellent approved remedy in lethargy.' After stating that 'the powder of the herb or root snuffed up the nostrils procureth sneezing and easeth the headache,' he goes on to say that 'being made into an ointment with hog's lard it taketh away black and blue spots occasioned by blows or falls, and helpeth both the gout and sciatica," uses which are now obsolete. In the thirteenth century we read in old records that Chrysanthemum/Pellitory of Spain was 'a proved remedy for the toothache' with the Welsh physicians. It was familiar to the Arabian writers on medicine and is still a favourite remedy in the East, having long been an article of export from Algeria and Spain by way of Egypt to India. In the East Indies the infusion is used as a cordial. I for one swear by chrysanthemum tea, for those of you with Chinese friends, ask them for it, you will find it refreshing and delightful. It's the Asian version of flower tea.

(4) Giving someone a striped carnation is a sign of "refusal" or "a love that cannot be shared or returned".

See it here http://www.sgaravatti.net/ita/prod/img/f136a.jpg. The carnation as many of you will know is the symbol of the Portuguese Carnation Revolution. It is a versatile flower, lasts moderately long in iced water and is one of my favourites (the other is the lily of the valley). In many parts of the world, carnations are worn for Mother's Day and weddings. In ancient Rome, they were called "Jove's flower" as a tribute to Jove (Zeus to all you Greek fans). In Korea, a young girl places three carnations in her hair vertically to tell her fortune. If the top flower dies first, the last years of her life will be most difficult; it the middle flowers wilts first, her earlier years will bring the most grief; if the bottom flower dies first dies first, the poor girl will be miserable for her whole life. My Korean friend and I tried it last year and my bottom flower wilted first. Out of delicacy, I shall not say which of her flowers died first.

For the most part, carnations express love, fascination and distinction. Light red carnations represent admiration; dark red denotes deep love and affection; white ones means pure love and good luck; striped one symbolises a regret that a love cannot be shared or returned; purple carnations indicate capriciousness; and green carnations are a semi-secret sign of homosexuality. The green carnation' special symbolism is evinced in part of the lyrics of Noel Coward's Bitter Sweet:

"Pretty boys, witty boys,

You may sneer

At our disintegration

Haughty boys, naughty boys,

Dear, dear, dear!

Swooning with affection...

And as we are the reason

For the Nineties being gay."

(5) Bluebell has two meanings: (i) constancy, and (ii) sorrowful regret. These meanings can be taken both collectively and individually.

See it here http://www.catnip.co.uk/wallpaper/bluebell1024x768.jpg and http://raysweb.net/wildflowers-edmonton/images-flowers/bluebell-400vh.jpg.

According to English folklore, the bluebell came into flower on 23rd April, St George's Day, and the blue was the colour worn to celebrate this Saint's festival. In fact, the flower was surrounded by superstition and whilst beautiful, was also magical. The bluebell was one of the fairies' flowers and solitary children picking bluebells in the woods might disappear forever. This belief is echoed in the nursery rhyme that my old nurse taught me, "In and out the dusky bluebells". More practically, the sap was used to make glue for fixing feathers onto arrows.

(6) Ivy has three meanings: (i) friendship, (ii) fidelity, (iii) marriage. These meanings can be taken both collectively and individually.

See it here http://www.cesc.net/cinqueportsweb/academicinnbooks/image/christmas/ivy.jpg and http://www.thepluginsite.com/products/photogalaxy/contactsheets2/ivy.jpg. Bacchus, the god of wine, wore a wreath of ivy about his head, a reference to the practice of binding the brows with ivy to ward off the less agreeable effects of drinking wine. As a symbol of fidelity, the ivy has a long history, as the ancient Greeks presented newly-weds with ivy wreaths. Poets also wore them in the belief that ivy was a source of inspiration. According to more recent folklore, ivy growing up the walls of a house was thought to protect the home from evil influences and drinking from ivy-wood bowls was said to cure children from whooping cough.

(7) Snowdrop has two meanings: (i) "hope", and (ii) "I shall heal your wounds". See it here http://www.bcss-liverpool.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/images/woolton/snowdrop.jpg.

Contrary to popular belief, it is not native to the British Isles. It was first noted by medieval monks in Italy because they used the flowers for healing wounds. A friend of mine studying Theology informs me that snowdrops are dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Catholics will know that these delightful blossoms played a part in the Feast of the Purification when images of the Virgin Mary were replaced by snowdrops. In some Catholic countries, bunches of snowdrops were placed in the home, especially on Candlemas Day, as they were thought to purify your residence. In other parts of the world, snowdrops in the house are considered an unlucky occurrence. And if there are single genteel ladies of the HP fandom reading, you might not want to pick snowdrops before St Valentine's Day, for if you did so – so the superstition runs – you would not marry that year.

(8) When I say "abigail" here, I mean lady's maid. In this case, the term is always spelt with a lower case 'a'. The task of such a person was to dress her mistress, style her hair and chaperone her mistress around town or in company. A lady would always call her abigail by her last name/surname only. This is the etiquette and I have kept to it. Ironically, the title and the name "Abigail" is Hebrew for "father rejoiced".

(9) Bluestocking refers to a woman with unfashionably intellectual and literary interests. The term is explained in Boswell's Life of Dr Johnson, as deriving from the name given to meetings held by certain ladies in the 18th century, for conversation with distinguished literary men. A frequent attendee was a Mr Stillingfleet, who always wore his everyday blue worsted stockings because he could not afford silk stockings. He was so much distinguished for his conversational powers that his absence at any time was felt to be a great loss, and so it was often remarked, "We can do nothing without the blue stockings." Admiral Boscawan, husband of one of the most successful hostesses of such gatherings, derisively dubbed them 'The Blue Stocking Society'. Although both men and women, some of them eminent literary and learned figures of the day, attended these meetings, the term 'bluestocking' became attached exclusively, and often contemptuously, to women. This was partly because women were instrumental in organising the evenings, but also because they were seen as encroaching on matters thought not to be their concern

(10) The phrase "Will you will go abroad today" means "Are you going out today", it does not mean 'are you going overseas today'.

(11) Lucius uses a quizzing glass. The quizzing glass is also known as a lorgnette. During the period of Louis XV the lorgnette became an instrument for the close and unashamed observation of female beauty. Having originally been used for this purpose in the theatre it soon became popular in a variety of situations. (On this subject Mercier wrote an article entitled «Les Lorgneurs», published in the Tableau de Paris in 1793: «Paris is full of these lorgneurs, setting their eyes on you, fixing your person with a steady and immobile gaze. This behaviour is so widespread that it is not even considered indecent anymore. Ladies are not offended when they are observed arriving at the theatre or whilst taking a walk. But should this happen when they are amongst themselves the lorgneur is considered uncouth and accused of insolence». The criticism becomes more severe in the chapter dedicated to the lorgnette: «...they are quite an offence to fashion. Lorgnettes encircle hats, they are contained in fans and in all manner of strange objects. Even the snuff boxes of the era of the XVIII and XIX centuries often contained small spyglasses. French fashions were soon followed in London. Beau Brummell popularized the quizzing glass in England and used a sceptical look through it at a gentlemen as a set down.

(12) I obtained the name Lavinia from Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus. As Lucius is also from the play, I decided to appropriate a name for his sister.

(13) i>Ton, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the Regency/Empire period means fashionable Society, or the fashion. It originates from the French bon ton, meaning good form, i.e. good manners, good breeding, etc. A person could be a member of the ton, attend ton events, or be said to have good ton (or bad ton). Ton can be interchangeably used with beau monde. In this story, when I spell society with a capital S (i.e. Society), I am referring to the ton.

(14) Those of you confused as to why Luna is now Lady Ronald Weasley, please refer to the preface/introduction and follow the internet link there. The younger son of a Duke, still out ranks the daughter of a Baron and she will have to take his title. However, since Luna is heiress to the Barony of de Quib, when her father dies, she becomes Lady de Quib, and Ron will be plain Lord Ronald. This is because a Baroness outranks the younger son of a duke. Under the marriage contract and settlements, explicitly stated throughout the story – look for it – you will notice that the clause was that the fellow marrying Luna would have to take her name if he was title-less. If he has a title (fortunate for her she married a younger son), their children would have to be Lovegoods. In history this had happened before when one of the younger sons of the 1st Duke of Leinster married the Baroness de Ros. So in this story, until Lord de Quib dies, Luna will be Lady Ronald Weasley. However, the moment her father dies, she will be Lady de Quib and Ron will be plain Lord Ronald Weasley. This is because a Baroness in her own right outranks the younger son of a Duke.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My thanks are extended to Laiagaren and Droxy who assisted in the initial stages of this story. Their preliminary comments helped put together the Introduction/Preface. My betas who choose to be nameless also deserve thanks – you know who you are. My preliminary readers, Angel and Larry should also be acknowledged for posing questions in all the chapters. I used them as a standard – if they had no idea what I was talking about; odds are, my readers would be just as confused. The encouragement of the ladies at the Potter Place enabled me to edit this story on a regular basis.

I know this story is a deviation from my usual. It's fluffy and quite silly in parts. I'm glad you've stuck with it. It was fun to write and I hope you had fun reading it.

Due to a family emergency and a conference on the Pre-Socratics, I will be away from Saturday (6th May) to Friday (12th May), so I will not be able to reply to any queries or reviews.

Lady Strange