Lady Florence Huntingdon, daughter of the well-known and more importantly, well-respected Earl and Countess Huntingdon is stepping into the 1813 marriage market, in the hopes of finding her match.
Frederick, Duke of Windsor, has just arrived in Lon...
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Lady Whistledown's SOCIETY PAPERS
There is nothing quite like the sweet-scented smell of success. But after taking in the scene from last night's festivities, it is clear the season won't be quite so fragrant for everyone.
The Viscount Bridgerton's own mama may have loudly declared her eldest son's lofty intentions to marry, yet I cannot be the only one wondering if this former Capital R-Rake is, indeed, ready to flourish.
Perhaps the Viscount, like the rest of us, is simply waiting for the Queen to finally name her diamond. Or perhaps this author should take matters into her own hands. ______________________
"What do you think, darling?" I ask, lowering Whistldown's paper and looking towards Frederick. "Is Anthony truly ready to marry?"
Frederick pauses, setting down his own newspaper and thinking over the question before slowly speaking up. "I think... that he is ready to do his duty as the eldest son. Whether he marries for love or for duty, I don't quite know."
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Perhaps the Viscount, like the rest of us, is simply waiting for the Queen to finally name her diamond. Or perhaps this author should take matters into her own hands.
Though, of the many purportedly well-trained and bred hothouse flowers on display this year, this author must wonder if a more surprising choice might still be in store.
Whichever darling miss receives such high esteem, let us hope there is a suitor available of only the sharpest wit, lest his dry musings leave a young lady wilting like a parched rose. ______________________
Albion snorts and chuckles as he reads the day's Whistledown column, "it is rather clever the way she uses plant puns to belittle."
Penelope giggles and smiles cheerfully at him, snapping her book shut and standing up from the couch by the window. "Clever indeed!"
"Oh! Prudence, have you heard of Lord Bindley?" I ask, "I heard that he is in need of a wife?"
"Apparently, he is not interested enough," Prudence hisses, stabbing her needle through the fabric irritably, "he showed no interest in me at Lady Danbury's ball, Florence."
