Foreword
A forewarning, dearest reader. I have never read any Jane Austen novels, but I, like most of the ton I assume, have been beguiled by Netflix's Bridgerton series, and I couldn't help, but concoct this fanfic. Now we find ourselves in a precarious situation: as I am neither equipped with proper historical knowledge nor with the genre-specific jargon, there will be some discrepancies between my storytelling and the era it is set in. Albeit, if you bear with me, I thank you for your perseverance.
Yours truly,
Lady Holmes
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Titled, chaste and innocent – Frances Granville, or more often referred to as Franny, wondered whether that was all she was entitled to be. Whether a respectable lady should only wish to be married, in love if one would find herself so lucky, and to produce heirs. Surely there was something else in life to aspire to...
Arriving at London days before the courting season began, Franny held two convictions: one, that she was not interested in men, especially not in lords who paraded impeccably around courting innocent young ladies at balls only to close their nights in brothels. Two, that if she did not secure a husband herself this season, her father would make a match with someone at least twice her age and half her wits. Since her mother recently passed away, Franny became a burden to her father and his newfound gorgeous, complacent and young wife, therefore she was sent away to be married off.
As she was bouncing along in a carriage on the way to Henry Granville's house, her maid, Annabeth smiled at her encouragingly and she found some reassurance in her company. Annabeth was a few years older than her, short, a little plum, with coal-coloured hair and a kind smile that was a permanent feature of her heart-shaped face.
"Do not worry, my lady. You have always found visits to your uncle most entertaining," said Annabeth.
Letting out a small sigh while looking out of the window, Franny replied, "It is not the visit I fret, per se, but the purpose of it."
Before Annabeth could reply, the carriage came to a halt as they reached their destination. The door was opened, and a servant offered his white-gloved hand to Franny.
"My dear, it's wonderful to see you," as Lucy Granville embraced her in a tight hug, she could smell her lavender-scented perfume which reminded her of home.
Henry Granville greeted her with a bow and a wide smile, "We have been eagerly waiting for your arrival."
"Dare I say, dearest Uncle, that the sentiment is not entirely reciprocated. I am, of course, happy to see you, but to be paraded around, in the hope of securing a decent marriage proposal, which is the least of my desire, is not how I would choose to spend my summer."
In most households, Franny's answer would have been answered with chastising, but the Granvilles were not anything like any other members of the high society.
"Now my favourite niece, I take offence to that. When have you," he looked slyly to his wife from the corner of his eyes, "or anyone for that matter, has been forced to do anything, least desired, in this house?" replied Mr. Granville with a playful smile.
"Very well, this season might be bearable after all," Franny smiled widely as they entered the house.
✦
Every inch of the house was decorated with Granville's masterpieces. Franny took her time to marvel at each one. She always admired her uncle for his unique talent, a talent, that she herself secretly shared, not the least thanks to the mentoring of Mr. Granville.
"Now dearest, you shall have plenty of time for those paintings later, you must see the room your uncle and I have prepared for you," Lucy Granville lovingly stroked Franny's hazelnut blonde hair which always found a way to escape from braids. "We must make haste, and present you before the Queen in a few hours."
"Albeit, I shall be wrapped in some lavishly trimmed frock and present myself as innocent, respectful and an eager marriage-minded lady, shan't I, Aunty dearest?" inquired Franny with an eye roll.
"Precisely, my dear," Mrs. Granville continued leading her upstairs, ignoring her woes. "You and I share the same goal, to find you a husband who would put up with your independence and wits, and may he appreciate them as well. But to achieve that, the first step is to wear the dress the modiste has made for you."
✦
As the last debutante to be presented, and also arriving at the very last minute, Franny felt that the odds were against her, not that she expected otherwise. Standing in a silk white dress, delicately embroidered with golden daisies, her favourite flowers, Franny had difficulty catching breath, not least due to the corset tied around her already decently slender waist. She was convinced that the sole use of corsets was to cut women's brains from oxygen, least they invested their remaining energy in speaking. Her hand unconsciously slipped to a necklace with a small golden daisy in the centre, a permanent feature of hers.
"Must I wear these feathers, Auntie? I am neither a bird nor a pillow," she grimaced as her aunt was arranging the white feathers behind her intricately braided hair.
"Yes, Franny, you must make a good impression. This moment will determine your price and the marriage mart," replied Mrs. Granville as she continued setting her dress.
"My entire worth reduced to a single moment," Franny muttered, vexed, "looking like a quill."
"Miss Frances Granville, presented by her aunt, the Right Honourable Mrs. Granville," a deep voice from the other side of the door announced that the moment has come.
"Now dearest, remember to hold your head high, smile delicately, walk slowly, and do not engage the Queen in the eye. Remember to be gracious," Mrs. Granville gave her a set of quick advice and Franny subdued a grimace.
Taking a deep breath as the heavy white doors opened, she glanced expectantly to the room. Ladies and lords, the most honourable members of the ton huddled together on the two sides of the room, eyeing her from head to toe, making their final judgements quickly. Dark burgundy curtains hanging from the windows, crème-coloured walls decorated with golden patterns, and paintings of the finest quality unfolded as she stepped into the room. Franny wondered whether she could find her uncle's handiwork among them, though she would recognise his feature brush strokes anywhere. She dispersed of the living completely, and focused her attention on the paintings, in particular the naked babies floating in the clouds which she found particularly amusing. As her aunt quietly cleared her throat she was brought back to reality. Her eyes fell on the most important person in the room, the Queen stretching out in her throne nonchalantly, her silver-coloured hair stacked up in curls, her white dress complemented by a series of pearls. Franny bowed and curtsied as she felt the Queen's heavy gaze on her. Glancing up, she saw her grimacing in a disapproving style and she felt heat rising in her.
Unexpectedly, the Queen addressed her, "Is there a reason you have arrived late to the season and are stealing my time with this most unruly presentation, Miss Granville?" she inquired, her judging eyes watching her closely.
Franny replied before she could stop herself, "You must forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn't want to come to London at all."
The room suddenly went silent, all the lords and ladies held their breath in anticipation, some gasped in surprise, others started whispering eagerly. The Queen's eyebrows sickled up as she leaned forward, the tension was palpable.
"Now I could have your head for that sentence, my dear," she remarked in a low voice, locking Franny dead in the eye. Scolding herself for her audacity, Franny had to quickly come up with a plan to escape beheading, a possible way of avoiding marriage, but not the most pleasant one. She dropped her eyes, and bowed her head, hoping that some mild behaviour might appease the Queen. After a few seconds that felt like years, the monarch leaned back in her seat.
"Albeit, I suspect it would serve me with more entertainment, had it remained on your neck. Now be dismissed," she shooed her away, no longer looking at her. Franny let out a sigh, grateful that for the time being her head remained attached to her neck, and started moving back, not turning her back to the Queen. Having escaped death on her first day, she now had a chance to scan her audience. Most of the ladies and lords regarded her scornful looks, or with utter surprise, but no one had a blank expression. Glancing to her right, she saw a group of people bearing great resemblance to each other, standing closely together. A family, and quite a prominent one, she quickly identified the Bridgertons and a myriad of expressions on their faces. A dark-brown haired girl gasped at her with mouth wide open, but her gaze fell on the three men, all remarkably similar. At first sight, only their expressions set them apart: standing closest to her was probably the eldest, sneering at her, disapproval clear on his otherwise handsome face. In the back, another raven-haired man, rather a boy was smiling playfully at her, clearly amused at the situation. And finally, surrounded by his sisters in the middle, the third Bridgerton brother's dark blue eyes fell on her, biting his lower lips, his expression was caught between complete disbelief, curiosity and something Franny could not quite put her finger on. Well, she thought, at least I made an impression.
✦
Now dearest readers, the most unimaginable of all has happened. Miss Frances Granville, a young debutante from the countryside has expressed her reservations about joining the marriage season in London, in front of Her Majesty, the Queen! Coming perilously close to a gruesome death, we find ourselves perplexed by her audacity. How this brazen outburst will influence her success in the marriage mart, remains to be seen.
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown