I am to be married in several months, and I am stuck with a bit of a problem. My father died a number of years ago and my mother never remarried, my other siblings are sisters, and I have no close male relatives. I am at a loss as to who is to walk me down the aisle. I would rather not do it alone... What does etiquette say in this situation? - A.B.
A man does not have to be a blood relative to escort you down the aisle; there may be a friend, a mentor, or even a friend's husband or brother you wish to share the honour with. If a male is not an option, however, it would not be entirely unheard of if your mother escorted you.
Your husband seems like such a kind and gentle person that I cannot help wonder if he ever loses his temper. Do you two ever fight? Does he fight with his brother? - S.K.
Mycroft does not have much of a temper; it takes a great deal to agitate him, let alone anger him. We do have the occasional spat, every couple does, but when we do we mostly just give each other the cold shoulder rather than hollering at one another. He does get rather angry at the cat, however... Sherlock is one of the sole people he really fights with, and when they get into it it's best just to leave them be.
There are only two types of people in the world worth hollering at; younger siblings and politicians. I have to deal with both. - M. Firstly, congrats on the wonderful news. Does your brother-in-law have any preference for a name for the child? Do you plan to have any more children? Oh, one more question, have you, your husband, your brother-in-law, or Watson ever traveled to the British empire's colonies in the Orient and, if so, how was it there? - C.S.
Sherlock keeps insisting that Aphaea is the perfect name on the "off chance" it will be a girl, but I think I'd prefer something a little easier to pronounce... He agrees with Mycroft Sigerson for a boy, however. We have decided to wait until the first is born to plan for more children; I would like more, but Mycroft believes being an only child would be heaven on earth.
There may be a reason Sherlock and I were spaced out; the concentration of the family needs to be spread out a bit. - M.
Mycroft visited the Orient briefly when he was younger, and he said that while it was an endlessly interesting place, he could not stand the sun.
My husband's father had abandoned him long before our marriage, but he has recently come back into his life. While I know my husband has the right to live his own life, I want nothing to do with the man who left his wife and four children high and dry. Must I play nice with this man, or is there any way to politely keep him out of my life? - H.K.
While you do need to meet him, you do not need to like him. Treat him as you would a business associate of your husband's; politely but not affectionately. Your husband needs your support at the moment, not your judgement. Prove yourself more mature than your father-in-law by acting like an adult.
I happen to be blind, and have been since birth. I usually have no problems and I have adapted (for instance, having my husband write correspondences such as this), but I have one acquaintance who thinks I need her hand at my elbow whenever she is present. This is actually quite disorienting, not to mention a breach of personal space. What is the best way to ask her to refrain (short of putting an elbow in the general direction of her face)? - R.H.
I would not recommend an elbow to the face, no matter how much you think she deserves it... Explain to her firmly how you feel when you are dragged about like that, and perhaps explain things she can do to help you that do not hinder you. It seems as if she genuinely wishes to help; if you give her another way to do so, the urge to do her harm should cease.
I have been invited to a ball by my good friend Edward, and I can't help but think he fancies me. I do admire him greatly, and his family is coming around towards me being seen with him and all. Should I ask him directly if he fancies me or should I wait and see? One last question, you have stated before who your favourite authors are. What do you think of the women writers such as Jane Austen and Mary Shelly? Best Wishes,
- D.M.
I would observe how he acts at this ball; a social setting such as that is usually the best to pick up hints. If he considers it important that his family be comfortable with you, however, it looks likely that he does fancy you.
My favourite author, George Eliot, was originally christened Mary Ann Evans, so I quite enjoy woman authors. I have read several of Jane Austen's books and enjoyed them. As for Mary Shelly, however, even her non-horror novels scare me a bit...
She got through the first three chapters of "Frankenstein" and only through the first chapter of "Matilda". - M. I am a working woman and recently married. While my husband's income could support us both fully at the time, my own income makes living a bit more comfortable. Once we have children or his salary increases, I do plan to stop working, but all my friends (and my mother especially) seem to insist it isn't proper for a married woman to work. What do you say? - L.R.
I say that in this modernizing society, a woman's career is up to herself. If this arrangement works best and both you and your husband agree on it, I see nothing harmful in it.
My stepdaughter has had a very low self-esteem since the time I met her up until now. Many of her "friends" take advantage of this, treating her poorly because they know she will not stand up against them. It hurts me to see her cringe in every kind of social situation. Is there anything I can do to help her foster a little confidence? She really is quite pretty, but she seems to be the last one to notice this. - G.S.
I would suggest leading by example; take her places with you and assert yourself so that she can see how to be confident. Perhaps introduce her to the children of your friends or have her attend some drawing room gatherings or balls. Believe me, nothing makes a girl feel more beautiful than her very first ball gown. Also, have a frank talk with her about these "friends" of hers, and try to make her see that there are better companions out there for her.
Being as I am alone most of the day in the home and sometimes at night, I'd like to get a dog for both protection and companionship, but I do not wish to spend a king's ransom on one. I also would like one who is big enough to be intimidating, but calm enough so that my drapes are not in danger... - L.F.
I would suggest a greyhound; they are tall dogs but when well-trained, they are remarkably mature. A recent trend has been to adopt retired racing hounds; usually they are free to anyone who wants them. A pet can make all the difference in someone. I know I'd be bored so often if it weren't for my cat.
elsewhere in London:
The package was not postmarked and had been left with the maid by a young man who, based on the woman's description, resembled one of the brothers Mycroft has last seen at the wedding. He wanted to open the album, but he knew he would need his wife's permission if he were to do so without guilt.
When she returned home from visiting, it occupied their evening. Mycroft could not help but smirk at pictures of her at the age of five, drowning in lace and posing as perfectly as a porcelain doll. Twelve years old and not looking at all like herself; almost grey and sickly. She had mentioned a year of respiratory trouble, but had not thought it serious.
She had quietly commented they had the picture taken because they believed it would be her last one and turned the page as quickly as she could.
Her face became more healthy and recognizable as the years passed. Her first school picture, drawing back hair and the uniforms he knew had been green with the pin on the collar. One from a studio in Paris; he could see the infamous scenery out the window behind her. She described Italy and France as she had seen them, traveling with the maiden aunt who financed her when her father had begun to slip.
A group of girls preparing to be debutants. Mycroft could pick out Emily (glasses removed to prevent a glare) and Fiona. He knew Catherine was a year older, having failed one year. Her début in the Guthrie manor, the home of Fiona lent by her gracious father ("He was sometimes more of a father than my own," Ann Marie commented with a sigh). Her golden hair, grey in the picture, down her shoulders, her white dress more revealing than the wedding dress she would wear in less than a year.
Her graduation picture; he could see her engagement ring and he sighed. Little posed moments, each of them exact because photographs were so costly. Turning back to the one of the five-year-old girl with the sweet face and heartbreaking curls, he frowned.
"Something wrong...?" questioned his wife, placing a hand on his cheek. The hour was growing late, and her eyelids were starting to drop.
He closed the album, shaking his head, covering his wriggling feeling with a smile. "Merely hoping our child looks like you. Come, we should retire.
He did not state that there was something in that photograph that felt familiar...
elsewhere in London (minus thirteen years):
"How are your studies coming along?" questioned Mycroft, twenty-eight and wearing a new jacket, bought with his recent rise in pay. No one had expected the prodigy from the accounting division to present the strategy that had kept the Germans at bay. He could not help but wonder, however, if he should have put his name on that proposal; he did not like disturbance, and this had caused a great deal of it.
"Oh... They're coming..." his brother murmured over his cup of tea. "I keep wondering if I shouldn't just..."
"Sherlock, stop right now. We've had this talk. Father and Mother have had this talk as well. Finish university, and then if you want to turn playing detective into a career, feel free to do so. A wise trapeze artist does not work without a net, however."
The lanky man grumbled, rolling his steely eyes. "I know, I know. I'm just anxious, Mycroft! I know you can't understand needing to have activity in your life, but I do!"
"If you have so much excess energy, take up something."
"Something like what? I fence and box, once would think I had no energy left!"
"I don't know, Sherlock. Sketching? Music? Cleaning your room every so often? I swear, I go to that flat expecting to observe microevolution between the kitchen counter and the table..."
"Music, hmm...?" Now that his brother mentioned it, once of his classmates was selling one of his older violins for a good price. Surfacing from his thoughts, the younger brother spotted something and smiled. "I believe you have a fan, Brother."
Mycroft looked over and then down to where a tiny fey of a girl was standing, doll clutched in her arms, looking up at him with wide brown eyes. Judging by her expensive clothes and toy, she was some aristocrat's child.
"You're tall," she commented softly.
Mycroft's eyes narrowed threateningly.
The child gave a squeak, dashing off towards what seemed to be her nanny, golden girls bouncing after her. Her caretaker glared at the two men as she took the girl's hand and stormed out of the café.
"Oh, be nice to the girl," smirked Sherlock, sipping at the cup. "She's just going to grow up and be married off to some clod her father picks out for her.
His brother murmured something and then was silent.
AN: The bonus is a little flashback to the "respiratory illness" mentioned above; a little piece of Ann Marie's little-discussed history.